Re-Education of the Relational Self: Fathers

Our attachment with our parents and caregivers are the first protoypes for our relational narratives. They inform gender expression, our ability to self-regulate, self-esteem, habits, values, interests, etc. That's a lot of fucking pressure! After working within the child welfare system for over 5 years now, I've seen how hard parents work to be good enough parents. No doubt, there's a bell curve, there are definitely shitty, toxic parents out there - a lot of them! However, I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that people are always doing the best that they can. 

Parenting is fucking hard, and children are not as resilient as we tell ourselves (Bruce Perry, The Boy Who Was Raised As a Dog), which means generations of people in the modern age make do with what they've got. Even when people are trying their best, many don't have the tools to be good enough parents, so 40% of children report at least one type of childhood trauma. These traumas can affect not only mental health, but physical health and overall well-being. In fact, here is a free online quiz that will let you know what your ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences) score is and what that may mean for you. Luckily, those traumatic experiences can be offset by resiliency factors such as having at least one supportive adult who made you feel loved and safe, having a structured, consistent environment, or a sense of agency. If, after doing that, you would like a recommendation for a therapist, I know a few incredible, trauma-informed clinicians, and would be happy to share their contact information. 

Fathers

Oof. What is there to say about fathers?  Personally, I've had a painfully soft spot for watching fathers interact with their children at any age. For a long time, the feeling was jealousy, but it has morphed into a kind of wonderment. For those of you who had/have loving, kind, present fathers or strong male role models...how have they shaped your self-concept? I feel incredibly blessed that when my own father was unable to be an active, healthy part of my life, there were people that filled in the gap for me. I remember throwing pity parties for the death of that ideal father, but, at this point in my life, I honestly would have no idea what to do with one. How many times a day would one feed it? Does it need watering? I have no idea how this thing works. 

As one does, I learned a lot from my father when he was around and continue to do so throughout his absence. This list is dripping with irony, but it's how I've made sense of these lessons so far:

• He taught me to pay attention to details. The rhythm and weight of his footsteps told me what kind of day we were all going to have. Sometimes, you could get early warning signs by how my mother reacted to his arrival. Now, I can pick up on minor shifts in affective states which is pretty useful as a therapist.
• He gave me my work ethic and a value for cleanliness. Sleep has always been precious to me, and I really didn't want to be dragged out of bed to put away the dishes left in the drainer. Messes can be anxiety provoking, so for an anxious person as myself, cleanliness can sometimes keep the Sunday scaries away. Although for this one, it is be a bit of a chicken and egg question. 
• He gave me the ability to be compassionate and think of others before myself. I would have never forgiven myself if anybody got in trouble because of something I had done. If someone is hurt, I knew how to comfort them because I understand and can feel other people's pain. 
• He gave me my first lessons on toxic masculinity. As the king of his little kingdom, it was clear that women were there to serve and have babies. And if they didn't do their part, then they were subject to critique. In preparing me to belong to another man, he gave me a promise ring to seal my oath of virginity. This eventually taught me how powerful I was as a woman.
• He taught me discretion. I learned how to hide my mistakes when I made them; I learned to hide myself. And if I couldn't hide, I found ways to make myself as small as possible. More importantly, it was important that I hide any trace of his faults, even to my own detriment. Now, I'm learning how to listen to my gut when it intuits something instead of mindlessly protecting or excusing other people's behaviors. 
• He taught me the power of confidence and presentation. If you use enough distraction, people will be so mesmerized that they won't think to dig deeper or take a closer look. Now I am working on authenticity, transparency, and a healthy sense of self-esteem.
• He taught me how to be amiable and agreeable. If one is taught to be compliant, they aren't given the opportunity to make choices, and therefore don't develop personal preferences. This is quite handy in making friends because people get to do exactly what they want to do and they feel very seen. But I now have to be careful in balancing genuine agreeableness with my tendency to numb out to my wants and needs.
• He taught me to have thick skin and and high tolerance for pain. If one feels trapped in a situation, sometimes, your body and brain will coordinate to dissociate, leaving you numb to the verbal or physical attacks assailing you. Now, I can be grateful when I feel pain because it means I'm present and not trying to escape.

On the other side of childhood, these lessons have been valuable, but most certainly not the way he intended. I don't know that he intended anything really; I truly believe that he also was doing the best that he could. His best just really fucking sucked. All these years later, its much harder to paint him as the villain - mostly because I have some distance from it; but after my training as a therapist, I can trace the path of his own pain, trauma, and suppression leading to the abuse he inflicted on others. I can see how that thread of influence continued even after he exited our family in the lives of its members. Trauma never really leaves you, but with time and work, its impact can be lessened.

