DeadBeat Dads Collision Course....
DeadBeat Dads can be caused by many factors. In 1983, as a confused teenage girl, I found out that the man on my birth certificate was not actually my biological father; questions flooded my mind day after day, wanting to know about THE man that gave me life, but the answers I received were one sided and biased. Teen stress built up. I knew that I resembled him in some of my physical features, but I knew nothing more of who he was as a man, except that he had made mistakes and been unkind to my mother. My grandparents had their discolored versions of who they thought he was, uncles with words like "loser" and "asshole", but not a good word was spoken to me. So, inevitably I grew up thinking that half of who I was, was tainted and awful, because how could I be anything else with a father whose genes ran through me as well? And there is where Shame entered my life and became a constant companion. I felt shame for being a constant reminder to my mother, whom I loved so much, of a time in her life that was not happy and so hurtful according to her accounts. I felt shame for wanting to know him anyway, for wanting him in my life and for wanting to give him a chance to tell me his side of the story, and why he went away. I felt bad, I felt worthless, I felt unlovable, because after all, if this man who lay with my mother and conceived me could walk away and never look back, why would anyone else ever stay? To say that I was set up for years of failure, insecurity and betrayal doesn't even begin to cover it.
~sometimes the only way out is through the exit~
My Deadbeat Dad Abandoned Me
Self sacrifice can be a beautiful quality in a person, it can also be the knife that stabs and kills a person, and it's done with their own hand without ever really knowing or understanding what they are doing. I have been doing that to myself for so long and it is only now that I am fully coming to grips with it, and seeing it clearly for what it is, but that is okay, because with awareness comes the ability to change, to heal and to forgive, not just myself, but everyone involved. In order for me to move forward, I have to release the past and in doing so I have to hand over what was never mine to hold on to and give it to the person/people that it belonged to all along. I can't make anyone accept it, I can't force anyone to be responsible now, but I can step out of the fear of hurting you, and sacrificing my own soul and leave it at your feet to do with what you choose. We are at a crossroads in life where choices have to be made, I offered an opportunity for a meeting of minds, a chance to help me understand You and the choices you have made and continue to make, and an open dialogue from me to help you comprehend the depth of emotion inside of me where it all exists, but instead you shut me down with angry defensiveness and secrecy. I don't have time for short cuts anymore, I don't want to leave creaky doors ajar, I want them closed so that the noise doesn't keep me awake at night. Mostly, I don't want to hurt anyone, but I am done justifying the hurt that I cause myself to protect others who need to stop hiding behind blame and disregard for the scars on my heart and mind.
I was denied a part of myself, and initially I accept that it was done all in the name of being "best for me," but what I have to ask is, how was it repeatedly justified over the course of my childhood when I asked questions and made it evident that I needed to know, needed the connection to this person? Was there never a point in time when it just became apparent that perhaps it was "time" to let me in to this part of my own being, and allow me to make some decisions for myself? Obviously there wasn't, because I was shut down time after time in my life when I asked, pleaded even, to know this person, to have him be accessible to me, to allow me to ask him the same questions I asked of my mother about WHY. I have to wonder, was everyone just blind to my pain; to the horrible emptiness in my spirit; to the discontent in my very being? All of those who claim to have loved me, yet you turned the other cheek and never gave a thought to what was happening in my mind and in my heart as I tried to comprehend it all and come to terms with not being loved or wanted by my own father.
My DeadBeat Dad Verses My Real Dad
The man that I know as my "Dad" told me the one story that I have held on to everyday since he gifted me with it, about my first and only meeting with my biological father. I have tried to travel back in my subconscious mind, to the vault where memories are stored looking for that moment in time, wanting desperately to bring it out into the light of my mind so that I can see it, experience it, but there is instead, just darkness.
In 1990, pregnant with my first child, sitting at home watching the Phil Donahue show of parent/child reunions, I made a choice to search for this man. I made calls, I talked with strangers and with the help of a few along the way, I got as close as his sister, only to be told that he had passed away a month before. For a brief period of time we stayed connected, although I was given little insight into who he was at his core as a man, I was given snapshots and tiny glimpses into some aspects of his life, and for those I was thankful. It was then, 20 years into my life, that I first heard about his aspiration of wanting to go off to Australia and whisk my mother away with him on an adventure. I recall so clearly standing in the yard with her as she recounted that tale to me with such a smile on her face, and I loved her for sharing it with me; and then the nagging of unanswered questions hit me again like a powerful wave, but I was so afraid to ask for more, so I waited for her to open the door and just offer me entrance, but it never came, so I swallowed it again and let it go because I did not want to open her wounds, wounds that I had believed he caused her. So once again, I hurt myself and made excuses for her, and for him so that I could try to find peace somehow; peace that never came.
We learn a lot of different ways of filling voids in our lives, with drugs, food, sex and any multitude of other destructive ways and props, hoping that something will take away the empty space that haunts us day after day emotionally, spiritually and psychologically. We find false fulfillment for a moment, but then reality comes crashing back down and the hole is still there, sometimes deeper and more infected than it was before, because it's never really been treated, it's just been bandaged over. My feelings of unworthiness in life trailed me like my own shadow, never leaving, only fading slightly with the changing angles of the sun in my days, but always present and waiting to come back out and follow me boldly as I made my way through life.
~sometimes the only way out is through the exit~
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