What We Don’t Heal, We Tend To Repeat

The other day, I was writing a blog post for Father’s Day. I got into our need to heal the wounds that may have been left behind by our fathers. Then I got into journaling my own experience with my father and what fatherhood means to me.

For years, I blamed my father for being absent, unavailable, neglectful, and, in many ways, controlling and avoidant. Work was often his reason for not being there when I needed him. Then there was the alcohol, the weekends spent golfing with buddies, or at the casino.

And yet, we did family things together. We took summer vacations. We ate breakfast and dinner as a family. We went to sporting events, movies, and concerts. We had good times.

But he also had many reasons for not being home.

In his absence, I became the man of the house. I became my mother’s partner, therapist, peacemaker, and guardian. And I resented him for that. So much so that there were times I wished he had simply left. I thought maybe it would have been easier on all of us.

I tested him. Challenged him. Ignored him. Pushed him away.

Unconsciously, I think I was trying to see what he would do, how he would respond, whether he would eventually wake up and become the father and husband the family needed.

Then something shifted in my journaling, which often happens.

The focus turned toward me.

I’m a father.

And not just a father, I too was absent, unavailable, neglectful, and, in my own ways, controlling and avoidant.

I divorced my children’s mother when they were young. But I never used the divorce as an excuse for not being there. People often praised how involved I was after the separation.

I was there for their musical adventures. I coached their sports teams. I attended school events and helped with homework. We travelled together. We went to movies, concerts, and plays. We talked and played late into the night.

But I wasn’t always there.

I, too, had another life beyond them.

I had my career. I lived in another home, far enough away from their mother. I had my friends. And then there was dating.

And unknowingly, I placed my son in a position where he became his mother’s partner, therapist, peacemaker, guardian.

They tested me too. Challenged me. Ignored me and pushed me away.

I'm reminded that what we don’t learn or heal, we tend to repeat.

I’ve come to see how deeply we feel obligated to love our mothers, even when they hurt us. It often isn’t the same with our fathers. And as family units become more and more fragile, fathers increasingly are seen as optional.

And perhaps, in some ways, rightly so.

Broadly speaking, many of us men haven’t done a great job of staying, being present, or being fully available for our families. We’ve prioritized work and making money over nurturing healthy relationships with our partners and children, and taking care of the home. And we haven't done a great job at attending to our own pain or holding ourselves accountable for doing the work on ourselves. This stems from not having male role models who have done their own work.

Though I’ve spent decades working on myself, working on healing my trauma, uncovering my blind spots, and confronting my saboteurs. I was an engaged father. And yet, I will always be the father who left when they needed their father the most.

That was a hard realization to sit with. To reflect on.

In your own lives, what parts are you resisting, defending against, denying when you think of your own father? How is that affecting your relationships today? With yourself? Your partner? Or your children if you have any? How are you still blaming them for how you turned out?

Much love

Charles