#1 ·
Hey there.
I’m not even sure which sub I should be posting this in; it’s got elements of toxic parenting, standard parenting, and child psychology all rolled into one mess.
So, I just found out my father wants to meet up with me. Honestly, it wouldn’t even be that shocking if I weren't already thirty years old and living in the exact same city as him—which I have been my entire life. It turns out my grandmother, his mother, is sick right now, and she’s currently staying with him. I’m pretty sure that’s the real reason we're suddenly being nudged toward a reunion; she's likely using her health as leverage to force us all into the same room. As for his actual motivation? Who knows. Maybe his new wife kicked him out of the house. She’s the one working while he was forced into early retirement and hasn't lifted a finger for years. He's basically been doing nothing for a long time.
My parents were married for about two years back in the early 80s. They split up when I was only two or three. My mother remarried when I was six, and she had my sister with her new husband, followed much later by twins—a brother and a sister. My biological father remarried as well and eventually had a son, who’s nine years younger than me. To cut a long story short, being the oldest, I spent my whole life trying to be the "perfect" child. I crushed it in school and handled all my responsibilities flawlessly because I honestly believed that being an overachiever was the only way to earn my mother's love. I always felt like an intruder; in her new marriage, my sister was the "real" child, while I was just an inconvenience hanging around. I mostly kept to myself because I never truly fit in. For instance, when I started school, most kids had their parents dropping them off or walking them to the gates. I used to walk nearly a mile and a half alone along the road, even though my stepfather was driving in the exact same direction. That’s just one example of how isolated I felt. The only place I ever truly felt like I belonged was with my grandparents. My maternal grandmother and my late grandfather were essentially my real parents to me. Even now, my grandma treats me like I'm her own daughter, whereas my mother basically just tries to tolerate my existence. I won't even get into the fighting because I could write a book on this forum about it. It was everything: psychological abuse, financial control, and physical violence. My biological father was a veteran, a heavy alcoholic, and he was abusive toward my mother and tried his hand at abusing us kids too. For years, I acted as a sort of human buffer zone between him and anyone else unlucky enough to be in his path. This went on until things escalated when I was 17. We moved into an apartment through some government assistance program, and since it was in his name, we lived as a "family" unit for the first time without my grandmother nearby to protect us. For about a year, the police were a regular fixture in our lives because the screaming matches between my mother and stepfather were constantly on the verge of turning physical. To put it bluntly, whenever I was walking home from school in the evening, I would run. I never knew what to expect behind that door—whether I’d find someone injured, a pool of blood, or something even worse.
I used to have this recurring dream where my "father" would just magically reappear one day. He lived only about three blocks away—practically right across the street from my high school—and he was going to swoop in and save me from all the bullshit and the constant fighting at home. The logic in my head was always that he loved me, he just couldn't make it home sooner because he was too busy building an empire. In this dream, after my parents split up, he finished college, worked some entry-level job, and then launched his own business. It took off like crazy, and eventually, he expanded into owning five or six different retail stores across the city. His wife actually worked alongside him. As soon as the business started booming, the child support payments became regular and reliable. Then there were the birthdays. Starting when I turned seven, the gifts began rolling in. I vividly remember a delivery driver showing up at my door with this massive suitcase filled with LEGO sets. That became the pattern every single year. One of his employees would show up to drop off whatever gift he’d picked out for me, but he himself never once showed up. For Christmas, I’d get these boxes of chocolates with cash tucked inside, always accompanied by a card. Most of the time, he’d just sign it "Dad."
