My mother’s vileness ruled the family with a rod of iron, and I grew up feeling terribly sorry for my lovely nice dad, who I kind of hero worshipped. I grew up with the roles very clear in my mind, and the dynamics very set: mother hideous, father wonderful, mother the bully, father on the side of the victims, with me and my sister. I used to try and protect him from the worst of her nastiness, even from an early age I learnt to take the flak, I mean from 7yrs old, perhaps younger. And he used to let me.
I had a wonderful counsellor when DS was a baby, so I could take him to sessions (I think you can until they are 1 or 2yrs old?).
Anyway, this guy was so insightful, he helped me reframe what happened to me growing up and when I’d understood it better, I could come to terms with it better.
One thing in particular really stands out to me even now, 7 years later. At one point when I was talking about my home life and some of the times I’d ‘had to’ step in as a child to protect my father. And how my father would go away for months with work to avoid coming home and facing my mother. The counselor stopped me to ask “I’m feeling a lot of anger and I’m not sure where it’s coming from. Sometimes as a counselor, we can take on emotions that the person is feeling, so is this anger towards your father coming from you?”
I was really confused and asked why I’d be angry? I honestly couldn’t see it. The counselor looked grim and said, ‘well, I’m feeling very angry towards the only other adult in this situation, the only person who had the power to change this situation and protect the innocent children being abused... and maybe I’m feeling the emotion that you cannot’.
It really stuck in my head, and although I never could muster up much anger towards my darling father, he stopped being my blindly followed hero at that point. I can see now that he was responsible for the damage that my mother did to me, just as much as my mother actually. I can see that it’s a cowards act, to hide behind a tiny little girl who takes the abuse for you because she loves her daddy so much. And then that father walks out and leaves his children in hell for months at a time without help, because he’s too scared or just doesn’t see that it might be his responsibility to help his own children.
He too chose my mother over me at one point, but I didn’t force the choice, my mother did, being rabidly jealous and very weird about any warm relationship between me and my dad. I didn’t make him choose or join in that fight because in my heart of hearts I knew who he’d choose... as he had done each time he’d let her hurt me instead of himself and each time he’d walked out the door and left her in change of us.
It’s terrinly painful, and I don’t think it’s your fault, or my fault. It’s the continuing damage that two adults are playing out together, in their fucked up relationship, where their bond is incredibly dysfunctional and does so much collateral damage, but it’s a strong bond nonetheless.
I do have a few moments of closeness that I treasure, between me and my father. He died, so I can’t go back and ask for more. But I don’t think the moments with your dad are false or anything, he’s just not capable of being a fully functioning adult and when that string gets pulled, back he goes.
