All I Ever Wanted

Mind The Gap

A Therapist’s View on Absent Fathers

Where are you?

To this day I don’t know where my dad is, or if he’s even still alive. I don’t know how much my father fought for me when we were under the same roof. Beyond that it wasn’t obvious to me that he did at all. Ever since we were separated with good motive, I haven’t stopped fighting. For my identity, for my purpose, for my destiny. Maybe that sounds too utopian, yet without this I would have stopped fighting long ago.

My original environment, status and support network failed me greatly. My compassion, insight and bullshit detector didn’t appear to be ingredients for world domination. Early abandonment didn’t do wonders for my ability to trust others either. I was set up to fail; I was setup to comply. Already broken; I was vulnerable and exposed. I was born susceptible to be used as a doormat.

So how did I expect to fight and survive this unrelenting and dangerous world I grew up in? My original security was compromised, nowhere felt safe as a result. Hypervigilance was the only path towards survival, as well as blending into the crowd.

Something that, despite my stature now, I can still do quite well.

Where were you?

I was encouraged by a friend at 16 to reach out and find my dad. Through the legal system, we found where he worked. So, I made the unexpected journey uptown and found him. We intermittently connected over a few meetings spanning a couple of years. I vaguely recall brief moments, spending time with someone I had essentially never met. It was strange.

I was an unassuming introvert at best - low confidence, absent self-esteem. I can’t imagine the screenplay would have been very entertaining. In any case, I found him but didn’t know him. Still don’t. I’m sad to say we have lost contact due to my many moves and continued lack of effort on his part.

I did get something out of the brief interactions mind. I was able to forgive him. I cannot understate how angry I was and how difficult that came to be. I had to face 20 years of rage and let it go. Every failure and feeling of inadequacy I had, was his injustice to correct. While my dad was not complicit for all that I felt, he was the genesis of that wound. In my mind, liable.

Moving on

Despite my overbearing pain and rage, the freedom of forgiveness is a powerful thing. A divine grace that I have no business being given. I declared that I forgave my dad in Jesus’ name, as despite my actions, my reluctance was stronger. If Jesus hadn’t forgiven me first, I was well on the path to becoming what my son calls ‘Dark Vader’. I have spent a lifetime still trying to manage this anger, that’s how deep my wound was.

Devoid of selfish motive, it was the right thing to do. For me and for him. I hopefully triggered the release of some of his guilt and self-deprecation. It allowed me to lay down a lot of that rage, forgive myself and focus forward. Don’t get me wrong, I still walk with a very significant limp, yet my dad is no longer a scapegoat. Just another human, who made some bad choices. My job now was to acknowledge my own fallibility and make better ones.

So, to answer where were you, I can only answer where was I? Reflect on the soul-destroying times I was brave enough to look to the bleachers and see that no one was supporting me. Few cheering me on, to keep going despite my heavy head. To pick me up and push me forward when I wanted to give up. To celebrate when I won or at least put in my best effort to finish. I don’t recall ever winning.

If you’re a father, be there. Don’t miss those pivotal moments.

Where am I?

I am here. I am present. I am involved. Aligned with my temperament as a person, given what I do for a living. I’m more switched on than most. I regulate the emotional temperature in the home. For good or bad, I see it as my responsibility, but also my gifting. When done well, the result looks kindly upon you. When done poorly, it feels heavy and the temptation toward shame is always present. Guilt can motivate and direct towards better, an option I prefer to employ.

Thankfully, I have rid myself of a lot of shame, wrapped up in the forgiveness I gave my dad. Many chains were broken in that one act. I refuse to wear shame that is not mine. I think my father struggled with that. I may struggle, make more mistakes than most men, but I have been set free from accusation or unhealthy indictment. A new man, in the sanctified sense.

Without swinging the pendulum in an unhealthy direction, my natural insight allows me to see the spirit of each of my children. Difficult to describe, but I feel like I know them completely and know exactly the kind of emotional support they need. When you have such a gift, it’s difficult to unsee. Much like how I view people in general. I can see what most people need, but for most people that’s too uncomfortable to know.

I often agree, the head is heavy.

How do I?

So, what do I do next?

With the knowledge of a gaping hole in my body, a wound that seemingly will never heal. Not that I expect others to cry me a river, as we’re all busy and have wounds of our own. Yet a personal conundrum that I don’t expect another to wear, carry or solve. My burden, my bullshit.

I don’t hear a string quartet playing, yet I do mourn that I will never have a physical masculine figure that can hug me and make it feel all will be okay. Even if it wasn’t true, just to have someone bigger, more experienced and invested in you to say that. Let alone someone whom you share traits with or look like. That you undeniably knew that for better or worse, you are blood. That I am made to some degree in his image.

As a realist, I cannot entertain a utopian ideal. I know too much and I’m too damaged. I know my father was very human, I also know statistically that he can’t have been all bad. There must be some good within him. Something positive I could relate to, as well as some not so. I wasn’t afforded the time to find out and maybe never will.

It’s imperative I create my own identity aside from this and so I have. Perhaps a healthier one. I’ll let my kids decide that at their leisure. It’s been far from easy to carve my own path, without a physical example, often direction and still lack sufficient support. Yet my kids won’t. I hope they won’t have to fall on a sword for theirs. If we do a good job, mind. I know they will.

Either way, they’ll have all I’ve ever wanted…

A present father.

I am their father.