I received a belated birthday gift this weekend as well, and it continues to follow the theme:
It was incredibly thoughtful, and definitely unexpected, as are most gifts I receive from those close to me are, as of late. "You seemed the obvious choice" as a recipient of a gift, no matter how seemingly small, is incredibly humbling and moving.
To pay forward the smiles I have received, I've started writing little notes to my friends and dropping them in the mail. No forewarning, and zero expectation of anything in return. Just a gentle touch to remind them they are thought of, and they are loved. That they too are "the obvious choice" to who I want to spend my time and energy on.
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This weekend I've also been dealing with a few uncomfortable realizations. There will always be "growing pains" along the way, but this weekend was pretty eye opening, and I'm left feeling a little bruised. I have always been aware of my fathers narcissism; his ego fueled rants about spiritualism and his "special-ness" and how it was never about wanting to share that connection with others - it was about showing off what he thought he had that made him "more" than the rest of us. But I was also aware of how generous he could be, when he puts his mind to it. I realized this weekend that his seeming good deeds came at a price, and that price just happened to be a relationship with me. In talking with my father, I teased him that I wanted to drop him off at PT and forget him there, just once, so we would be even. He was genuinely confused. I told him that after my knee surgery, he took me to PT a couple times, and promptly forgot to pick me up after. He said he had no recollection of that. He didn't even recall me having a knee surgery.
My jaw dropped. I had a major reconstruction of my knee, couldn't walk without assistance for 6 months, couldn't walk normally for a year, and during this time I LIVED IN HIS HOUSE. I was literally under his nose the entire time of my recovery, and he had no idea? I asked him if he remembered Kevin living in the basement (my father opened our home to an ex-con, saying he just needed a leg up to get back into society). He said he remembered that time very clearly. I reminded him that my knee surgery was 2 weeks before Kevin moved in, and that both mom and I thought it might not be the best idea to have a stranger move into the basement... but my father wasn't hearing any of us, other than his own agenda, and Kevin moved in. He said he didn't remember any of those concerns either, and said that he vaguely remembered I had a knee surgery after all. "Didn't your knees have the same issue as Tommy's?" My brother also dislocated his knees on occasion. "Yeah, Dad... Same issue as Tommy's... only mine was bad enough to warrant a major surgery to try to correct it..." Even my "issues" had to be overshadowed by making them about someone else... It wasn't my knee issue, it was my brothers knee issue. I asked him if he was aware that I had my wrist fused. He sort of laughed and said "yes, I know you had a wrist surgery." Okay, but did you know I actually had 3 wrist surgeries? "No... I only thought it was the one..."
I'm not saying I want my father to be all involved in my business. I don't. What I want is for my father to stop making bold claims about me and my siblings "Your sister was never artistic; You were always the most sensitive one" when in reality he doesn't know jack shit about us. He has confided in me countless times that he wants to rebuild his relationship with my brother, that he feels guilt and remorse that he wasn't really around when he felt my brother really needed him. But he has never, NEVER made any sort of effort towards rebuilding a relationship with my sister, and certainly not with me.
So this weekend I took a deep breath and stepped out of my comfort zone of silence yet again and lit my dad up. I was calm. I was not cruel. But I didn't hold back that his words are hurtful. That he does all of us a disservice when he pontificates about our strengths and weaknesses. That he doesn't know us at all. I think he heard me, but I'm not sure if he was listening.
I feel exceptionally awkward in this house now. It is not my home. I am a stranger living here out of my parents generosity. I am the latest ex-con who just needs a leg up to return to society. In this moment I am feeling incredibly small and sad. It really hurts to realize that in your own fathers eyes, you don't really amount to much of anything at all.
There is some old saying/wives tale/whatever that women often marry men just like their fathers. In my case, it seems to be true. While D will go on and on about how attentive he is, how he's the greatest husband ever, he doesn't hear me when I say I'm unhappy. He doesn't hear me at all. And he only sees what he wants to see in me.
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There have been a few conversations with various people lately that have sprung up about gifts and super powers. Abilities that are so glorious that they could be considered gifts. It has been such a blessing to be witness to the people I love the most in this world really come into their own within their strengths. But I've also been thinking about my own gifts and super powers... and right now in this moment, with everything I experienced with my father this weekend, I feel like my most dominant super power has always been invisibility.
I don't want to be invisible. I want to be seen. I want to be heard. I want to be acknowledged AS I AM, and I want to be comfortable to be me.
This part of the journey sucks. This part of the journey is hard.
But I'm here. I'm moving through these uncomfortable spaces, learning where I let myself down along the way, allowing myself to be forgiven, and letting it go.
My dad picked 3 angel cards this morning. Willingness. Power. Peace. He got all giddy when he picked the Power card, and sighed and said he "could use some of that" when he picked Peace. I looked over his cards.
You need to have a willingness to let go of power to achieve peace, Dad.
He kind of nodded and scoffed. "Yeah, you're probably right. How about you pick one?"
Transformation.
Change is only painful when we resist. This journey doesn't have to be a painful one. Now that I've vented out a lot of resentment and anger towards my father, I can let it go.
Thank you for listening, whoever you are out there.
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