Why my Dad left me and I nearly became him

He was a coward. The end.

That’s essentially it, right? You know, it’s easy to do. Live life as you want without tying yourself to any sort of responsibility whatsoever, and if responsibility comes along? Shirk it like it never happened, and if you can’t, then get angry at it until it’s scared to darken your doorstep ever again. 

This is what My Dad did. He was a yellow bellied, shit-cunt coward, and no I won’t apologise for my language there, because it needed to be said. I was a victim of many years abuse from him. The most essential years of my life, 1-5, where I was developing my inner habits and thoughts that would essentially rule my life until the day that I die, he abused that.

He wasn’t there.

I always remember that year my Mum had finally had enough. It was Christmas day of all days, and there was me, playing with my new rocking horse that Santa had sent me, and Mum, sitting, knees against her chest in the corner of the room, sobbing. Dad hadn’t come back that weekend. Mum had only found out a few months beforehand that he had been seeing another lady behind her back, but despite his faults she had decided to give him another chance. 

We spent Christmas alone that year, in a foreign country with no friends. Dad had flown back to Britain to spend it with his lady friend, leaving us, alone, on Christmas.

I admire my Mums strength

We packed our bags and off we went, back to Scotland, to live out the rest of our days without him. He came crawling back, though, but Mum was stronger than that, there’s only so many chances you give a man, right? After that Dad was able to essentially rid himself of any responsibility, again, in his life. 

He contacted me once in five years since the day my Mum left. Once. He was essentially a non-father, someone that wasn’t in my life at all. I grew up in some of the best times in my life without knowing him; it often led to interesting discussions with my friends back in the day, not knowing anyone with split parents yet.

Through all my days I said I’d never be my father, I’d never ever shun responsibility like he did, I’d always be there for my child and I’d always be the man that he never was. You know what was a strikingly hard realisation? That before I made the effort to change my entire being I was becoming like him, in every way. To numb the pain of my traumatic childhood I had taken to alcohol, like him, I was becoming a pathological liar, like him, I was seeing women as objects rather than people, like him, through my desperate anxiety and distancing myself from being anywhere like my Dad, I was becoming him in every way.

It was a hard realisation; one that had me sobbing all night, burying my head into my pillow, not sleeping a wink, rolling over and over in my head,

“I’m my Dad, shit”

But if I hadn’t have stopped abusing the drink how could I have become an effective father and expected my son not to do the same? We get our morals from our parents. if I wasn’t able to stop lying; inventing stories to my Son, how would I expect my Son to always tell the truth? We are essentially leading by example when we parent. If we abuse our kids, then we run the risk of the abused becoming the abuser, and this was me. A product of my Dad, even although he wasn’t there much, becoming him. Scary huh?

Luckily the realisation changed me at a core level. I asked myself, if I’ve been trying to change all my life then how do I ‘actually’ change. The thing is, not many people change, because it’s super hard to. We become creatures of habit, needs, wants and desires. So I sought out help, I sought out people that could help me introspect and slowly change, and it wasn’t a straightforward process either, lots of crying and clutching onto things and anger and hatred, but I got there in the end. 10 years later. It was a long old process, for me, anyway, but worth it.