Why I stopped being Daddy's girl.
Why I Stopped Being Daddy’s Girl.
There comes a time in every girl’s life, to reevaluate life choices. To stop hating your mother and put yourself in her shoes. To become a woman. To see things for the first time in clear light. To understand family dynamics and uncover the big lies that protected you as a child. To see your dad for what he really is and not the dream and idol you made him.
First of all, let’s talk about pampering. Why did my Daddy pamper me? Why did he ask my mother not to shout at me and ask me to take a walk with him more times than my mother? Why was it always her screaming and him sitting back and me running to him and hiding under his wing and wishing she was gone? Well, as a child, the answer was simple. He was perfect. He understood me. He was my Daddy. But as a woman, it is uglier. The answer though, is still simple. Because she did everything. And each time we went for a walk, she had to put it all back together and do the things that needed to be done, alone.
I sit back now, capable of seeing through layers, and I watch him, still wanting to sit back, still wanting her to do everything, and expecting me to keep the status quo and let him have his peace, his quiet, his inability to contribute, his entitlement, his respect, his ego. After all these years of watching her without a break and him always on break, I look at him as a man, not as a Dad. And I hate him. I don’t understand if there can be love somewhere in his being, wanting such servitude, expecting such exaltation, giving so little, receiving so much. I am unable to find adoration in my grown heart any more for someone I once thought was everything.
My heart aches for my mother. I blame her sometimes, wondering why she doesn’t ever fight and ask to be treated better. Why she doesn’t refuse to do it all and give herself some self-loving. But mostly I admire her patience, her ability to love someone that she gives her sweat, her days, her effort, in return for not much better than a thank you. I would be livid in her shoes. I love her more, I wish her better, and I want to be her girl, to tell her I’m sorry I never understood, before.
As decisions are being made, I realise, my contributions matter when they come with material worth and I can be a good girl if I bring something to the table. He can call me exceptional. But that’s it. If I have nothing, then he would rather his son, because there is no need for his son to have material worth. He is his child, his son. That is everything. He is a proud father just for his existence. And so I refuse to play the game. I stop being the good girl, Daddy’s girl. Because I want to matter without contribution, without goodness, without attributes, but with just my existence. Because I don’t want to be looked at a source of wealth. From bride price to utilities, what they see is a source. What can they squeeze out of me? What can they get for my brother so that he can achieve his dreams? I am a means to his end, to their end. I was never the deal.
There comes a time for revelation. For change. And it’s not always a bad thing. It’s a time to stop doing things for others but one’s self. And to recognize sacrifice and pay tribute to unconditional love. To want more than what is claimed to the natural thing and go after the real thing.