I Don't Have Daddy Issues

on the grace and grief of going no contact

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

I have been no contact with my dad for about four months now, and it feels like I’m grieving someone who died while they’re still alive.

When I first started dating my husband, I VERY confidently told him that I didn’t have any daddy issues because I got along with my dad and my stepdad.

Honestly, I did not think that there was any trauma there, or it was minimal at best.

My parents divorced when I was around four or five, and I don’t really have any memories of it. My dad worked out of state for a big part of my life alongside his parents and brother. He would see me when he could, or I would fly out to see him on occasion, but the majority of my life was spent with my mom and stepfamily.

My dad was most likely undiagnosed with ADHD and hopping from one passion/job to another for the sake of novelty (which, honestly, same. I mean, how many times have I rebranded this publication, or come up with a new angle of how I would do things? Don’t even get me started on how I redecorate and reorganize my house every three months lol!) But he was also always trying to make more money and provide.

As a kid, I knew that he loved me. I was always told that no one would doubt his love for me. But even as a child, I wasn’t immune to the fact that Dad wasn’t always there or that he was perfect. He tried so hard to be there, and he was fun to be with when I did get to be with him. He didn’t really need to discipline me, and he always told me to listen to my mom and stepdad as my authority figures.

I put him on a pedestal. I was Daddy’s girl. But even as a child, I felt like I was always chasing after something just out of reach, staring out the window wondering when he was going to come pick me up.

Maybe that’s why I chased after emotionally unavailable men in college.

Maybe that's why I said “yes” to them…when I really wanted to say “no”.

There was a really sweet decade where we got to reestablish a new sort of relationship in my adulthood where there wasn’t the pressure of parenting for him, and there was autonomy for me. I enjoyed that time.

Then I got engaged. And then I had a family.

My priorities had to shift.

It had always been just him and me; I was the only child between him and my mom, and there really wasn’t anyone after that long term.

Though there was a new and sweet relationship in adulthood, it was not a traditional father-daughter relationship. Emotional dependence ruled on both ends. Then things just naturally shifted as I got older and started a family.

There were unrealized and unmet expectations on both ends. There were lessons to be learned, changes to be made, and communication to develop.

We were on a journey as two broken people who loved Jesus and loved each other, but were very much human.

As I became a parent and worked on myself in counseling to try to become the healthiest person I could be for my own kids, I experienced a sadness in realizing just how real and flawed ALL my parents were.

My mom came to know Jesus at 26/ 27 when I was around 6/7, and that changed everything for her and how she parented.

I know my dad knows and loves Jesus, but sometimes, for whatever reason, some people just struggle more.

There is a grace that comes with being a parent yourself—a grace you have for your own parents in knowing how hard this journey is. But I don’t think anything really ever prepares you for when you realize that even though your parents were trying their best, it still may not have been what was best for you.

Although I’ve been no contact for four months, I feel like my eyes are only just now starting to open to the pattern of the treatment I’ve experienced in the relationship we established in my adulthood. I guess I should be relieved that it’s not something that was aimed at just me; there has been a consistent pattern in multiple relationships over multiple decades of guilt, lies, and reconciliation.

But I didn’t recognize it happening to me for the past decade until four months ago.

Even though you can block someone, an iPhone still allows you to receive blocked voicemails if you want to listen to them. I came across a really painful voicemail today, and my heart just hurts.

There has always been a part of me that has wanted to protect my dad, to preserve my dad, to shield my dad. I knew he was always trying his best. I knew he loved me.

But the feelings of love can not survive without the acts of love.

There’s a grief that I feel now, very similar to the grief I felt but couldn’t name as a kid. It’s this grief that no matter how much you want someone to be what you need them to be (and sometimes no matter how much they want to be what you need), sometimes they can’t.

Like Santa, we all grow up eventually and find that our parents aren’t the superheroes we thought them to be. That’s okay, and truly, in a lot of ways, that can be healing. I know it has been for my relationship with my mom as I’ve become a mom myself.

I communicated something to a family member recently that I believe was passed on to my dad:

My presence wasn’t able to make a difference, so maybe my absence will.

I don’t say that to be bitter, resentful, or hateful, even if it comes across that way. Because I’ve always wanted to give him the illusion that he was the dad to me that I know he wanted to be. But that’s not something I can do anymore. That’s not a burden that a child should have to bear.

The whole reason that I had to put distance in our relationship to begin with was that maintaining a relationship with him was costing me my relationship with my children and my ability to be fully present emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It was causing so much strife and hurt in my marriage as I repeatedly called my husband off from imposing stricter boundaries or lashing out at him for things that were not his fault

Even though it hurt like hell, I cut off my toe to save my leg.

When you have this feeling of responsibility for your parent as a child, setting boundaries can feel very similar to cutting off one of your own children in a way. It’s not something I take lightly. It’s not something I revel in or rejoice in.

Also, as a follower of Jesus, I still want to honor my dad, even in this. ESPECIALLY in this.

This is not even necessarily about him. This is about me finally coming to realize my own feelings that I’ve ignored for so long, and understanding what it takes for me to be a better wife and mom.

I still want to highlight that I care about him. I want the best for him. I want him to heal, to have the best life that he can have, and to be the best version of himself that he can be. I’ve supported him, I’ve helped him, and I’ve loved all the fun memories we’ve had. He can be funny, generous, creative, and loving.

And he’s broken. We all are. Two things can be true at the same time:

Loving someone doesn’t equate to leniency.

Accepting someone doesn’t equate to accessibility.

I’ve learned when it comes to writing that you should share from the scar and not the wound. This was not something I had ever planned on writing or sharing. But the truth is that there are multiple scars, multiple wounds. There are things that have long since scarred over where new, sweet memories helped heal. There are scars that have been ripped open, and unfortunately, there are also new wounds.

I know that I am not alone in this. So my encouragement to you, if any of this resonates, is just to remember that grace and grief can be true at the same time.

Forgiveness is a journey to set yourself free from waiting for an apology that you may never get.

It is okay that someone may not be able to be who you need or want them to be, while always hoping and praying that God can help them become it.

I love my earthly father.

I love my stepfather who stepped in.

But overall, the thing that matters most is that I have a good, good Father in heaven.

No matter what any of my earthly relationships look like, I don’t need to search for anything that they can give that my heavenly Father hasn’t already given me.

Because He’s given me His Son, and He’s given me Himself.

He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?

Rom. 8:32

To my dad: if for some reason you ever come across this, I do love you. I pray for you, I want the best for you, and I hope that there will be reconciliation on this side of heaven for us. And if not, I know there will be when I go home to be with my Savior.

To you, sweet friend: If you’re reading this and going through something similar, please know you’re not alone. This is not going to be a topic that I explore past this article; I hope that if there are any updates in the future, they are only good ones.

But please, if you take nothing else away from this, just know:

God loves you. He has never left you, and you are never alone.

Much Love,

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