May You Be Happy: A Letter to the First Man That Left Me

The first man who left me was my so-called “father” at that time. When my mother split up with him, he divorced not only her but me too.

I share my journey, from the challenging part, the hurt, the blame, the feelings of not being worthy of love. I had to face my trauma to become who I am today: A confident woman that found herself along the way through a swamp of toxic relationships.

I hope my story will be perceived as a small beacon of hope.

The last time I saw you

We spend a great week together. Maybe the best we ever had. When you moved your stuff to your new home, the wife that came with it and her son, I accompanied you. And what a fantastic week it was.

When you dropped me off that last day, you told me “let’s just reach out to each other in the future from time to time”.

We never did.

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

I was thirteen, torn between you and my mum in a toxic swirl of hate, legal issues, and blame. What’s your excuse?

Shortly after that last goodbye, I had to stand in front of a judge.

It was about child support. I told the truth. You didn’t get fired; you quit your job to move. You had to pay for me according to the law. Besides, Mum and I needed the money.

Your lawyer came on me down hard. I was thirteen. She tried to twist the words within my mouth.

And you? You weren’t even there yourself.

That’s when I realized for the first time: You didn’t just divorce my mum. You divorced me, too.

Guess that’s why you never called. You were upset with me. And you had already started a new life that seemed so much better than the previous one.

I never called either. Probably that’s why I didn’t. I knew you. I could feel the blame without even talking to you.

Besides, we had never been that close, have we?

We lived together, sure. And I used to be “daddy’s girl”, at least according to my mother. But do you know why? Because you never paid any attention to me, not even when we lived under the same roof.

As a child, I reached out to you so desperately because you were so far away.

By the way, have you ever realized how jealous Mum was about that?

Your toxic relationship has always reflected back in my direction.

When I turned 19, I did reach out to you. I didn’t have a number, but your email still worked.

I wrote a long and thoughtful text. I didn’t blame you; I just wanted to contact you. I tried to get some closure. Maybe a call once every blue moon?

I don’t know what exactly I wanted. But I needed to talk to you.

“You got mail.” There it was, your response.

It broke me into a million pieces — again.

There was no interest at all. I don’t recall the exact words you choose, but I remember what I read between the lines: “You used to be a brilliant kid, but now it seems you’re just as stupid as your mother.”

Maybe you’ve wondered once or twice over the past 20 years what all of that had done to me?

Nevermind. I don’t think that you ever really thought about it, but I am going to tell you anyway.

As a child who was unable to develop a secure attachment style, I had to face a lot of challenges and fears, too.

Underneath the surface, I never believed that I am worthy of love. I was on the lookout for people who confirmed my insecurities with their behaviors: A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Unconsciously, I was looking for toxic partners, friends, even bosses, with whom I recreated my unhealthy childhood relationship patterns. Sometimes I couldn’t help but act like a maniac when I felt forced into a corner.

Sometimes I even hurt others to be hurt again, too — just because I was in deep pain already. To sum it up briefly:

I felt so desperately alone. I suffered. I cried a million rivers. I screamed. I rampaged.

At least on the inside. Not so much on the outside.

You could have seen and felt that I wasn’t okay. If you had looked close enough, the scars on my skin would have told you, too. But I didn’t talk about it. Not to anybody.

May you be happy

After a long hurtful journey and just shortly before I turned 30, I was able to see and reflect all that happened. To let go of this negative self-image. To overcome my trauma.

To finally become the person I always have been underneath the drama.

Working on myself and getting better was probably the most challenging, painful, frustrating, and time-consuming project of my entire life. But the most important, too.

I finally understood why I was reliving the same patterns and unhealthy types of relationships. I uncovered why I always felt drawn to specific personalities.

Today I’m 33. I don’t hate you. I don’t love you. I don’t suffer anymore.

I realized that you never were a “father” to me. Not in the way that word should be used.

You were just a human. A human with flaws.

“Out of sight, out of mind” just worked a little bit too well for you.

I can finally talk about all of this without crying. I don’t even cringe anymore. I’ve made my peace.

I don’t want you to feel bad, either. I even want you to have an okay life.

May you be healthy. May you be safe. May you be happy.

May I never hear from you again.

Life has never felt that amazing before.