Self-care. Letting go of my father.

“I understand, but he is your father.” “No, that was between your mother and your father.” “Don’t you ever want to see him again? You only have one father.”

It almost became a song, and everyone knew the lyrics. So many people, including people from my family, kept saying these things when I told them that I chose to have little to no contact with my father. They asked me different questions of whether I thought it through or not or whether I put in enough effort to try and stay in contact. And without fail, I kept answering everybody’s questions because I felt judged and because I thought that I had to justify myself. But I don’t think anyone ever said, “You know what? I am sure that you have thought this through. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made this decision for yourself. It probably was complicated, and I can’t imagine your pain. You’re brave.”

Until someone did, and that’s when I decided to break off all contact with my father. It was the best decision I made for myself.

My father was an alcoholic. To this day, I will never understand why he did what he did, but I do know that everything has a reason. Even though I partially know now why he drank that much, I’ll never accept or approve of what he did to my mother and our family. It came to my attention that when my father was young, he joined the army. I knew that he was in the military; I saw the pictures after all. But what I didn't realize was that he was severely traumatized. He was captured, tortured, and witnessed others being tortured. And worst of all, he saw people die. Once he came back home, he locked himself up for around two weeks. I think he might have been in his early twenties around that time, way before he married my mother.

Another thing I do know is that when people witness or experience these kinds of horrors, it might result in them being overly aggressive, especially when there’s alcohol involved. And unfortunately, my father felt the need to vent all of his anger, fear, and anxiety at my mother. I’ll never know whether she knew about his trauma or not.

My parents got divorced when I was over seven years old. They were married for ten years. I was sad that I wouldn’t see my father daily anymore, but I was more than happy seeing my father leave. I now had hope that my mother would live a long life, at least longer than if my father would have stayed with us. My mom always tried to protect the relationship between my father and me. She always encouraged me to call him on his or his parents' birthday. He would visit me on the weekends, but I never wanted to go somewhere alone with him. I was afraid that he would take me away from my mother.

After a while, he kept canceling our meetings regularly. First, it was a few days before, and later it became a few hours. And then, one day, he canceled just around ten minutes earlier. We lived in a flat on the fifth floor, so I could look over the road and see him coming. I was waiting because he could come any minute, until I heard my mother say from behind me, “Sweetie…”, and I already knew what she was going to say.

I ran towards my room, tears falling down my face. Once I jumped on the bed, I could hear my mother talk to my father over the phone. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this to your daughter? You can’t just cancel last minute. It breaks her heart every time you don’t show up. I will not make up excuses for you anymore. Next time you can tell her yourself. I am done doing this to her.” And that was the first time I decided not to see my father anymore, at least not for a while.

I was hurt, and I felt that he didn’t love me anymore. He kept calling me. Sometimes I would talk to him, and sometimes I wouldn’t. Later on, he was drunk almost every time he called, and he would say mean things about my mother to me. This situation went on for a few years until he disappeared for three years. He went back to his birth country without informing anyone. I think I was 14 or 15 years old when I suddenly saw him at a festival in The Netherlands. He didn’t even tell us that he was back.

My mother always encouraged me to keep in touch with my father, even though she knew how difficult it was for me. So even after she passed away, I called him once or twice a year, and I would visit him only once a year with my husband. I would go through a rollercoaster of emotions every time I just thought of having to see my father again. Whenever we drove towards the clinic my father stays at, I didn’t say a word the whole ride, and I was usually shaking because of the nerves. We wouldn’t stay longer than an hour, but it always felt longer than that. The moment we drove away, I broke down and started crying. This happened every single time because it was too overwhelming for me. It was apparent that I had panic attacks either after our meeting or when I would remember that I had to revisit him. I was always dreading it the moment I realized that it was time again.

One day, my husband asked me the questions no one had ever asked me before, “Why do you do this? For whom? Does it make you happy? Do you want to see him? Do you feel happy when you see him? How does he make you feel?” When I couldn’t tell him that I did it for myself or that it made me happy to see my father, he asked me another question, “I want you to think about something. What if you didn’t have to see him again? What if you would not have to talk to him again?” The thought of not having to go through that process again made me feel happy. And I realized that I was doing this to honor my mother’s efforts and that she taught me to be a good person. But it didn’t do me any good, and I was not doing this for my benefit or happiness. But I did it because I was taught to do so. I was trying to be a good daughter for my mother and not for my father. And my mother would want nothing else than for me to be happy.

Then in that conversation, I asked myself a question that no one would dare to ask me or even think of asking me, but I’m glad I did. Because this is about me, my life, and what makes me happy, so, I can be selfish for once and be honest to myself. And I said the question out loud. “What would I feel if I decided to never talk to my father again, never to see him again, and I would get a phone call telling me that he had passed away? How would that make me feel?” My husband looked me directly in the eyes, ensuring that I should have no fear or shame in answering whatever went through my mind. It was as if all my fear, guilt, and doubt were taken away from me by that question. And in all honesty and with no shame, I answered my own question, “Relieved. I would feel as if I was set free from a burden. I would feel sad, no doubt about that. I would grief about my father passing away, but I would also be able to let go of all my pain, anger, suffocation, doubts, fear, questions, and the culprit who hurt and traumatized my mother and me. I would get closure, and I would be free from all the obligations that I felt I had towards him.” Once I had said those words out loud, I burst out in tears, and I let myself drop into my husband’s arms.

He let me cry for a long time before he said, “It’s ok. You’re safe, and you have nothing to be ashamed of. I am proud of you that you are honest with yourself. You are so strong. Nothing is more important than your happiness. I know you want to be there for others. You obligated yourself to stay because no one else did. People always said that he’s your father and that you should forgive him. But people never understood what you went through and that you are his daughter too. He should have been there for you and not the other way around. He hurt you, he left you, and he disappointed you. You should be proud of yourself, and I know your mother is, as am I. You are so brave...”

I never doubted myself about this again, and I felt at peace knowing that the next time I will see my father, he will probably be no more. This decision is not about revenge or punishing him because what’s the point? That wouldn’t do me any good, nor do I need that because that would mean he owes me something. But he doesn’t, not anymore. Especially since he does not live independently, he lives in a clinic and is cared for by professional people. He needs them so that he can stay off of alcohol. I don’t need that, nor do I want to be part of that process. His current life is already a punishment, in my opinion, and I feel sympathy towards him because he isn’t a bad person. But I do not feel anything for him in a way that would make me want to see him.

I am not saying that I would never want to see him again because I can’t look into the future, but for now, I don’t. And all I do know is that it is my decision whether to see him again or not, which is all I need. It is my life, my decision, my choice without any regrets, and that’s what makes me happy. This truly is what self-care is all about.