The Remarkable Thing That Happened When I Stopped Blaming My Dad
It can happen to you, too
I was a pretty miserable teenager into my middle adult years. It was always his fault. Everything I didn’t like about myself anyway. I blamed my promiscuity on the “lack of affection” from my dad. Also, he didn’t treat me like the princess I longed to be treated as, so I was certain that, too, contributed to my unhappiness.
For years, I assigned nuanced grudges to even his attempts at loving me. Every Sunday morning, when I came out of my room in makeup and my best dress, he would always say, “You look pretty today.”
It made me mad. I wanted to look pretty every day, even on the days I wasn’t trying. So I blamed him for making me feel “conditionally pretty.”
I wanted him to gush about my gifts and abilities, and even though I knew he was proud, I usually only got a few quiet words. I wanted him to come hang out in my room and ask me questions and probe into the deep recesses of my soul and find out who I am.
When I, unmarried, told him I was pregnant at the age of 20, he distraughtly said, “I’ve thought a lot over the course…
