my father has been my official unit of measurement for as long as i can remember.
every person i have dated has been subjected to my constant comparisons to dad: how are you like him? do you disagree with his beliefs? would he approve of you? would he even like you? would he think i could do better? would he think i was lucky to find anyone at all?
every job i've held has been carefully polished and presented to him in hope of hearing him praise my work, my progress, my ability, my title. me. he places a high value on education and determination, so i earned degrees and awards and went after positions that would impress him.
"what would dad think" has been an often whispered though when i was faced with a decision. too often, "oh god, what is dad going to think?" rang through my head in panic.
he has always been my yardstick, used to determine the value and merit of everything from potential dates to job choices to hair color. he was the closest thing i knew to god as a child.
i know his faults, i know his shortcomings. i know he has done awful things and that he is not my god anymore. he should not be my image of perfection, but i still see him through my little girl glasses, perfect, strong and safe. i want him to be that way. i want him to be my perfect, approving father and i keep reaching for that, even though i should know better by now.
i've screwed up most everything i've touched in my life. i have very little to show for 34 years of living. i started to turn that around a couple of years ago, pulling my shit together on all fronts. i asked for help, i got back on my feet, i took responsibility for my history. i made changes. i'm still making changes.
i live on my own. i have a great job where i am happy and respected. i'm in love with a wonderful man who knows my darkness and isn't afraid it in me. while it would be nice to hear my dad tell me that he's proud, it should not matter so damn much to me that he doesn't. or that he isn't.
but it does.
what doesn't matter is that he means well when he tells me that he has absolutely zero faith in my ability to maintain a relationship, that he means well in saying that i would be stupid to move across the country and start over professionally so that i can be with someone i love. his meaning well doesn't matter when he tells me that he is disappointed to see me "throw away" what i've worked for, just when he thought i was "finally getting it together." or that i should wait for at least ten years before i consider marrying c., "given my history" in relationships.
fuck meaning well. it hurt.
and i'm angry. at him, for not understanding; and with myself, for letting his opinion make me feel like a scolded child. i'm angry that i still need his validation and that i don't know how to let go that need.
i'm angry that i had to grow up and learn that my yardstick isn't nearly as tall as i thought he was.
