I’m not ready to talk about it yet, but I did the same exercise that I did about what I wish my mom could know – but written to my Dad.
And when I was done and cried out and finished writing, I read it.
And it was an apology letter. From me, to him.
I wrote this rage and guilt and sadness and grief filled opus to my Mother encompassing all the emotions – the love, the sadness, the longing. But it was honest and true and said what I needed to say.
I sit down to tell my Dad what I wish he knew – and it’s full of sentences like this.
I wish you knew:
That I meant to do better. Im sorry for all the times I disappointed you. I tried so hard to meet your expectations, and I don’t ever know if you’ll love me for the effort.
That I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to love him the way you wanted. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the sister you hoped I’d be. I’m sorry I’ll never be good enough for you to proudly announce I’m your daughter.
That I love you so much and there are so many times I wish I had done better by you.
And these aren’t sarcastic apologies. I don’t mean them sarcastically. I feel like I’ve failed him.
There are clearly, clearly, some deep seated issues here.
And unlike the letter to my Mom, which I’m bringing in to therapy today to talk about with A, I think I’m going to avoid talking about my Dad for a while.
It’s a sore spot. I just didn’t realize how bought in to that narrative of not being good enough for him I was.
I’m bought in, a lot.