I have been thinking about my father a lot recently. Maybe because of Brene Brown's writing about living an authentic life and dealing with shame and guilt in her book The Gifts of Imperfection and perhaps because someone shared with me their desire to cut a family member out of her life, as I did my father about ten years ago.
My father was a typical mid-20th century husband and father. He expected to have a stay-at-home wife to raise his children, take care of his needs and provide him with a comfortable home life. He was open to having several children, as long as he was able to pay for the bills and his wife was willing to take care of them. I doubt if he, like most men of his time, even thought much about the consequences of having children, other than the cost. His mind was on his business and children were his wife's concern.
Unfortunately, after the birth of four children and the death of one, his wife, and my mother, checked out of this earthly life at the relatively young age of 39. I was an infant when she passed and my older sisters were 10 and 7. Not only was my unprepared father left with three children, one a baby, but those kids were also girls - a fact that seemed to make the situation even harder for him. His mother came from Chicago and took care of us for about 18 months - long enough for my father to find another wife, my stepmother who passed last year, to raise his kids. That marriage failed quickly and again he was faced with three daughters to raise without the help of a woman since my grandmother's age prevented her from coming to his rescue a second time. So, he did the best he could. His best was not all that good in some ways, but he adequately provided for our physical needs.
My father was not the huggy, warm type of dad. Not at all like those wonderful widowed TV dads who are wise, generous and loving. He worked hard - rising at 4 AM to run his business, often working on Saturdays and Sundays. He was impatient, demanding and unforgiving of mistakes and transgressions. A glass accidentally dropped and broken was treated the same as if it were hurled purposefully across the room in a fit of anger. I lost my greatly-needed eyeglasses when I was nine and, as punishment, he refused to buy me new ones. I spent the next eight years sitting in the front of classrooms, squinting to read the chalkboard and books, and living with almost constant headaches until I went to live with my stepmother and she took me to the optometrist and I soon sported new glasses that allowed me to see so much that I had been missing.
My father had a temper, but he never hit us. He would yell, he would slam doors, he would subject us to days, weeks and even months of silence for not acting or being who he wished we were. My two older sisters left home as soon as they graduated high school, leaving me alone to deal with him. Nothing I did was good enough, right enough or fast enough. I was an A student, but felt like a failure. When I was 14 we had a silly argument over who sang a song and he stopped talking to me - for months. I became depressed; my friends and teachers worried about me. A guidance counselor intervened and eventually my father allowed me to go live with my stepmother in another state.
At first, I was just relieved and happy to have him out of my life, but since my stepmother forced me to stay in contact with him, I soon fell back into the old pattern of wanting to please him and never being able to do so. He visited me and I visited him a few times over the next three years. Then, I ended up moving to the state where he had settled and we even lived in the same town for a couple of years. He traveled a lot with his business, which allowed us to maintain an almost normal and friendly relationship. Then I moved 100 miles away to go to college and within a year, I was married. My husband I moved to another state. My father visited whenever he was traveling through our city. Eventually, after he retired, we ended up living in the same state again and for three years, my father resided in a mobile home on the property where my husband and I had built our home.
Living so close together was a bad idea. Our tenuous relationship strained with the constant contact. My father routinely invaded our privacy, using the "emergency" house key we gave him to enter our home whenever he wanted, even when we were sleeping . He was rude and argumentative with my husband and my in-laws. He told lies about us to my sisters. My marriage bore the stress of the constant problems he caused. My father became more and more combative, even speaking badly of us to the people in the small town where we lived. After three years of escalating conflict, he moved to the state where one of my other sisters lived.
I was so relieved to be rid of him, again, but he was soon inching his way back into my life. Knowing that he was not welcome, he became nicer and I let my guard down, again. And, eventually, I would regret it, again. Over and over that happened. He quickly ruined his relationship with the daughter that he was living near and moved to another state to actually live with my half-sister. She was so sure that she and dad could occupy the same house in harmony. Wrong. And, then it was back to my state, back to me. He had no place to go, he would be homeless, or so he led me to believe. No way he could live with my husband and me after the horrible experience we had with him living next door. So, I bought him a piece of land and a mobile home a mile away. Even that was too close. He started out nice and cooperative and seemingly appreciative of all I was doing for him. That lasted just long enough for the closing on the property to take place. Then, his ugly side came out again. Constant complaints and demands. Nothing I did was good enough. Soon he was telling lies about me to my sisters and his neighbors. But, I put up with it for eight long years.
Why? Why would I allow myself to be treated like that? I kept hoping that if I did enough for him, he would become the dad I always wanted and needed. Time was running out. He was aging. I only had so much time left to finally get the dad I had always hoped for. I did more and more for him, especially as his health declined and he no longer drove. And, still he disrespected and criticized me. Nothing was enough, I was not enough. The more I did, the more he berated me, the more he complained, the more he demanded. As he aged, I felt trapped. How could I break off my relationship with him if his health was declining? He needed me. I could not abandon him. I resigned to a life of his verbal and emotional abuse. Until. . .