I will say, I think the Church is a perfect sanctuary for people like my dad to blend in and go unchallenged, and I would ask my religious friends to be more aware of what could be happening right in front of them. Also important, is to be trauma informed in your response when something like this comes up in your congregation. I know it would have been an insane hassle to take down, but it irks me that the church I grew up in still has the nine (2.5ft by 3ft) panels of stained glass my dad created. Embedded into the back wall, it sits ostentatiously behind the pulpit and even after he was out of my life, that image taunted me until I made the decision to stop attending in college. Again, they were also doing the best that they could. Thank goodness for other kind men in my life who were able to teach me other, less unhealthy lessons. My mom has as many siblings as I do, and the men her sister's chose for husbands were the first evidence that there are humble, kind, gentle men in the world. Part of me has always been jealous of my mom for the kind of man she was given as a father. 

Some of the most pleasant memories I have from childhood come from the moments of one-on-one attention my grandfather gave me early in the morning, just after he had finished his farm chores. He would put on some eggs to boil, then read Archie comic books to me or play a game of checkers in his study corner that was lined with his books and notebooks. As I got older and we were able to visit him at the assisted living home where my grandmother visited him twice a day, my siblings and I would push his chair down to the massive display cage that held dozens of brightly-colored songbirds; he would ask which ones were the favorites and whistle back to the little creatures. One of the last times I saw him before the Alzheimer's finally took him, I was devastated when he no longer recognized me and my siblings, or even my mom. He taught me the importance of education and living in the moment.

While the church I grew up in was not particularly trauma-informed, it afforded me the opportunity to see more examples of a different kind of father than I was familiar with. I loved my first youth pastor and had a couple friends whose dads were especially kind to me. I always wondered if they suspected anything was wrong at home or if I was just that weird girl who was attention-seeking. One in particular took me and my younger brother under his wing after dad was gone, an unofficial adoption of sorts; he and his wife were affectionately nicknamed Papa and Mama T. These people taught me the importance of generosity and having a meaningful cause to give back to. 

I adored my older brother Jonathan because he made me laugh, and let me listen to his loud music or watch movies when our parents weren't home. One time, he let me fire a shotgun, but didn't tell me about the kick; he roared with laughter when the blast sent me flying back on my ass. Then he brushed me off and taught me how to safely handle a firearm. I think, for fair reasons, he was afraid of being affectionate and sometimes lacked follow through when he promised to do something fun with me. But he was reckless and energetic and the only one I ever saw stand up to my dad.  He is 12 years older than me, so I was still pretty young when he "abandoned" us to go to college. I saw him fall in love and continue to love that woman as they grew and changed together by building her up, expressing his care for her, and being flexible. I've watched him be a father to his children as he instilled in them the same sense of adventure and ambition for life.  The thread of influence left over from our dad still weaves itself into his story - into his ability to love himself - but every time I get to have conversations with him now, I like him more and appreciate his journey. I always feel very honored when he opens up about his struggles as a father to teenagers or where he is in life. He continues to teach me the importance of perseverance and independence and making your own definition of family.

My first brother-in-law, Curtis, was handsome and seemed to be pretty nice to my sister, so he quickly became my favorite; it was clear that he was a hard-worker and took pride in providing for his family, but he wasn't trying to prove anything. Over the years, I've also witnessed him being a good father to his children; I got to watch how that impacted my niece and nephews' lives, and that has been healing for me in ways that I don't think they could understand. He is the kind of man who is respectful and fair to others regardless of who is or isn't around; he is one of the few people who lean more conservatively for whom I have an immense amount of respect. He lives his life true to his principles without passing judgement on how others live. He keeps teaching me the importance of kindness and the balance between hard work and spending quality time with loved ones.

There have been a few other male figures that took on pseudo-father roles in one way or another. In college it was my psych professor Bill. When I was married, it was my husband's father and grandfather. In grad school, my adviser and professor, Steve played a huge role, although he would definitely deny this because it would make him feel old. All in all, I have been really lucky to have so many good men in my life, and yet it has taken me years to rewrite some of the old scripts that continue to show up in my relationships today...granted the effect is much smaller than it used to be. 

If you've had a not so great father, I hope you give yourself some grace in your journey of healing. I hope you do the hard work of healing generational trauma. I hope that when you are tired that you give yourself rest and take pride in how far you've come. 

Check back for a post on mothers. That one is going to hurt...for me at least. 

Thank you for reading!