A deep breath comes whooshing out of my lungs, because where do I even start.
“My father was not around for pretty much any of my childhood. I’m the result of an affair. He has another family.” It’s the simplest terms to put it in.
“Did he support your mother financially?” Dr. Miranda taps her pen against the notepad.
“From what I gather, yes. But maybe not as much as he should have. My mom was always working, and I’m not sure if that was because we lacked funds or because she just didn’t want to bother parenting me. I think my birth ruined a good thing. Well, actually I know that. She had no idea he was married when they first met. Had no idea a year into their relationship. Then she got pregnant and he dropped several bombshells on her. Married, with kids, and a big old house and second life out in the privileged suburbs.”
My voice is acid as I recount it. I wasn’t even alive for the revelation, and I want to slit my father’s throat.
“So, how do you feel about him? How did you back then?” The middle-aged woman wearing her hair up in a bun with a long sleeve caftan sort of dress on studies me.
Dr. Miranda probably wouldn’t be my first pick for a therapist, but she’s the only one available. The school offers free counseling, and I don’t necessarily feel like enlisting my mom for insurance help to get a therapist. This woman is totally Upstate New York crunchy, and she probably protests fracking on the weekends, but she’s nice enough.
Here we go with the feelings shit, but I guess that’s why I’m here. “Back then, I guess I just wanted a normal family. I wanted to see my dad and have him be proud of what I was doing. I wanted to be loved, to have two parents and a happy little life. What I got was a guy who came into town; my mom moved us due to shame, and would fight the entire time. He barely acknowledged me, couldn’t be bothered to glance at the ton of drawings I’d make for him or listen to stories about my school. Mom would instigate until they fought so hard, he’d slam the door and leave. I just … I wanted to be a family.”
But we weren’t his family. We were his mistress, and his bastard. We were the other women, and no one in my life believed otherwise. I remember the way my grandmother used to look at me on the rare occasion she’d visit. How she’d talk to my mother as if my mom was gutter trash for getting knocked up by a married man.
I thought my father would come looking for us when my mother finally let up about child support and claiming us. And he did. But every time, he left to go home to his rightful family. To the one he claimed in public.
“I’ll never forget the last thing he ever said to me. ‘You were a mistake. One I’d erase if I could.’ How am I not supposed to feel like my life is completely worthless knowing that?” I shrug, pretending to be apathetic to the worst thing a human being, especially a father, could ever say to someone.
Dr. Miranda scowls, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her look mildly pissed. I’m pretty sure a therapist isn’t supposed to react, but how could someone not when hearing that.
“His inability to be a moral or ethical person has nothing to do with your worth, and you need to remember that. We can only control how we feel about ourselves internally. It sounds like you grew up with two parental figures who didn’t fulfill this innate need for each one of us to be unconditionally loved. That’s a cup we all need filled, it’s human nature. We are mammals. And when we don’t receive it, we start to look inside and wonder what is wrong with us. But that’s the wrong question. It should be, what is wrong with them?”
I nod because it makes sense.
“And once you discover the answer, or once you can be okay with not knowing the answer, then you need to push aside that you caused any of this. Feeling abandoned is a very real detriment to many people internally. But once you can grasp that you weren’t the cause of it, and that you’re better off without that person’s love in the first place, you can start to heal.
“I want to try something with you. It’s called radical acceptance. Instead of pondering over a subject, obsessing over it, and letting it take over your life whenever it pops into your head, you shut it down. You simply accept that what happened, happened, and you move on.”
“That sounds too easy.” I’m instantly skeptical.
“Oh, it is. The technique, at least. The moving on part and not allowing yourself to revisit it or keep talking about it isn’t though. Take your father, for instance. How often would you say you think about him or this need for perfection he has made you feel?”
“All day. It’s constantly running in the back of my mind,” I admit.
Dr. Miranda nods knowingly. “So, the next time you do, I want you to repeat this phrase to yourself. ‘There is nothing I could have done differently. I’m actively choosing to push past these thoughts and settle for exactly what happened.’ Because by trying to go over and over it in your head, obsessing about how you can improve or change it, well, that’s not doing you any good. You’re not going to change it. You need to accept that.”
“Say that out loud?” I look at her like she’s crazy.
She chuckles. “No. Maybe take a second of alone time, duck into a bathroom. Close your eyes and exhale as you repeat that in your head. And when you come back out, no more thinking of abandonment or your father or how it affected your mother. If a thought comes in, radically accept it and move on.”
The task seemed simple, but I could see how it would be extremely hard. My abandonment issues are a huge part of every decision, conversation, and attitude I have. Not giving into that, not allowing it to control me? It would take time to break that.
But as I left that basement office, the doorbell turning green as I left, I felt a sense of control I hadn’t in a very long time. A small hope twinkled in my chest, telling me that maybe I could live a different life.
12
CALLUM
“Is this seriously what you called us down here for?”
I shrug at Scott. “I mean, you do have the mentality of a fourth grader.”
I’m testing a new lesson plan for my student teaching, and I need to work out if the game I found and want to use would be beneficial for the kids. Thus my test subjects, Scott, Gannon, and a guy I’ve become friendly with over the years, Wesley.
“Does that mean I have an easier shot of winning, since he’s a moron?” Wesley hikes a thumb at Scott.
“Absolutely.” Gannon laughs. “Although, I’m going to body you guys.”
“I haven’t even told you what the game is yet.” I roll my eyes, making sure my setup is correct.
The college fitness center is noisy and busy, but I reserved this workout room yesterday with the front desk so I could see if this game would work. The kids have been enjoying my student teaching days, where I bring fun games that also involve a little bit of strategy. I love a good game of sharks and minnows, but I want to impress Robert and the rest of the staff. I want to show them that I am really dedicated to being the best phys ed teacher I can be.
“Then tell us, man. I don’t have all day.” Gannon sits on the floor, clearly not ready to compete.