My parents divorced when I was 12.
My dad left us right at the beginning of my sixth grade year. He decided that he didn’t love my mother anymore and he left.
I don’t remember the words my mother used to tell me or where we were when she gave me the news. I’m sure there were a lot of “this is not your fault’s” and “this is not about you, but about us’s” and “we both love you’s.”
The truth is that it didn’t matter what was said. The words that were used did not change the reality. My father did not want to live with us anymore. He did not want us to be a family. No other factors mattered to me at the time.
Fairly or unfairly, I laid the blame solidly at his feet.
I was hurt.
I was angry. So, so angry.
Every tear I overheard my mother shed when she thought I wasn’t listening, every missed phone call or visit, and there were a lot of them, only served to make it worse.
My mother would beg me to talk to him, to go see him, but I held tight to the anger. The anger carried me and allowed me to survive the aching loneliness of perceived abandonment.
Anger and hurt eventually breed bitterness. My heart grew a lot of bitterness.
That bitterness grew and twisted and molded me.
And it shaped the relationship with my dad for years.
The previous post in this series is The Moment I Grew Up.
The next post is The Wedding.
Note: This a series I’m writing about my relationship with my Dad. Some of it will not be pretty, but it is time for me to set these memories free. Mistakes were made by everyone, including me, so please read with a soft heart and forgiveness so that I may forgive myself. Some people will probably think that I should not write this, but I offer up two quotes from Anne Lamott for the reason why I should.
If people wanted you to write warmly about them they should have behaved better.
Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past.
I will be linking these posts up with Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write because that is the only way I will be able to get them out… to just write.
Blogging is therapy. Write it out, chica
Alita
That is exactly what this is, therapy. It is going to be hard and ugly, really hard and ugly, but it does get better.
I am glad you are writing this out… it will heal you and help you make peace with things.
I need peace. I need to be able to forgive myself for blaming him and the distance that caused between us.
Honestly, I cannot imagine how much your heart hurt that day and the ones after. I am SO sorry.
But yes, glad you are writing it all out…
<3
Oh my heart. I guess now everyone will get to know how I learned to build my walls.
So glad you are doing this. Getting the infection OUT is how we heal. Brave girl…you are. Keep at it, even when its difficult.
But it hurts so bad to cut it out.
Keep going, little engine that could.
I’m going to try.
I was really little when my parents split, so I didn’t get any anger until I was too big to wear it like that.
It’s so hard when you are at a certain age. 12. Bites under the best circumstances.
Oh I wore it alright. I cloaked myself in it.
I hope your honest accounts will bring you peace and healing.
Michelle
http://normalchaosforamultitaskmom.blogspot.com/2012/09/soak-it-in.html
I hope so too. I don’t want to relive all of this for nothing.
Oh wow. You are brave to share your story this way. <3
I don’t know if I would call it brave. Maybe just too strong for too long. Or too weak.
I’m a big believer in that blogging/writing your feelings can only lead to healing. I just don’t practice what I preach, even though I am working on it. Write it out, and hopefully you can let go of the anger, hurt and bitterness. Love those quotes by Anne Lamott.
Writing has definitely been a big part of my therapy. I had never planned to go through all of this again, and I’m sure some people wishes that I wouldn’t, but it is time. I have to let it go.
It’s so hard to see both sides of the story even as an adult. I think your feelings make perfect sense for a child.
I just read all the stories in the series, Jenn. I can feel through your words how close to the surface your emotions are. I could see you as a little girl and it made me cry.
I hope this brings you healing. Love you.
We really do have a lot in common. I was 14- the summer before my freshman year. Unfortunately, I DO remember exactly where I was and what I was doing… I came in from playing outside- it was Saturday evening and we were starting our Saturday night ritual of watching Golden Girls. I still remember staring at the opening of it flashing by, with the sound muted, while listening to the words they were saying but not really wanting to hear them. Wendi immediately jumped up and ran off crying. They both went after her- I just sat there silently watching the Golden Girls while feeling so empty inside.
Empty is a very good word. I just wish I would have known to fill up the empty with something good instead of something bad. Hindsight.
That second quote really got to me. I love it!
She has so many brilliant quotes. I have two of her books. I really need to read them.