Word Vomit (Father’s Daughter)
Today my parents accidentally made me cry.
They didn’t mean to, but they did.
In a rare moment of stress and anxiety, them arguing got to me and I burst out crying at my great 21 years of age.
My mom dropped everything, she pulled me close and held me and got me to breath and comforted me.
Once I recovered I went to hug him.
I wanted to hold him tight, to stay in his arms, to squeeze him as if to tell him, ‘I love you even when you make me cry. I love you even when you fail me. I love you at your worst.’
I tried to hold on… but he let me go before I was ready for it, giving me just a pat on the back and quiet resentment for finding comfort in my mother’s arms.
And if that isn’t sadly the simplest way to describe my relationship with my father.
I always hold on, I always try to plead and scream and cry with my eyes for just a moment of genuine connection, of genuine understanding; after all, my whole life everyone has always told me I’m a lot like him…
But he always lets me go, unable to forgive my crime of being a lot like him… but not exactly like him. Of being my mother’s daughter despite being nothing like her. Of loving them both and not just him.
Every single time my dad lets me go… and then he questions why I’m so sickened by the thought of being like him. Why I hate being my father’s daughter.