Who knows what causes that moment - that moment in time when you say, "Enough! No more!" I stopped to check on him one morning on my way to work. He began berating me for not buying him a car. His truck had broken down a couple of years before, but he was already rarely driving due to his health. I took him grocery shopping, to doctor appointments and anywhere else he needed to go. Then, he got this idea that he could start driving again and that I should buy him a car. When I refused, he became angry and for weeks he had argued with me about it. That morning he started the argument anew, but that time he accused me of abusing him. He said I was a horrible daughter and that he had called a state agency to report me for elder abuse. I knew he was lying, as he often did, but, for some unknown reason, at that moment something snapped inside me. No, that is not the correct description - some slammed shut - like a door closing on our relationship. Without a word, I walked away. I never saw him again. I wrote a letter to him, to the VA Hospital that provided his health care and to my sisters stating that I was no longer responsible for him in any way. He could continue to live on my property, but I had ceased providing him with transportation or any other aid or services. I detailed some of the psychological and emotional abuse I had experienced from him and declared myself free from any his manipulation and cruelty. Three years later I received a call from a deputy sheriff informing me that my father had been found dead in his mobile home and had been deceased for several days. He died alone. His life did not have to end that way, but his own actions brought about his lonely demise.
The day I walked away from him was a day of rebirth for me. It was the beginning of my new life - a life that would take a few years to develop, but a life that was in the birthing process. Taking action to leave that abusive situation opened my mind to clearly seeing and evaluating other relationships and situations in my life. It would lead to the end of my marriage, the terminations of some "friendships" that were unhealthy, the creation of new relationships and a new life.
I am a person who often suffers from guilt. But, surprisingly, when I walked away from my father that day, I never suffered any guilt or shame about my decision. Some people were shocked and judgmental about my decision. My father was usually funny and charming around people he first met or saw infrequently. Friends and acquaintances of mine could not understand why I had such problems with him or why I cut him from my life. They saw a man who was putting on a show - a witty man with great magnetism; I lived with a man who was rarely nice to me unless he needed something from me. Even the disdain and criticism of these people did not affect me. I was strong and confident in my decision. My only regret was that I had not walked away long, long before.
Here is what I learned from my decision to walk away:
My father was a typical mid-20th century husband and father. He expected to have a stay-at-home wife to raise his children, take care of his needs and provide him with a comfortable home life. He was open to having several children, as long as he was able to pay for the bills and his wife was willing to take care of them. I doubt if he, like most men of his time, even thought much about the consequences of having children, other than the cost. His mind was on his business and children were his wife's concern.
Unfortunately, after the birth of four children and the death of one, his wife, and my mother, checked out of this earthly life at the relatively young age of 39. I was an infant when she passed and my older sisters were 10 and 7. Not only was my unprepared father left with three children, one a baby, but those kids were also girls - a fact that seemed to make the situation even harder for him. His mother came from Chicago and took care of us for about 18 months - long enough for my father to find another wife, my stepmother who passed last year, to raise his kids. That marriage failed quickly and again he was faced with three daughters to raise without the help of a woman since my grandmother's age prevented her from coming to his rescue a second time. So, he did the best he could. His best was not all that good in some ways, but he adequately provided for our physical needs.
My father was not the huggy, warm type of dad. Not at all like those wonderful widowed TV dads who are wise, generous and loving. He worked hard - rising at 4 AM to run his business, often working on Saturdays and Sundays. He was impatient, demanding and unforgiving of mistakes and transgressions. A glass accidentally dropped and broken was treated the same as if it were hurled purposefully across the room in a fit of anger. I lost my greatly-needed eyeglasses when I was nine and, as punishment, he refused to buy me new ones. I spent the next eight years sitting in the front of classrooms, squinting to read the chalkboard and books, and living with almost constant headaches until I went to live with my stepmother and she took me to the optometrist and I soon sported new glasses that allowed me to see so much that I had been missing.
My father had a temper, but he never hit us. He would yell, he would slam doors, he would subject us to days, weeks and even months of silence for not acting or being who he wished we were. My two older sisters left home as soon as they graduated high school, leaving me alone to deal with him. Nothing I did was good enough, right enough or fast enough. I was an A student, but felt like a failure. When I was 14 we had a silly argument over who sang a song and he stopped talking to me - for months. I became depressed; my friends and teachers worried about me. A guidance counselor intervened and eventually my father allowed me to go live with my stepmother in another state.
At first, I was just relieved and happy to have him out of my life, but since my stepmother forced me to stay in contact with him, I soon fell back into the old pattern of wanting to please him and never being able to do so. He visited me and I visited him a few times over the next three years. Then, I ended up moving to the state where he had settled and we even lived in the same town for a couple of years. He traveled a lot with his business, which allowed us to maintain an almost normal and friendly relationship. Then I moved 100 miles away to go to college and within a year, I was married. My husband I moved to another state. My father visited whenever he was traveling through our city. Eventually, after he retired, we ended up living in the same state again and for three years, my father resided in a mobile home on the property where my husband and I had built our home.