The child support and financial help lasted until I turned 21. Even though I was still a full-time student at the time and legally entitled to that support, he just decided he was done paying. Since then? Nothing. Not even a "Happy Birthday" text. I never even found out why he cut me off. So, I switched to an easier major and started working to make ends meet. Honestly, school has just been this endless, dragging process ever since. I study when I can actually afford the tuition, which isn't often. It’s been like this for years. Because I haven't finished my degree, I’m stuck working entry-level jobs that pay next to nothing, and there’s zero room for upward mobility. I can't seem to scrape together enough savings to finally move out of this old family apartment. My mom and stepfather split up about ten years ago, and we’ve basically been scraping by on her paycheck, my odd jobs, and whatever extra cash we can pull in from side gigs. My stepfather hasn't paid a dime in child support for his own kids in years. My sister lives with her boyfriend and holds down a job, but now the twins have started college and they really need that support. As far as my dad is concerned, at least he actually fulfilled his obligation to me.
Looking back at our contact—or lack thereof—up until this year, here is the reality of my relationship with my "father":
We’ve seen each other at three funerals, in order: my great-grandmother, my grandfather, and finally his own father. We exchanged maybe three or four sentences, all of them just standard condolences. Nothing else. Aside from those, I saw him once at a shopping mall when I was with my mom and he was with his wife. He didn't even acknowledge me. That’s it. My mom used to tell me he’d see her around town and try to chat about things when they crossed paths. They actually had a functional relationship; if he was late with child support, she’d just call him over to the house to settle it.
As for my attempts to reach out—here are a few examples: Back in high school, I wanted to find a summer job. It was my only real break since I was juggling two schools at once alongside the daily bullshit at home. My self-esteem was non-existent back then; looking at my old journals from that era, I honestly wonder how I survived without completely losing my mind. A summer job felt like the perfect way to escape everything. My mom asked if I wanted to work for "Dad" at his retail store—maybe stocking shelves, washing windows, or whatever. Immediately, I started imagining this cinematic moment where, after all these years of separation, we would finally bond like a real father and daughter. I convinced myself he actually loved me and had just been too busy or unable to reach out. 😵 My mom asked him if I could work there, and he said no. ☕ Then she suggested I spend the summer with them on his boat, or maybe just grab lunch one day... none of it ever happened because he was always "busy," or traveling, or working, or in meetings, or they were going somewhere, or there wasn't enough room, etc. We only ever saw each other at funerals, and that was it.
Two years ago, I suggested to his mother—his own mom—that she give him my cell number so he could call me for coffee whenever he felt like it. Her response was that he doesn't have a car right now, so he can't go anywhere. And since he isn't working, he doesn't have money for coffee. Apparently, he doesn't take the bus either—that's what my mom told me. She also added that I should be glad I never got to know him, because he's dealing with depression and such. For years, my mom would feed me little "data points" about him, like his favorite ice cream flavor and stuff like that. As if knowing that would make me know him better. I don't know why she did it, other than to depress me and force me to construct these elaborate scenarios where he suddenly remembers I exist. Now that it's finally happening, I just feel blah. ☕ I'm supposed to be happy or something, but I mostly just think he's terrified of developing Alzheimer's soon (his father died from it), so he wants to meet me before it's too late.
His son and I met through Facebook. One day he sent me a friend request, and we started talking. After a year of chatting, we finally met up for coffee and walked around the city. He was 16 at the time. Then there was a period where we just messaged on Facebook, followed by a few coffees last year. I’ve met some of his friends, and generally, we stay in touch regularly.
I honestly don't know if I have the mental energy or the will to get to know someone after thirty years of silence. If he lived in, say, Australia, I might have a relatively decent reason for understanding why he couldn't find an hour for coffee. If he were the President or a King, and I were an illegitimate child and he feared the publicity, I would totally get it. But he isn't. He's just an ordinary guy. He hasn't worked for years; he has all the time in the world to reach out. I've finally moved past that old wound, and now I'm just afraid of what happens if I actually go to this meeting. I feel backed into a corner; I want to see my grandmother, but I can't because he's there. I finally managed to overcome my panic attacks, but now the panic and the feeling of suffocation are back. I can't sleep at night; I just lie there awake until 3 or 4 in the morning. I don't know what to think. Help.
