Tomorrow is Father’s Day here in the UK and although this might be yet another outdated post by Monday, I feel compelled to write it.
This will be the third Father’s Day since my dad died, and it doesn't get any easier. If anything, it gets more difficult each year as everyone else forgets my pain. My dad is gone and the onslaught of marketing in the run up brings all my feelings right to the front of my mind.
I’ve stopped using Meta platforms, partly because of the focus on these special days, birthdays, topical news events. Stuff I don’t have any interest in. If I want a news update, I’ll have a quick scroll through BBC News. If I want to wish someone a happy birthday, I’ll do so privately. If I want to whip myself up into an emotionally charged frenzy based on unsubstantiated claims…oh, wait. Yeh, that’s a Meta thing.
I live in a bubble, or so it often seems. I’m okay with it. Inside my bubble, I’m not exposed to the hellscape that is mainstream social media. I use LinkedIn for my freelance business and Substack to satiate my need to create and consume. My feeds are carefully curated; I have no interest in current events or opinion pieces. I’m interested in other people’s opinions, just not in the click-baity way some platforms encourage. I’d rather have a conversation.
So I stay away from the internet, for the most part, on Father’s Day. It doesn’t save me from the fucking Moonpig adverts on TV or the email marketing bullshit drowning my inbox with Amazing Father's Day offers. I don’t want 20% off, thank you very much, I’d prefer to curl up into a ball and lament the fact that my dad died without me getting to say goodbye.
I’m not in a place yet where I can think about my dad, not really. I have a couple of photos up in the house and I look at them when I start to wobble. I ground myself in the knowledge that he did live, and he did love me, and he’s always going to be so much of who I am. But think about the fact that he’s gone? Fuck no.
I’m perfectly aware of how much emotion I push down. I’ve been doing it ever since I became a stepparent over a decade ago. I swallow my feelings to protect the people around me, and I’ve done it so much and so often that it’s become second nature. It’s something I plan to work on, when I can afford some decent therapy.
Every so often, a visual or auditory reminder of my dad will knock me flat on my arse. I’ll be watching Popmaster TV, for example, only to be greeted with the song to which my dad was burned, and I’ll burst into tears right there on the sofa. But don’t worry, I swallow that fucker down pretty quickly too.
Is this healthy?
Of course not, but it’s survival.
I’d love nothing more on Father’s Day than to be alone with my thoughts and a few songs streaming on repeat. I’d love to let out the tears and have a really good cry about it. I can’t do that very often, because of the aforementioned habit of swallowing it all down when other people are close by. And in my life, people are always close by.
This Father’s Day is particularly difficult. It’s also my grandson's first birthday. It’s the day my husband gets to bask in gifts and attention. It’s everyone else’s day, and I’m not going to spoil it by snotting all over everyone with my woe-is-me dead parent attitude.
The worst part is if I were to tell the people I love what I need for this day, they’d give it to me. I’m surrounded by supportive, loving people, if only I’d let them love and support me. But I don’t, I put my big smile on and pretend I’m okay because I don’t know how to be vulnerable. This is rooted in trauma responses, that’s one thing I do know.
Vulnerability makes me feel exposed, as if I'm doing naked cartwheels, screaming LOOK AT ME. I’m learning to be more vulnerable online and within my freelance life, which is getting easier and has led to some incredible friendships and connections. In my personal life? Not so much.
In a stepfamily, whether it's blended to smooth perfection or chunky like soup, these days have an extra weight. When one of the family is also childless, it can be impossible to get it right for everyone. In any family, I suppose, there'll always be one person who struggles when everyone else is happy. It's just that, in my family, it's always me. And I'm always quiet.
I'm not quite sure how to wrap this up (oh, there's a theme there, I can't cope with endings). So I'll just leave you with this: if you're struggling this Father's Day, talk to someone. A friend, a stranger, a bus driver. Message me if you want. I might not reply right away, but I'll read it, and you'll know you're not alone.
Here’s me and my dad on my wedding day. I bought him that stupid Homer Simpson tie when I was about 5 years old and he wore it to every family event thereafter! I wish we’d taken more photos 💔
Yes. My step grandkids are kids are here with us this week so an intense week of immersion. My dad is gone for seventeen years. I mention him sometimes, he was a fireman in NYC. We were doing a campfire and toasting s’mores so we were talking about fire safety with the five year old. But no one really listens, he’s not their peeps. I don’t say much, just talk bout him teaching me to ride a bike with training wheels at the playground. Just little things to say I was a kid once and I had a family. But people keep talking about other things and it all doesn’t matter. One of the stepkids really doesnt do much for their father which makes me sad
What a beautifully written piece x