I Tried to Call My Father Daddy Once

I was a dad’s girl. I tried to call my father daddy once and we both gave each other a look. We both knew he wasn’t a daddy. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me. I knew he loved me. It was just that neither of us was overly cuddly. We were more logical. I was in grade school and there were girls that called their dads by that name and I was trying it out. It was not natural. I didn’t do it again.

If Dad was available I would be by his side. I am sure I tried his patience a lot, but I did learn to work because that was what my dad liked to do. We worked in the yard. We worked on the cars and on the bikes. We built a shed. We worked in the garden. I wasn’t allowed to prune the trees or anything dangerous but I liked being with my dad. He thought more like me. Most of my questions didn’t overwhelm him. He was usually the most stable parent. If he got upset, there was always a reason; you knew to obey him and never do certain things.

My mom was different. Her mental illness made her different. I never really knew which mom I was going to run into. She was very emotional. She wanted a daughter that wanted to be coddled and I wasn’t that way. She had an easier time with my younger siblings.

My life seemed perfect until I was 5 years old. There is a definite line in my life that started there. My great-grandmother died. I called her Grammy. She was my favorite person. Jesus introduced Himself to me when I was playing under the apple trees in the backyard. I was by myself so there aren’t any witnesses but I will never forget that day and how I never really felt alone again. I also think that was the year that my parent’s marriage really began to fall apart.

My dad left when I was 9 years old. He had made promises to me about when I became a woman. He said he would still be there for me. But he lied.

He lied a lot.

He not only lied but he left me holding the bag. I now had all his responsibilities. He really did expect me to take care of my siblings and the house. He expected me to be happy when I came to visit him even though he emotionally abused me the entire car ride to his place where I had to be respectful of his girlfriend and eventual wife. I hated her. I am positive it was mutual.

Not one promise my father made to me, growing up, ever came true.

I tried to make friends with his wife, when I was a young adult, but she didn’t want that. It didn’t fit in with what she wanted. I was supposed to be the scapegoat.

In my young 20’s, I was in therapy and trying to become whole. It was hard because I didn’t know how to leave the abuse that we were all used to. But when I got married, I left and I finally had someone that asked me to not let them hurt me anymore. After several therapists had suggested I leave them behind, I told them I needed a break. It was supposed to be a break.

But my siblings cut me off. They tallied up anything they ever hated about me and rallied against me and anytime I tried to talk to my father he would tell me about them. I was so confused. He had always said that when we were adults, his job was done. If that was true than these things were none of his business. Why was he talking to me about things they should be talking to me about, but weren’t? Why was he yelling me about this? Why was I being abused still?

When I got cancer I didn’t want my parents to hear it from anyone but me. I felt like I should respect them at least that much. I had told my friends first but that had been in a text. I hadn’t actually said it out loud yet. I had heard it at the doctor’s office with my wife and texted my friends. This was a mistake. I called my mom first but she didn’t answer. So Dad got the message first and I broke down. While I was crying he was telling me about the problems with my damn siblings and their adult kids again. What the hell!

The call ended up with me calling my father a son of a bitch. A few weeks later I sent him a letter asking for forgiveness for my response to him. I don’t believe he deserves to be spoken to like that. But I also see how he brings out the worst in me. I told him I had to be done. I told him I didn’t want to be his daughter anymore. I didn’t want anything from him ever again. I loved him and I pray for him but I had to be done.

I know he didn’t understand this letter. I know he didn’t understand the level of pain I was in to make these statements; that after years of begging for respect and love and better communication, I was removing myself from his flock. Even though I see myself as the most like him and I understand why he does what he does, I have to protect myself. I have forgiven him but I had to leave.

His wife expects me to come back because she usually gets what she wants. She has written to me in his name. I know my father knows me. He knows when I say I am done that I really mean it. I know it was her that wrote the letter that I received the week after my grandpa died, knowing I would be hurting. She really expected me to want reconciliation and she really expected me to apologize but I don’t have anything to apologize for. I am not sorry.

I have repented to God for the pain that my healing has caused. I know that my telling my stories has caused pain because my growth and honesty hurts my fixed mindset extended family members that need to keep their secrets. It is healthy and necessary for me to tell my stories and I also know that there are people that read my stories and they are empowered by them and I want them to be. I am not so special that my stories can’t help someone just as they help me to heal.

I have been told that because I tell my stories I have betrayed my extended family members. That is the trouble with family abuse and traumas that are never dealt with until someone says; here and no further. Because my family has refused to get help with their traumas, which are there. Because they are there, they have perpetuated a system of pain. They could be proud of me. They could see that I am brave and honest. They could see that I have learned a lot of positive tools to deal with the things my brain and body lie to me about and they could join me in getting well. They have not chosen to change. They have that right.

There is a difference between forgiveness and repentance. When we repent we recognize we have made an error and we try our hardest to never do it again. I know this is next to impossible from my fixed mindset family. But it is not impossible for God to do anything. If God wants reconciliation He will make it happen. He knows what I need and what we all need. I trust Him.

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My name is Summer. That is how you can call me. I hope that I am a blessing to you. I am not perfect. I will fall again. But I am forgiven. For anyone reading this that isn’t a Christian, unapologetically, I am a Christian, but I believe there is room for lots of beliefs and religions in the world. It is not my intent to offend people with different beliefs than I have and I would be open to open-minded conversations with no goals of changing anyone’s mind, but sharing information. If you are interested in becoming a Christian…Do you know Jesus? Do want the Holy Spirit to fill you and give you understanding and salvation? Ask Him. Want someone to pray with you? Contact me.

If you would like to know Jesus as your friend, but want to make this amazing commitment by yourself please pray something like this: Thank you Jesus that You are the Son of God, the God that created heaven and earth. Thank you Jesus that You came to earth in the form of a man so that You would be able to empathize with my humanity. Thank You that You did this in order to fulfill the promises You made at the foundation of the world. I realize that I am a sinner and do things that hurt myself and keep myself away from you. Thank You that You died for my sins so that You could defeat death and bring me into Your life. Please forgive me. I ask You to be Lord of my life. I ask you to heal my hurts and show me what my new life, empowered by You looks like. Thank You for Your mercy.