I’m not even sure which sub I should be posting this in; it’s got elements of toxic parenting, standard parenting, and child psychology all rolled into one mess.
So, I just found out my father wants to meet up with me. Honestly, it wouldn’t even be that shocking if I weren't already thirty years old and living in the exact same city as him—which I have been my entire life. It turns out my grandmother, his mother, is sick right now, and she’s currently staying with him. I’m pretty sure that’s the real reason we're suddenly being nudged toward a reunion; she's likely using her health as leverage to force us all into the same room. As for his actual motivation? Who knows. Maybe his new wife kicked him out of the house. She’s the one working while he was forced into early retirement and hasn't lifted a finger for years. He's basically been doing nothing for a long time.
My parents were married for about two years back in the early 80s. They split up when I was only two or three. My mother remarried when I was six, and she had my sister with her new husband, followed much later by twins—a brother and a sister. My biological father remarried as well and eventually had a son, who’s nine years younger than me. To cut a long story short, being the oldest, I spent my whole life trying to be the "perfect" child. I crushed it in school and handled all my responsibilities flawlessly because I honestly believed that being an overachiever was the only way to earn my mother's love. I always felt like an intruder; in her new marriage, my sister was the "real" child, while I was just an inconvenience hanging around. I mostly kept to myself because I never truly fit in. For instance, when I started school, most kids had their parents dropping them off or walking them to the gates. I used to walk nearly a mile and a half alone along the road, even though my stepfather was driving in the exact same direction. That’s just one example of how isolated I felt. The only place I ever truly felt like I belonged was with my grandparents. My maternal grandmother and my late grandfather were essentially my real parents to me. Even now, my grandma treats me like I'm her own daughter, whereas my mother basically just tries to tolerate my existence. I won't even get into the fighting because I could write a book on this forum about it. It was everything: psychological abuse, financial control, and physical violence. My biological father was a veteran, a heavy alcoholic, and he was abusive toward my mother and tried his hand at abusing us kids too. For years, I acted as a sort of human buffer zone between him and anyone else unlucky enough to be in his path. This went on until things escalated when I was 17. We moved into an apartment through some government assistance program, and since it was in his name, we lived as a "family" unit for the first time without my grandmother nearby to protect us. For about a year, the police were a regular fixture in our lives because the screaming matches between my mother and stepfather were constantly on the verge of turning physical. To put it bluntly, whenever I was walking home from school in the evening, I would run. I never knew what to expect behind that door—whether I’d find someone injured, a pool of blood, or something even worse.
I used to have this recurring dream where my "father" would just magically reappear one day. He lived only about three blocks away—practically right across the street from my high school—and he was going to swoop in and save me from all the bullshit and the constant fighting at home. The logic in my head was always that he loved me, he just couldn't make it home sooner because he was too busy building an empire. In this dream, after my parents split up, he finished college, worked some entry-level job, and then launched his own business. It took off like crazy, and eventually, he expanded into owning five or six different retail stores across the city. His wife actually worked alongside him. As soon as the business started booming, the child support payments became regular and reliable. Then there were the birthdays. Starting when I turned seven, the gifts began rolling in. I vividly remember a delivery driver showing up at my door with this massive suitcase filled with LEGO sets. That became the pattern every single year. One of his employees would show up to drop off whatever gift he’d picked out for me, but he himself never once showed up. For Christmas, I’d get these boxes of chocolates with cash tucked inside, always accompanied by a card. Most of the time, he’d just sign it "Dad."
