I don’t feel good about Father’s Day.
My dad was around when I was growing up, but he worked 12-18 hour days, sometimes traveled for work, and often experienced chronic and mental health issues. I didn’t understand any of that when I was young.
My dad also had an explosive temper while I was growing up — verbal only, for which I am grateful. Of my siblings and myself, I’m the most like my dad, including with the short fuse. From the age of 12 to the age of 21, the interactions with my dad that I recall the most of were screaming matches. Sometimes, they were daily occurrences.
I don’t remember my dad telling me he loved me until I was well into my 20s. My mom says he didn’t during those years. I guess it was easier to tell me as a little kid, which I don’t remember happening, then to tell a thorny and combative pre-adolescent, of which I was very cognizant.
I guess you could say I have some classic daddy issues.
From the age of 21 to now, which is two weeks shy of 37, I’ve almost exclusively dated men 11+ years older than myself.
My first serious relationship started when I was 21 and he was 40. It proved to be a disaster. He had a daughter who is 11 years my junior. He would not and did not treat or interact with as he should. (She is one of my closest friends to this day and out of respect for her, I’m not going into detail.) Witnessing those interactions and adding to them my own interactions with him, my daddy issues worsened.
Next, I met and then married someone 11 years older than me. That didn’t go well, but not because of the age difference. (Or maybe that was a bigger factor than I’ll let myself acknowledge at this time.)
There have been others, too. One night stands, flings, FWB, short-term relationships, long-term partnerships. Almost always with men nearly old enough (or definitely old enough) to be my father. I rarely find myself attracted to people around my age and I haven’t been able to form relationships based on anything other than sex with anyone other than these old men. It’s not for lack of trying.
I’ve been in therapy since I was 14, trying to overcome too many things, trying to move past trauma, trying to fill the parent-shaped holes in my heart. I’ve come to believe that all the therapy in the world will not fill those holes. Therapy has helped me understand that I wasn’t a bad kid and that I wasn’t undeserving of healthy relationships with supportive parents. Therapy continues to help me understand my longing and need, to temper my desire, and to curb my grasping for what cannot be in the past, present, or future.
But, therapy isn’t a replacement for love, affection, encouragement, or pride. Sometimes, I still ache to receive these in ways that aren’t filled by the relationships that I have. They aren’t filled by self-love and they aren’t filled by distracting myself with healthy coping mechanisms. They aren’t filled with time, distance, or my current relationship with my dad. For a while, I thought they were filled by beginning to participate in a DD/lg relationship, but perhaps I was fooling myself.
I don’t know that there’s a way to ever fill the needs left by the parent-shaped holes in my heart. Sometimes, I think that filling them is no longer what I need — maybe living a good life with those holes, despite those holes, is ultimately what should be my focus. Maybe, in so doing, the holes disappear. Maybe. But, until that happens — if that happens — I still don’t feel good about Father’s Day.
