Cutting Ties: Removing the Seeds of Doubt.

Recently (approximately a week ago), I made the difficult decision to cut my father out of my life. This decision has popped up many times throughout my life, but I pushed it away, seeing the best in him and ignoring the worst. I loved him unconditionally, as a parent loves a child, but he has shown me so many times that his love is conditional, and I have to accept that. After sharing some of the lighter moments of my childhood in my first blog post in March 2025 ("Echoes of Childhood"), he expressed his discontent about how these memories reflected on him. This wasn't new. Also, it wasn’t my intent to make him seem like a villain in my life; my intent was to give a brief timeline to help readers understand a bit of my past. Growing up, he often dismissed my recollections, reminding me again and again that his upbringing was far more traumatic than mine . I do not and have never denied that point. He even advised me, now a mother of four wonderful little humans, to tell my children things were just dreams if I didn't want them to remember—a concept that deeply disturbed me then and continues to affect me today. I still struggle to speak about the things I am still overcoming. I am hesitant to even speak about it in the abstract.

The blog post he read, ("Echoes of Childhood"), contained only a minute fraction of our shared experiences, intentionally vague and rushed to spare him and my mother while still conveying the timeline of trauma that had been a part of my life, a foundation upon which I've built strength. My father and I, especially in the last six years, had been making progress toward a healthier relationship. I've forgiven him countless times for events both before and after his journey into sobriety, a milestone I remain incredibly proud of him for. As this blog is still in its early stages, I had envisioned writing about the positive legacies he left me. However, when I tried to share these thoughts, he dismissed them, reverting to his familiar claim that my life experiences were false.

This interaction illuminated why I had long hesitated to write publicly, why self-doubt has been such a constant companion. This conversation reminded me that through his years of participation in AA, he hadn’t ever apologized to me. I questioned myself; I thought maybe I was being dramatic and unrealistic. Yet, I challenged this ingrained response. Why was he so certain in his denials, especially considering his history of blackouts from alcohol and the head trauma he endured from numerous fights and motorcycle accidents (incidents that have led him to admit his own fears about significant memory loss)? Despite this, the familiar tendrils of self-doubt began to creep in as I reread my words. Had I been too harsh in my brief descriptions of situations that I overcame to draw strength from?

Seeking clarity, I reached out to my mother, my best friend, my partner, and my therapist. My best friend and mother validated many of the situations I described. While it was undoubtedly difficult, heartbreaking, and even embarrassing for my mother to read the few instances I shared, she expressed pride in my strength. She felt compassion and saw her part in the situations that affected me. She has come to terms with the mistakes she made. She was proud of me for moving forward toward healing and being able to be vulnerable, using my words to heal myself and loving the fact that my goal is to help others on their trek to healing. We were acknowledging our shared humanity and the fact that we are all navigating life for the first time at every stage. I forgive them both. I am aware of the horrors they faced, undoubtedly more severe than many of my own experiences. I know they loved me and were doing the best they could with the hand they were dealt. However, this doesn't negate the very real struggles I faced and continue to overcome.

In acknowledging the hurt and challenges I experienced, my mother and I are growing closer, and we have been for years because she listens and acknowledges that what I am saying was real. But as my father continued to send hurtful messages because he was afraid of how he appeared as a monster online when in my writing I was doing my best not to make his harm the focus, his preoccupation with his image became undeniable. After a series of painful exchanges, I continued to offer him opportunities to step back. Yet, at every potential exit, he accelerated toward conflict. For so long, I have longed for a healthy relationship with my parents. When he achieved sobriety twelve years ago, I placed my hopes in that possibility, only to be met with deeper disappointment. I now understand that it wasn't the alcohol that made my father someone I had to constantly manage, walk on eggshells around, or meticulously monitor the words spoken near him to protect both him and others. It was him, at his core. This breaks me, as I want to remember the best parts of him. But I can't help but get chills thinking about the parts that were hurtful, scary, and inappropriate. A small but poignant example was how he grabbed a handful of my ass for seconds that felt like an eternity right  in front of my growing family (the first time I introduced my dad to my to them). This was during my partner’s mother’s battle with cancer, I slept for two days. I couldn’t understand why it affected me so much; I asked my partner later if he saw what happened. He had, and it made him very uncomfortable just watching. In the back of my head, I can't help but think his drive to make me question myself for so long was to hide something else he’s afraid of having surface.

I sense his inability to be honest with himself or others about his past. I fear this will prevent him from forming meaningful connections with people or ideas until he confronts his truth, something I know he desperately needs. He always preached the value of honesty and being yourself, but I found out later about many inconsistencies between his lectures and his way of living that I will not embarrass him with.

My heart aches for him. My heart begs for a better vision of our past where the good outweighs the bad. I want my dad to not make me feel crazy and admit that he can at least remember some of what happened because it just seems too convenient to forget it all. However, at the end of the day, my family is paramount; I am a mother of four beautiful, complex children and the life partner of a man who knows all of me and actually accepts me for my strength and many flaws, unconditionally; they all need me in a healthy headspace. I, too, deserve that peace. Every encounter with him would throw me off balance for days. I can't help but wonder how deeply the seeds of doubt he planted within me have taken root and if I will ever be able to fully extract them. Perhaps someday I can articulate the depth of this pain. For now, I can declare with strength that I will no longer accept guilt, doubt, or being made to feel small to fit conveniently into someone’s space, nor will I allow myself to be silenced. I sincerely hope he finds his way and learns to reflect honestly. I will miss our laughter, but I will feel a profound sense of liberation, knowing I can be a better mother, partner, daughter, friend, and writer by finally feeling free to express myself authentically.