ON DADDY ISSUES:

Happy Father's [and Mother's] Day to the other parents.

I am – unapologetically – a holiday planner.

For every holiday. From Christmas to Valentine’s to International Radiology Day: if it’s on Hallmark’s calendar, it’s on mine. Which means that yesterday, we got to celebrate my VERY awesome & DEEPLY wonderful mom.

And next month, for Father’s Day, we will celebrate her again.

Because, one, truly: Fuck the patriarchy.

And, two: My mom has been a single parent for nearly 20 years.

My sister and I have been celebrating our mom on both holidays for as long as I can remember. After a particularly traumatic experience in my childhood, my parents split (AKA: my mom kicked my dad out because she is a badass who knows her worth—a story for another day). I was what one would call the “Daddy’s Girl.”

“Giselle’s my favorite and you’re your mother’s favorite,” he’d tell Alessandra.

(Our mom notoriously does not play favorites.)

While Alessandra went the therapy route pretty quickly, I spent a number of years too good for therapy and, instead, spiraled into something much worse:

Daddy issues.

That’s right. I have ‘em. And, until my own experience in therapy (which I am not, in fact, too good for), they permeated every aspect of my life—especially my relationships.

But before we dive into all that, let’s quickly define what daddy issues ARE and are ABSOLUTELY NOT:

ARE: “a way to describe women’s attachment issues in a relationship…usually comes from insecure attachment with a father or father figure(s) at a young age” – Talkspace therapist Bisma Anwar, LMHC

ARE NOT:

• A woman who has sex “too early”

• A woman who doesn’t want to have sex at all

• A woman who prefers older men

• A woman who seeks reassurance from a partner

• A woman who consentingly participates in BDSM and/or other sexual preferences relating to control  

• Anything that is not the “ARE” definition above

• Any of your business

Note: The term “Daddy Issues” is often hyper-gendered—T.I.L. it is being replaced with “Father Complex” by some mental health professionals. My intention of its use is in relation to me, a cis woman, and my experience in & around the term.

When my dad was no longer in the house, he was rarely in the picture at all. We wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time—and when we did, it would often be in a smoky dive bar with whatever new woman he was seeing. Even when I started figuring out WHY my parents split, I always fought for him.

“But he wouldn’t do that,” I’d say. “There must be something we don’t know.”

In reality, everyone knew something I didn’t know.

And I’d just sit at home wondering why he didn’t want to see me—his favorite.

Because he meant that.

Right?

I hate scary movies, but my life had become the scariest of them all. The person who made me the happiest, the person I trusted more than anyone, didn’t want me—and couldn’t tell me why.

Edit: The person who put me on a pedestal, the narcissist who love-bombed me so he always had someone on his side, did exactly what narcissists do.

And then, instead of communicating to us appropriately, he would get belligerently drunk and tell us WAY too much. I vividly remember once sitting on the floor of my cousin’s room at 12 or 13, after my dad had basically an entire box of wine, while he sobbed telling me how much he missed our mom.

Another time, he admitted to cheating on her.

And I felt trusted. I felt like his confidant. I felt bad for him.

As a teenager, people often told me I was “mature” for my age. I loved it. All I wanted was to be an adult so I could do whatever I wanted. When I was 15, I started dating someone in another state. When I was 18, I moved to that state to be with him. Did he treat me well? Sometimes. Did he tell me he didn’t want to graduate high school a virgin (and I subsequently lost my virginity)? Yes. Did he tell me he almost hit me one day when I spilled coffee in his car? Yep.

Was I horrible in return? Probably.

We were kids. We were not ready for the kind of relationship we were having—and did not handle it well. But I would do ANYTHING to hold onto that relationship (and the toxic relationships that followed).

I had developed an Anxious Attachment Style.

Quick overview: “An anxious attachment style arises during childhood when parents are present and then suddenly absent, be it physically or emotionally…’In adults, it manifests through the desire for intimacy while also experiencing difficulty trusting others, fear of emotional closeness, difficulty with boundaries, need for consistent reassurance, a tendency to be obsessive or clingy, or the experience of anxiety when away from one’s partner.’” (Thanks, Verywell Mind.)

After 3+ years of therapy, I am SO happy to say I am much closer to a fully secure attachment style than I am to an anxious one—but even in the wonderfully healthy relationship I’m in now, my heart still pounds outside routine. (i.e. I’m going on a work trip in June and will be away for a week—working on reminding the inner child my heart is pounding for that it will be OK. Lots of self-love & self-assurance happening right now.)

But it is HARD work to reach that security. I am literally trying to shift a habitual response that has been in me for 20 years—it has required (and is requiring, and will require) MUCH reteaching. MUCH reassurance. MANY reality checks & double-checks. A VERY safe space. And ALL the unconditional love I’ve got.

And, still, my belly feels hot when I see myself in a swimsuit, wondering if I’m good enough for my relationship.

To that, I say: Happy Father’s Day to all the non-sperm-donor parents working their asses off to make sure their kids know how special they are. We see you.

To my own very wonderful mom: I see you. Thank you for always reminding us how Enough we are—and that we’re always worth sticking around for.

Most days, now, I see that too.