Some Thoughts on 12 Years of Estrangement

In 2010, I made the decision to effectively sever my relationship with my father. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly and I have spent a lot of time in the last 12 years feeling guilty and ashamed. Was it really the right choice? Am I a selfish daughter for doing this? I know it was and I know I’m not, and through lots and lots of therapy, I have come to understand that is was the best decision I could have made for myself. I had to do it; there was no other option.

Let’s talk about my dad for a second and this decision I made. Most of you weren’t around when I made this decision, and I’ve only mentioned my dad briefly since then. My dad and I always had a fraught relationship. He had a gambling addiction and a mean temper, which led to a very volatile home environment. He was physically and emotionally abusive to my mother; I remember countless nights of huddling underneath my bed with a pillow pressed tightly against my ears to drown out the sounds of their fighting. My parents separated when I was in 5th grade, and I was so, so relieved.

I always felt like I had to be better to earn my dad’s love. I never thought I measured up to the daughter he wanted me to be. I wasn’t smart enough, thin enough, pretty enough, athletic enough, friendly enough, funny enough. There was this period of time when my dad would take my brother and me to a tennis court to play tennis, but once he realized how bad I was at tennis, he told my brother it would probably be better if it was just the two of them. We were just playing to have fun, but he made it a competition. (To my brother’s credit, he turned down this offer from my father.)

When things were good, though, they were so good. He has always been a funny, personable guy who loved playing with us and making us laugh. I have so many cherished memories of him, like the way he was always down to play any game with us, from Marco Polo in the pool to Blind Man’s Buff in our darkened home. He loved embarrassing us in public by doing something silly, like loudly singing along to the music playing in Olive Garden. He introduced us to so many of his favorite comedies, like Tommy Boy. When my brother and I were younger, we would go to theme parks all the time. My mom and my brother loved riding roller coasters, but I was terrified of them. My dad wasn’t a fan, either, and he always stayed behind with me and we would have a blast together on our own. I loved my dad and all I wanted was to be loved by him.

Throughout my life, my dad was in and out of jail for many reasons. It’s not really important why he was in jail, but it is important to understand how this affected me. It meant I had to grow up quicker than most kids do. Most kids get to spend their childhoods thinking their parents are infallible and perfect and superheroes. I did not. I learned quickly that my dad was not a superhero, but a man who had made such big mistakes in his life that he was considered a criminal in the eyes of the law. I learned about the world of ex-convicts very early on in my life: the adjustment period they must go through, how hard it is for them to find work afterwards, how easy it is to get sucked back into their old life.

There were a lot of things that led up to our estrangement, but I quickly started to realize that having my father in my life was becoming a detriment to my mental well-being. I was continuing to fall back into old patterns of thinking that I wasn’t good enough, leading me to keep myself small and reclusive. I didn’t get to have the experiences that so many people in high school and college have: the parties, the friendships, the boyfriends, the extracurriculars, the long-lasting memories. I was buried in self-esteem issues that kept me from doing anything more than the bare minimum. I was living in survival mode, and I had been here for years.

In 2010, I sent my dad a letter where I detailed everything I was feeling about our relationship. I told him exactly how he had made me feel all these years, hoping we could begin to really talk about our relationship and get it to a healthier place. Should I have had a face-to-face conversation with him about this? Perhaps, but I was 22 and writing was the best way I knew how to express myself. Plus, I was pretty sure my dad would have tried to gaslight me if I had tried it any other way. The letter was so cathartic to write, but my dad’s response was pretty horrific. It was that response that led to our estrangement because I knew I could never expect him to apologize for the way he had made me feel, nor find it in himself to even care about the way I felt. He’s a narcissist and people like that don’t change.

It’s been 12 years since the estrangement, and I know, without a doubt, that it was the right choice for me. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, especially at such a young age, but I am so proud of my younger self for what she did. In the book, Tiny Beautiful Things, Cheryl Strayed answers a letter from a girl who has just become estranged from her father and I think about Strayed’s advice to this girl so often. “By insisting that your father treat you with respect, you are fulfilling your greatest duty, not only as a daughter, but as a human. That you stopped interacting with an abuser as powerful as your father is a testament to your courage and strength.” Yes. YES.

What have the past 12 years been like for me? It’s been like this:

I still love my father deeply. I miss him every day, and sometimes the loss feels so profound that it takes my breath away. It’s always so hard to believe that he is still out there, somewhere, living his life and neither my brother nor I are a part of it. June is a hard month because it combines his birthday and Father’s Day. I always wonder if he’s thinking of me on my birthday.

I am so glad I have my brother in this. We went through this estrangement together. My brother’s reasons for estrangement are his own, and I won’t get into the specifics of that, but I will say that having him to talk to about this, someone who knows exactly what I’m going through, was instrumental in helping me heal and move forward. We were able to commiserate and now, we’re able to joke about it. (There are lots of inside jokes!) It would have been a million times harder if I didn’t have his support and if he still had a relationship with my dad.

Therapy has been crucial for me to heal from my traumatic upbringing. I’ve come to terms with this estrangement and how much I needed to be estranged for my own mental well-being. I’ve learned that my incessant need to know where my mom is and that she’s okay is a result of her being the only safe space in my chaotic world growing up. I’ve learned how I have let my father’s words and actions show up in my dating life, especially in the way that I don’t stand up for my needs. I’m working on that.

Estrangement is a weird place of purgatory. I can’t relate to people who have lost a parent and I can’t relate to people who have both parents alive and well. It’s hard for me to see women who have great relationships with their fathers (even though I know I am so, so lucky to have a great relationship with my mother). It’s not necessarily a trigger for me in books; mostly I feel a wistfulness of something I could have had but didn’t.

Losing my grandpa a few years ago made this estrangement more difficult. He was my surrogate father for so many years; he was the father figure I could depend on no matter what. He loved me for who I was and always greeted me with the widest smile. I felt so cherished by him, and his death hit me harder than anything. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone and I’ve lost that connection to my only father figure.

I still think of my father every day. I wonder how he’s doing, if he’s okay. If I think about how alone he is in the world, I become a mess. That’s when I feel the most guilty, even though I know this was his own doing. Sometimes, I do a search for him to see if anything comes up. That’s when I feel the most vulnerable because what if something does? It hasn’t yet, but I’m waiting for that day. It’s such a weird feeling that he could die some day, and I may not know until weeks or months or years later.

The truth is that I would be so happy to welcome my dad back into my life. I frequently have dreams about this happening, but there would be a lot that would have to happen to make this a possibility. There would need to be an apology, there would need to be strict boundaries, and there would need to be a very slow process to rebuilding our relationship. Honestly, I don’t think that will ever happen and I have accepted that. This is my reality and it’s one I have worked very hard to be okay with.