Happy Father's Day
My Dad passed away recently and the strangest thing happened. I felt... relieved. And shocked at the appearance of this honest emotion. Unbridled, allowed. The obligatory guilt quickly followed but I'm not sure if this second emotion was as honest. I've always had an odd relationship with my parents but it was only when I became a parent myself that I began to see the things that I considered odd for what they really were.
Dependency and Denial
My parents were like the friends you lose touch with after your twenties because for them, the party never stops. The ones who have surpassed social drinking and rely on booze to numb their emotions and to help them get through the many stressors of daily life. The ones who have always been the heavy drinker in the group but outgoing, full of fun ideas and the first to try and convince you to have just one more drink when the party is shutting down. At the same time, they are in denial about their dependency on alcohol and are convinced they could stop drinking at any point if it "actually was a problem".
Throw in narcissistic tendencies on top of the never ending denial and you've got a recipe for very confused children who grow into very confused adults. We've all had to walk away from that friend or two. But how do you cut ties with your parents in the same way?
Like many other kids of our generation, my sister and I were raised to act as if everything was fine even if it wasn't. Put on a cute outfit and a smile, go to school and ignore the after affects of drunken arguments, lies and manipulation.
Don't get me wrong... There were good times to be had with parents who were more like buddies than protectors. There was always something to celebrate or a concert to go to. We had epic parties and sporadic adventures. Feelings were something you faked and messy emotions were swept under the rug. Put on a great song, pour a drink and everything would be fine you know?
Mental health was rarely considered back then, nevermind discussed or treated especially when there was nothing that could be wrong. Cheers to the good life. None of this seemed too concerning to me as a teenager or twenty something who loved to party and was a fan of drinking to numb my own anxiety and depression.
All Of That Changed
But all of that quickly changed when I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Maternal instincts kicked in and nothing mattered more than the safety and well being of my child. My needs automatically came second and every decision I have made since then are a reflection of this. I struggled with post partum anxiety and depression triggered by the realization that my parents had never been capable of the dedication and self discipline that is required to be a parent. I was suddenly navigating motherhood while grieving the loss of my own childhood without knowing it.
Eventually I found a wonderful counsellor that helped me concerning and understand the pain I was going through. The reality of the impact of my parents decisions and how I was raised hit me in the face and my god it hurt. I had outgrown their way of life and knew I had to focus on my own growth and goals. Booze was to be enjoyed in moderation and socially rather than a bandaid.
As an adult my Dad and mother were still manipulating my sister and I. Creating major anxiety and guilt if we didn't do what they were asking. It didn't take long to realize that as hard as it was going to be, I didn't want my own children around such toxic traits. Covid conveniently arrived at the same time as this discovery as did the news of my second child. Social distancing was the perfect excuse to start changing my relationship with my parents.
I was finally seeing them for who they were.
My mother barely noticed the change in my communications with her or if she did, she blamed it on covid. My Dad was different though. As selfish as he was, he noticed the new boundaries I was instilling and did not like it. Although, instead of asking me about it he relied on guilt and manipulation as he always did. Social distancing and being laid off caused his mental health to plummet even more and no one could convince him that he needed professional help. As much as we wanted to. Even when the world began to "open up" again I was afraid of letting my Dad back into my life. My daughter had been born and I was comfortable in our new little world.
Then My Dad Died
Then my Dad died... alone and without warning. And me, his daughter, feels relief. The thing was though that I had been grieving the loss of him for two years before. The difference was that now he was officially gone. As was the hope that one day we could develop some sort of relationship again. One that was safe for my family and mental health.
Rather than allow myself to be overwhelmed with guilt I had to remind myself over and over again why I had ended my contact with him. Of course I am devastated that he never got to meet my daughter or won't see my kids growing up. I'll never laugh with him again or go to some epic concert. And I never did get one last hug. My comfort now is knowing he's at peace, free of addiction, depression and anxiety. Looking down (or up at us!) and seeing my family grow free from what I went through myself.
Written by Renee Frostick
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