More Than One

Many assume that those growing up in a single parent household are void of male influence. How can your world be shaped by a father figure if you don’t see your own on a daily basis? It’s not true of course. I, in fact, had many father figures who shaped my identity in their own unique ways, which makes it interesting that the two very different men, who stand at either end of that happen to be one and the same.

First, there was my dad. He was one who married my mother and spent those early years wishing for a son. The one I filled that role for irrespective of biology or social expectations. Most of the memories are foggy now, although the sense of play remained; forever close to my heart. I was lucky enough to experience the pure joy a father can bring in those little moments and what I would one day expect of the father of my children. It made the contrast all the more impactful when this was all turned on its head.

The day he left, and the many mistakes he made after, brought with them many new facets of my personality. I learnt the value of trust and just how hard it is to rebuild that once it’s been shattered. I discovered the strength that was needed to support others, even when you shouldn’t be able to support yourself. I saw what a shared experience of fear and loss looked like, but I lost the ability to share in it. This was something that became foreign to me for a great many years and I had to fight with all I had to bring back. The abandonment, the lies, the broken promises, the capitalist view of a so-called ‘work-life balance’, and the unwanted advice (especially in those teenage years) were all written in my soul. The impact of every action was amplified by youth and, later, hormones. The strain was almost more than I could bear and it became difficult to internalise any signs of care.

The others bleed together on the timeline of my journey to self development: my mum’s long term boyfriend, my uncle, my high school teacher, and my partner’s dad. For the sake of both clarity and brevity, I’ll take these one at a time.

The boyfriend, let’s call him Bob, was hand chosen by the kids in our household and in his. We met through sports as far as I can remember and conspired to get our two very single parents together. After all, what better way to set up an endless stream of playdates. Bob was kind, caring, and romantic. He was good to his children and he quickly accepted us as if we were his own. Engaging with his extended family cemented my already quite fixed understanding of family gatherings. Everyone attends. Everyone is happy. Everyone is welcome. At least that was the way it seemed at the time. After years of connection and commitment, the realisation that this wasn’t all sunshine and daisies dawned, and the relationship ended. As with my own father, it was what came after that taught me more than what happened during.

Everyone gets just one second chance if they really seem to mean it when they say they’re sorry and that they’ll change. I saw my first love letter and it came with a heartbreak song for that little bit extra. Bob got his second chance, and he quickly blew it. He didn’t have it in him to stand up to people, always wanting to be seen as ‘the nice guy’. They decided to just be friends, which worked until it didn’t. I fought for this relationship, even after it had ended. I wanted him to be someone I could look up to and learn from, but instead I took on my well established role of the adult in a child’s body. As he let loose a stream of alcohol stretched vomit on the cold, wet lawn in the middle of the night and cried into it, refusing all my efforts to get him inside, my respect for him swiftly blew away. It was replaced by a strict set of standards that I would refuse to stray from when seeking out a partner of my own. ‘Nice’ would never be enough.

My uncle was a father figure for a short time. He taught me how to fight and how to stand up for myself, but that was very early on. The more significant lessons came later and helped me hone my survival instincts. When you know someone that dangerous, you internalise defences fairly quickly. I saw in him everything I would never tolerate in a relationship or from myself, and developed almost a sixth sense about people who meant me or a child imminent physical harm. My deepest fury and most violent thoughts began to form one the day I saw two small children beaten black and blue in a way that could not be hidden. Anger became my driving emotion for years and although I’d often imagine what I would do to those who offended or upset me, I had seen the damage that could come from unleashed emotions and I kept all that locked down. I never fought physically, afraid of what I might do if I ever lost control.

Speaking of control, my teacher was a master at it. Not in terms of self-control, but in the way he used his charisma to bend others to his will. You know that teacher everyone likes? The fun, approachable one who has an interesting or creative approach to everything and shows seemingly endless dedication to his students? That was this guy. He was the father figure who was never too busy and always made time. For a male teacher at an all girls school he had no qualms staying back for after school activities and was always willing to keep someone back in a one on one space to talk if they seemed down. Sitting next to someone and rubbing their leg is a universal sign of comfort right? And slapping a student playfully on the arse? That’s an accident that could happen to anyone…right?

It’s amazing how much different these actions seem through the lens of adult perspective. Suffice to say, the rest of that danger radar formed to include otherwise unsafe men and manipulators. To date, it’s been pretty much on point. From then on, I always ‘felt’ when I needed to run or when to adopt the wait and see approach. I learned to deflect unwanted advances in a way that leaves fragile egos intact. I paid close attention and actively sought out a huge range of safety skills that could be enacted at the drop of a hat.

Fast-forward to those early adult years, when I found someone I considered to be safe. It took time and I was on the receiving end of quite a lot of heckling, but I worked it out. In this man’s father, I saw a man who knew he had messed up and was fighting with all he had, despite the fear that kept him from going too far. He seemed relaxed, genuine and was always up for a chat about anything really. When I was unwell, he visited often and tried to bribe the nurses. I loved him instantly and never felt more welcomed into a family than by him. I got to see someone show up again and again, and I wish that I could tell you that most of what shaped my identity came from the things he did. Unfortunately, this was not the case. It might have been, but in our reality there simply wasn’t enough time. The closest people I had lost up to that point were my great grandparents, and as you can probably imagine, it was their time. Losing this man was the first time I had lost someone I saw so frequently and who really seemed to be at the beginning of his journey. His death brought out the worst in some people and for the first time I saw that not every familial relationship can be salvaged. I had always believed family could get through anything, but I needed to adjust that fundamental truth. Family can get through anything, but only if everyone’s willing to try. Though seemingly minor, it was a heavy realisation and one that shaped so many decisions going forward.

That brings us to the closing bracket, my dad. It’s hard to say whether the person I know now was always there, or if my dad became this person somewhere along the way, but he was the one who showed me the value of communication and of taking accountability, and the power of consistent positive actions. Understanding that these are the building blocks for renewed trust was a powerful lesson to learn and a relief to finally feel at my core. A path to redemption…just knowing its possible opens up whole new worlds. After we talked through our past and found common ground, he never stopped showing up for me. He was there when I was sick. He kept to my wedding wishes and provided a source of calm, responsibility when issues arose. He was a loving poppy to my kids and didn’t hesitate to prioritise my daughter over Father’s Day whenever her birthday fell on the same date. When my biggest challenges came along, I was nervous, but willing to share these with him. Being a part of this trust renewal process allowed me the resilience and patience I needed to try, when my partner and I hit that really rocky period during the height of the pandemic. We were able to weather the storms, at least in part, because of the shift brought by my dad.

There were a lot of what not to do’s and paths to self-preservation in my experiences with father figures across my life, but I wouldn’t trade who I am as a result of any of them. I’m thankful for the lessons (some kept me alive) and I’m especially thankful for those that stemmed from positive experiences. All I can hope now is that the actions I take shape my own children’s lives in the way I intend. May they learn play, trust, resilience, support, and survival from a place largely void of trauma, but instead from love and kindness. That’s the goal.