The child support and financial help lasted until I turned 21. Even though I was still a full-time student at the time and legally entitled to that support, he just decided he was done paying. Since then? Nothing. Not even a "Happy Birthday" text. I never even found out why he cut me off. So, I switched to an easier major and started working to make ends meet. Honestly, school has just been this endless, dragging process ever since. I study when I can actually afford the tuition, which isn't often. It’s been like this for years. Because I haven't finished my degree, I’m stuck working entry-level jobs that pay next to nothing, and there’s zero room for upward mobility. I can't seem to scrape together enough savings to finally move out of this old family apartment. My mom and stepfather split up about ten years ago, and we’ve basically been scraping by on her paycheck, my odd jobs, and whatever extra cash we can pull in from side gigs. My stepfather hasn't paid a dime in child support for his own kids in years. My sister lives with her boyfriend and holds down a job, but now the twins have started college and they really need that support. As far as my dad is concerned, at least he actually fulfilled his obligation to me.
Looking back at our contact—or lack thereof—up until this year, here is the reality of my relationship with my "father":
We’ve seen each other at three funerals, in order: my great-grandmother, my grandfather, and finally his own father. We exchanged maybe three or four sentences, all of them just standard condolences. Nothing else. Aside from those, I saw him once at a shopping mall when I was with my mom and he was with his wife. He didn't even acknowledge me. That’s it. My mom used to tell me he’d see her around town and try to chat about things when they crossed paths. They actually had a functional relationship; if he was late with child support, she’d just call him over to the house to settle it.
As for my attempts to reach out—here are a few examples: Back in high school, I wanted to find a summer job. It was my only real break since I was juggling two schools at once alongside the daily bullshit at home. My self-esteem was non-existent back then; looking at my old journals from that era, I honestly wonder how I survived without completely losing my mind. A summer job felt like the perfect way to escape everything. My mom asked if I wanted to work for "Dad" at his retail store—maybe stocking shelves, washing windows, or whatever. Immediately, I started imagining this cinematic moment where, after all these years of separation, we would finally bond like a real father and daughter. I convinced myself he actually loved me and had just been too busy or unable to reach out. 😵 My mom asked him if I could work there, and he said no. ☕ Then she suggested I spend the summer with them on his boat, or maybe just grab lunch one day... none of it ever happened because he was always "busy," or traveling, or working, or in meetings, or they were going somewhere, or there wasn't enough room, etc. We only ever saw each other at funerals, and that was it.
Two years ago, I suggested to his mother—his own mom—that she give him my cell number so he could call me for coffee whenever he felt like it. Her response was that he doesn't have a car right now, so he can't go anywhere. And since he isn't working, he doesn't have money for coffee. Apparently, he doesn't take the bus either—that's what my mom told me. She also added that I should be glad I never got to know him, because he's dealing with depression and such. For years, my mom would feed me little "data points" about him, like his favorite ice cream flavor and stuff like that. As if knowing that would make me know him better. I don't know why she did it, other than to depress me and force me to construct these elaborate scenarios where he suddenly remembers I exist. Now that it's finally happening, I just feel blah. ☕ I'm supposed to be happy or something, but I mostly just think he's terrified of developing Alzheimer's soon (his father died from it), so he wants to meet me before it's too late.
His son and I met through Facebook. One day he sent me a friend request, and we started talking. After a year of chatting, we finally met up for coffee and walked around the city. He was 16 at the time. Then there was a period where we just messaged on Facebook, followed by a few coffees last year. I’ve met some of his friends, and generally, we stay in touch regularly.
I honestly don't know if I have the mental energy or the will to get to know someone after thirty years of silence. If he lived in, say, Australia, I might have a relatively decent reason for understanding why he couldn't find an hour for coffee. If he were the President or a King, and I were an illegitimate child and he feared the publicity, I would totally get it. But he isn't. He's just an ordinary guy. He hasn't worked for years; he has all the time in the world to reach out. I've finally moved past that old wound, and now I'm just afraid of what happens if I actually go to this meeting. I feel backed into a corner; I want to see my grandmother, but I can't because he's there. I finally managed to overcome my panic attacks, but now the panic and the feeling of suffocation are back. I can't sleep at night; I just lie there awake until 3 or 4 in the morning. I don't know what to think. Help.