Fatherless daughter 1

Fatherless daughter. Yes, that’s me. Messed up, right? In some ways, it is. But don’t pity me. Sit back and listen to the struggle, because it’s real.

“Daddy’s gone.” That’s what my family said.

“Where did he go?” I wondered. And: “When is he coming back? Does ‘gone’ mean forever?”

But life has to go on, right?

Still, my questions wouldn’t stop. “Who’s going to pick me up from school now? Who’s going to protect me?” As far back as I could remember, he’d said he would always be there to protect me.

Those were just some of the questions I asked myself when I became a fatherless daughter, and was faced with the knowledge that my father would no longer be there every day. Worse yet? You know that crucial lesson a father teaches his daughter, the one about how a man is supposed to treat her? It evaporated for me before ever having made its mark.

As I tried to come to terms with my new reality, my single grandmother stepped in to fill the role. I didn’t, or couldn’t, heed all of what she was saying: The need to fill the void caused by an absent father was more powerful than her words of wisdom. You follow?

But, time passed, I grew older and began to show interest in dating, bashful though I was. The first man who took a serious interest in me reminded me, in a small way, of my father, so I thought, “Oh, he’s the best guy in the world!” Naturally, I loved him. He gave me that feeling that filled the void I’d subconsciously been looking to fill ever since the day my father left.

Then, because I was afraid to leave that empty space…empty, I tried my best to be his best. But, because he himself had no father, he didn’t even know how to match the level of love I gave him. Instead, he was exactly like his father.

Now, had his father been a man who knew how to honour his mother, then maybe my experience with him (the son) would’ve been a good one. But, since that simply wasn’t the case, he was an asshole and unaware of how mentally abusive and manipulative he was towards me. In a way, just like me, he was fatherless.

So, I got upset, I felt let down, and I harboured resentment towards him. Eventually, after all the turmoil and dysfunction, I found enough guts to walk away.

Still, I left with a heart scarred by disappointment. I was angry and I questioned my self-worth.

My friends and family all thought I was doing just fine after the breakup. My friends praised me for my strength and my family reminded me that this, too, would pass. But, little did they know, I wasn’t feeling strong and my heartache wasn’t passing as quickly as they thought. It’s like they could see the problem, but they couldn’t see what the problem was doing to me. They didn’t understand that I could feel that space in my heart being slowly emptied all over again.

For months after the breakup I wondered if this was just how certain relationships were.

“Do all men just break your heart, lie and manipulate? And, am I supposed to just accept it?” I’d wonder. I’d look at older people’s relationships and think, “I’m not that far off,” because their relationships resembled the one I’d just experienced and, sadly, they were still in those relationships.

Maybe I was exactly where I needed to be at that time in my life. Or, maybe I was just too naïve to think a man would treat me the way I remembered my father treating me. My father was honourable…to his kids. He showed up for us and gave his all for us. But for my mother? That’s another story entirely…which is why I was confused. Like, completely lost when it came to trying to understand what a healthy relationship was supposed to look like.

When reflecting on my first relationship, I kept asking myself why I stayed in such a mess of a situation. “Why keep going back when he treated me so poorly? Why give him so many chances to break my heart?” I had so many questions for myself, none of which I had answers for at the time.

I questioned if I was good enough, if I was worthy of a healthy relationship. I didn’t feel pretty whatsoever. In fact, I felt quite ugly. I questioned my looks and my self-esteem was shot to pieces. No one noticed my struggle because I always presented well, like I was okay and was being “strong” (strong meant to have it together even in times when it warrants you to not be strong). However, if they could’ve seen past my strong exterior, they would’ve seen all the wounds and scars he left on my heart.

One night, my grandmother saw me crying and asked me what was wrong. I didn’t tell her everything, but I told her that I felt like I was losing my mind. I felt so beaten up inside that I didn’t know what to do.

She said, “Girl, if you study people, they will make you lose your head. Whenever you want to get someone out of your heart, you have to pray them out. You have to get down on one knee and pray him out, pray him out.” And all this was said in her Jamaican accent, let me remind you!

When she told me I had to forgive him, I looked at her as if she was fucking crazy, but she said, “Yes, you do.” After she left my room, you know what your homegirl did? I got down on my knees and prayed to a God I wasn’t even sure I believed in.

After praying on him and asking God to allow the feelings and disappointment to leave my heart, I took some time for myself. I just wanted to think, refocus, and let go. If I didn’t, I probably would’ve lost my mind. During that time, I worked on restoring my confidence and my self-worth. I had lost my voice that I’d worked so hard for before I met him and, slowly, my voice was starting to come back.

As the months went on, I regained my confidence, my self-worth was all the way up, and I was feeling good. I was still bashful, but I was open to meeting someone new.

Eventually, my girl hooked me up with her boyfriend’s cousin. That relationship would last for about six years. It was with a man who was very patient with me, and who became my best friend. But more on that another time!

TO BE CONTINUED…PART 2 AVAILABLE