Last month I shared a column (updated from a previous column) about how our mothers impact our ives—emphasizing how our mothers often wound us in various ways, wittingly or unwittingly. As Father’s Day approaches, it seems only fair to examine and discuss how our fathers impact us, too.
My father would have turned 77 this June 19th. (My mother just turned 77 in March). Unfortunately, y father died 23 years ago at age 53. I’m about to tum 51 at month’s end and, in the back of my ind, I sometimes wonder (and hope) if I’ll live longer than my Dad.
Interestingly, one of my best buddies, who is just a few months younger than I am, called me to tell e he’d recently suffered a mild heart attack and had to have two stents placed in two of his arteries-one which was 80% blocked. “Genetics,” he said–as his own father had died of a heart attack many ecades ago and age 38!
I’ve talked to many men whose fathers had died and who became increasingly at least mildly anxious bout whether they’d outlive their father’s age at death. Now I get it. Since men tend to die on verage of 8 years earlier than women, chances are good that many of us are spending this Father’s Day without the physical presence of our fathers, and it’s more common for children (including adult hildren) to be estranged from their fathers than their mothers. There’s a bad joke that goes: “Why do en die younger than women? … Because they want to.” The sad truth is that far too many men see nd feel life as a burden and have trouble tapping into the deep joy, awe and meaning of life… even ust their own lives. I’ve felt this myself and I have no doubt my father did as well. It’s been said that any of us have grown up with a “father hunger” due to the not uncommon lack of exposure and urturing by the positive masculine.
Since my Dad’s birthday and Fathers Day fall around the same time each year, I do my best to be ware of my feelings and where I am in my ongoing grieving process. What is most present for me ately is some sadness that my father is not around to witness and share in the joys of my acomplishments and adventures.
I am the oldest of 3 brothers. Each of us has been impacted by our father’s life and death and the ay he fathered—or failed to father—us. I think I can speak for each of us in feeling confused, isappointed, and hurt by the fact that our father had so many great qualities and talents which we dmired but which, sadly, were undercut by his alcoholism, bipolar disorder, and various personality endencies which left us feeling like we, essentially, had to raise ourselves.
While our relationship with our mother–no matter how old we are—is likely the most important, primal nd fundamental relationship we’ll have, fairly recent research and personal anecdotes from both ons and daughters point to the importance of our relationships (or lack thereof) with our fathers.
As with mothers, I can’t tell you how often in my counseling practice that clients’ “father issues” are at he very root of their addictions and relationship problems and, therefore, how important it is for us to acknowledge, understand, and do our best to heal old (or newer) wounds and to develop a healthier relationship with our fathers whether they are actively in our lives or not.
Some of the most common reasons both men and women have father issues include the following:
- a father died early in a child’s life or committed suicide;
- a father was addicted and/or mentally ill and was not able to be physically and/or emotionally resent and attuned to his child;
- a father was overtly/covertly seductive/sexual with his child;
- a father appeared to favor one of his children over another;
- a father needed rescue, help, or companionship and his child played the role of partner or parent;
- a father held unrealistically high expectations of his child and the child became inauthentic to receive mother’s love/approval;
- a father was physically, emotionally, and/or verbally abusive toward his child;
- a father had little natural or cultivated interest in being a father to his child;
- a father betrayed his child’s confidence in some way;
- a father was “perfect” and modeled this in a way his child felt unable to compete with;
- a father was overly critical of his child;
- a father was overly domineering or controlling;
- a father committed infidelity in his marriage & her child knew;
- a father encouraged his child to tell or keep secrets;
- a father broke the law and/or modeled dishonesty; and
- a father was physically and/or emotionally absent due to working all the time or for some other reason(s).
The core effects of the situations described above often result in persistent feelings of neglect, abandonment, trust issues, low self-esteem/self-worth, codependency/care-taking others, as well as unresolved emptiness, depression, anxiety, and anger. Which of the above issues seems to resonate with you? There may be many other ways to express the wounds or conflicts that develop around our relationship with our fathers than are listed above. Have you had any experiences with this?
I recently read something about love that was powerful to me. It noted that it’s important to cover “the four A’s: Attention, Affection, Appreciation, and Acceptance.” Stop and think about this for a bit. How does this land with you? When you think about your relationship with your father, do/did you feel he was attentive? Was he affectionate with you in an appropriate, nurturing way wit hugs, kisses, or even a pat on the back? Was he appreciative of you, your feelings and your unique gifts, talents and efforts? And was he accepting of you with all your foibles, mistakes and so-called shortcomings? That’s real love, huh?
We all know that no parent is perfect and even those of us who are parents ourselves get to realized life’s cruel joke: we often become like our parents or at least learn to appreciate how hard it must have been to them to raise us!
As we grow up (and, hopefully, we do) we learn to differentiate from our parents, need them less (emotionally, financially, etc) and develop compassion for them (they did the best they knew how to do given how they likely were raised). But this doesn’t mean it’s easy. We are taught to honor thy parents but that doesn’t mean we don’t speak our minds our share our hearts.
Ideally, we often look to our parents to be a safe space to share our pain and our opinions (even if it hurts them). It doesn’t mean they don’t share their own pain and opinions back but, I believe, a primary role of a parent is to be strong and mature enough to absorb their child’s expressions, to model this even, and to be secure enough even in their imperfections to listen, try to understand, and try to see the gift in their child’s courageous, if imprecise, offering of their pain, their perspective. This is the ideal and, of course, it’s painful when we don’t get this from parents.
In this context, wouldn’t it be great if–this Father’s Day–instead of cards and ties, we could give the gift of honesty, our father could receive it lovingly, and we would return the favor?