I'm 44 years old and I feel like I'm only just starting to understand my childhood and how much it's probably affected me. I've always known my mum was a shit parent. Apparently she was a really good mum until I was about five, according to my siblings, but I don't remember that version of her. The mum I remember was completely wrapped up in her boyfriend. He was always her priority and that carried on until I was in my late twenties, when he eventually left her for someone younger. She was also incredibly manipulative. She could be so charming and if you met her you'd probably love her, but she had this way of making herself the victim in absolutely every situation. She'd do things for people just so she could tell everyone how much she'd sacrificed and how badly she'd been treated. She was never responsible for anything and everyone else was always to blame. But I always thought I was lucky because I had my dad. I've spent my whole life telling people how amazing he was, how much he loved me and how he was always there for me. And I'm only just starting to realise that maybe he wasn't actually that amazing. Maybe he was just the less shit parent and I needed to believe he was better than he was. He's an alcoholic and has got himself into such a state that he can't live independently anymore. He's been living with me for the last three months and I've had to cut my working hours in half to look after him. I've lost half my wages, I'm putting a career I absolutely love at risk and it's having a massive impact on my own family. And I think having him here has made me realise things about him that I've spent my whole life ignoring. He's selfish and manipulative, and when I think back to my childhood, I can see that he always had those traits. I just never really allowed myself to see them. I remember being about ten and asking him to sing a song when he had friends round. It was a song he always used to sing and I loved it. He didn't want to, which was fine, but the next day he refused to speak to me for the entire day because I'd annoyed him. I was ten. When I was about fourteen, we were on holiday and I'd done something to upset him. I can't remember what, but I remember him telling me to sleep on the floor because I was "scum like my mum". And I've carried those memories around my whole life without ever really questioning them. Somehow, despite things like that, I still thought he was the most amazing dad. I think that's what I'm struggling to understand now. Why did I think he was so wonderful? Why did I make excuses for behaviour that, looking at it now as an adult and a parent myself, was actually really horrible? I wonder if I just needed to believe I had one good parent. My mum made it pretty clear that her relationship mattered more than her children, so maybe I couldn't cope with the idea that my dad wasn't particularly great either. And now I'm 44, looking after him, sacrificing my own time, money and family life, and starting to feel quite resentful. I feel awful admitting that because I love my dad and I don't want anything bad to happen to him. But I'm also angry that his choices have put us in this position and that I'm now the one dealing with the consequences. I'm angry that I'm risking things I've worked really hard for, and I'm angry that it's affecting my family. But then I feel guilty for being angry, because he's my dad and I feel like I should be looking after him. And on top of all that, I'm suddenly questioning my whole childhood. I've spent 44 years believing I had one terrible parent and one brilliant one, and now I'm wondering whether I actually had two pretty selfish, manipulative parents and just couldn't see it. I don't think I've ever really considered how much that might have affected me, or how much of my life I've spent accepting things from people because they're family. I still love my dad and I know there were good times. I'm not trying to pretend there weren't. But I think I've spent so long focusing on the good things about him that I've completely overlooked the bad. And now I can't really ignore them anymore. I think I'm struggling because I'm having to accept that the person I've always seen as my hero might not have been the person I thought he was. And at the same time, I'm feeling responsible for looking after him, even though doing that is having such a negative impact on my own life. I don't really know how I'm supposed to feel about any of it. I'm angry, I'm sad, I feel guilty, and I feel selfish for even questioning whether I should be doing all this for him. I suppose I'm just realising that my childhood wasn't quite what I've always told myself it was, and I'm finding that harder to deal with than I expected.