Living so close together was a bad idea. Our tenuous relationship strained with the constant contact. My father routinely invaded our privacy, using the "emergency" house key we gave him to enter our home whenever he wanted, even when we were sleeping . He was rude and argumentative with my husband and my in-laws. He told lies about us to my sisters. My marriage bore the stress of the constant problems he caused. My father became more and more combative, even speaking badly of us to the people in the small town where we lived. After three years of escalating conflict, he moved to the state where one of my other sisters lived.
I was so relieved to be rid of him, again, but he was soon inching his way back into my life. Knowing that he was not welcome, he became nicer and I let my guard down, again. And, eventually, I would regret it, again. Over and over that happened. He quickly ruined his relationship with the daughter that he was living near and moved to another state to actually live with my half-sister. She was so sure that she and dad could occupy the same house in harmony. Wrong. And, then it was back to my state, back to me. He had no place to go, he would be homeless, or so he led me to believe. No way he could live with my husband and me after the horrible experience we had with him living next door. So, I bought him a piece of land and a mobile home a mile away. Even that was too close. He started out nice and cooperative and seemingly appreciative of all I was doing for him. That lasted just long enough for the closing on the property to take place. Then, his ugly side came out again. Constant complaints and demands. Nothing I did was good enough. Soon he was telling lies about me to my sisters and his neighbors. But, I put up with it for eight long years.
Why? Why would I allow myself to be treated like that? I kept hoping that if I did enough for him, he would become the dad I always wanted and needed. Time was running out. He was aging. I only had so much time left to finally get the dad I had always hoped for. I did more and more for him, especially as his health declined and he no longer drove. And, still he disrespected and criticized me. Nothing was enough, I was not enough. The more I did, the more he berated me, the more he complained, the more he demanded. As he aged, I felt trapped. How could I break off my relationship with him if his health was declining? He needed me. I could not abandon him. I resigned to a life of his verbal and emotional abuse. Until. . .
Who knows what causes that moment - that moment in time when you say, "Enough! No more!" I stopped to check on him one morning on my way to work. He began berating me for not buying him a car. His truck had broken down a couple of years before, but he was already rarely driving due to his health. I took him grocery shopping, to doctor appointments and anywhere else he needed to go. Then, he got this idea that he could start driving again and that I should buy him a car. When I refused, he became angry and for weeks he had argued with me about it. That morning he started the argument anew, but that time he accused me of abusing him. He said I was a horrible daughter and that he had called a state agency to report me for elder abuse. I knew he was lying, as he often did, but, for some unknown reason, at that moment something snapped inside me. No, that is not the correct description - some slammed shut - like a door closing on our relationship. Without a word, I walked away. I never saw him again. I wrote a letter to him, to the VA Hospital that provided his health care and to my sisters stating that I was no longer responsible for him in any way. He could continue to live on my property, but I had ceased providing him with transportation or any other aid or services. I detailed some of the psychological and emotional abuse I had experienced from him and declared myself free from any his manipulation and cruelty. Three years later I received a call from a deputy sheriff informing me that my father had been found dead in his mobile home and had been deceased for several days. He died alone. His life did not have to end that way, but his own actions brought about his lonely demise.
The day I walked away from him was a day of rebirth for me. It was the beginning of my new life - a life that would take a few years to develop, but a life that was in the birthing process. Taking action to leave that abusive situation opened my mind to clearly seeing and evaluating other relationships and situations in my life. It would lead to the end of my marriage, the terminations of some "friendships" that were unhealthy, the creation of new relationships and a new life.
Here is what I learned from my decision to walk away:
- You can never mold someone into the person you want them to be.
- Abuse does not have to be physical. Emotional and psychological abuse are just as damaging and may even have effects that last longer.
- Leave an abusive relationship as soon as you can.
- Anyone can be an abuser - your spouse, your partner, a parent, a sibling, a friend - ANYONE.
- No one deserves abuse.
- Manipulation is abuse.
- You can change your life, one step at a time.
- Don't pay attention to those who criticize or ostracize you for removing an abuser from your life.
- If your friends do not support your decision to remove an abuser from your life, they are not your friends.
- If other family members do not support your decision to remove an abuser from your life, feel free to remove them, too.
- NEVER feel guilty for doing what is right and healthy for you.
- There are supportive, loving people in the world and if you are wasting all your time trying to please an abuser, you are missing the opportunity to have wonderful relationships with those people.
In a way, my decision to walk away that day led to Manifesting Mount Dora. Back then, I would never have dreamed I could even think about manifesting something wonderful in my life. In fact, I could not even imagine having a wonderful life. Now I do. All because I walked away.
Powerful as always. Thanks for sharing your story!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Shelley. Your comments are so encouraging - I appreciate them greatly. Hope all is well in your world.
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