AITA: My Father’s Passing

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You know those posts titled “AITA (Am I the Asshole)? Well, lately I’m wondering the same thing about myself. But before you can answer that let me give you the background.

Recently, I found out my father had passed away. I didn’t know he had passed because we were never close. His current wife didn’t see fit to contact me when it happened. The only reason I found out is because a distant relative contacted me out of nowhere wanting to catch up with my father. As a favor, and out of sheer curiosity, I decided to locate my father once again. As it turned out, he passed away two years ago.

After my mother and father divorced, when I was eight years old, my father would come in and out of my life. He would stop contact for various reasons from hiding from child support to moving and so on. And when he came back into our lives, he would always want to act as though he never left. Like anything else, it was never his fault. He was always the victim. What he didn’t blame on life circumstances; he blamed on me. And when he wasn’t gone or blaming anyone but himself; he sometimes had a nasty temper. We once told a social worker we preferred a belt over his hands type temper.

I’m not saying he was a horrible man. I have some fond memories of my father. He sometimes took me to work with him, he went to a couple of my softball games, and he taught me how to defend myself. He was in the operating room when my daughter was born and he provided me a place to stay after she was born so I could get on my feet. He was over 6 feet tall and a husky built man so I remember when I was little I would giggle and yell “wait up, daddy” when I had to run to keep up with him. And anytime he worked on the truck or in the yard I would “help”. Once upon a time, I thought my father was a big strong superhero.

Okay, here is where your opinions come into play. Here is where you get to decide if I’m the asshole. A few years ago, my father had told me he had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. He asked me to come visit him before it got worse. I never went. Not only did I not have the money but I think I had given up. I wasn’t sure I believed him and I think I had just grew tired of trying. And eventually, instead of him disappearing and me chasing after, I disappeared.

I am sad he’s gone because he was my father after all . But I’m more sad and angry that I didn’t have a father like most people had; who loved and protected them. And I feel guilty that I gave up. And as a result of my giving up, my father never saw me or his granddaughter again before he passed.





Different Worlds

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Her and I come from very different worlds. As a result, we often hold very different and opposing viewpoints at times. She has a more positive outlook on life, often sympathizing with people and situations while I hold a more firm and sometimes negative view.

Her: “I feel sad for that person because…”

Me: “They’re a piece of shit”.

One could argue that I have allowed myself to become jaded by life while she hasn’t. This may be partially true. I have no doubt my job is a big influence in how I view people. However, I think a lot of it has to do with the environment you are raised and live in.

Let me give you two examples.

One day, while talking to me on the phone, she went to the shops. I listened quietly as several people took the time to stop, greet her with a smile, and engage in friendly chat. Genuine pleasantries and discussions about each others’ families and careers were exchanged. Each conversation ended with wishing the other well and a promise to catch up later. I remember telling her the people where she lives are far more friendly than where I live.

I don’t remember the exact details of my second example. I remember that while out for her walk Ma’am came upon a woman who needed help. I want to say the woman was broke down but I’m not entirely sure I remember that correctly. What I do remember is that Ma’am let the woman use her phone and even tracked the woman down again later to make sure she was okay. I was not shocked that Ma’am went out of her way to help the woman. She is a great person. But, as I pointed out to her, where I live you don’t let anyone borrow your phone unless you are prepared for it to be stolen. And sadly, no one would have gone out of their way to go back later and check on the woman.

She lives in a friendly town where people greet you when they see you and everyone tries to help the other person out. However, I live in a town that is known for drugs and crime and I work a job where I hear and see the worst of people. Her country doesn’t allow guns while in my state we have open carry. There are so many differences I couldn’t begin to list them all. The point is that I believe environment has a major influence on how we view the world and her and I live in very different worlds.

Just to note; though, I appreciate and love her positive outlook on life and people. It gives me pause to rethink how I see things. Our opposing views don’t cause an issue for us. We just see things differently because of the environment we have been raised and currently live.

Holding On

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It’s been a long time since I have blogged, obviously. Part of the reason is a complete lack of motivation and the other part is I am afraid that the thousands of thoughts brought on by the current chaos of the world and things going on in my life will come pouring out in post after post of messy negativity or outrage. I don’t want it on my blog and I’m sure you don’t want to read about it either. And I guess as she always tells me “thinking about a situation I can’t change is pointless”.

So like everyone else I am holding on to whatever sense of normal I can find these days. I workout almost every day. I am still making progress on my weight loss journey; or my healthy living journey. Sadly, I went back to smoking after being smoke free for over 5 months. To say I am disappointed in myself is an understatement. I do plan on quitting again. But right now I am just trying to focus on getting through each day.

I am lucky. I have it easier than some people as I’m not going through things alone. She helps keep me grounded. We have our routines each day that I can look forward too. She also supports and motivates me to stay on track in my workout or anything else I find myself struggling with at the time. She makes sure that I know she is there for me anytime I need her whether it is just to chat to distract my mind or for a shoulder to lean. Though she is a way more positive person than I and doesn’t struggle as much, I hope that I offer the same to her as well.

So anyway, I haven’t been blogging because right now I’m just holding on until we reach the other side. I hope you are too! We will get through it all.

 

Living in the Moment

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I was asked by a friend I was seeking advice from if I can “live in the moment”. It occurred too me that living in the moment is something I have always struggled with in life. I think the reason for this is because from a very young age I have always been on my own fighting for tomorrow.

When I was old enough and strong enough to fight back against my childhood abuser, I ran away from home with only the clothes on my back. For a brief period I had to constantly fight to figure out how I was going to make money, where my next meal was going to come from, and where I was going to sleep that night. I didn’t have the option of living in the moment.

In one way or another, it has always been me against the world. I took off that day on foot alone and I’ve pretty much always been that way. For the majority of my daughter’s life, I was a single low-income mother working full-time and pulling odd jobs to feed my family. Even in the times when I wasn’t single either it was on my shoulders to take care of things or I took it upon myself automatically. Don’t get me wrong I have had friends step up and give me a helping hand along the way on a few occasions and I am forever grateful for the kindness and generosity they showed me.  I don’t know what I would have done without them.

The point is I’ve never had the luxury of not having to plan for tomorrow that I can remember. I’m not sure I know how too really. So as it turns out I guess I am a bit of a control freak when it comes to planning for the future. What about you? Are you an in the moment type of person or one who has to have a plan? 

 

Safe Space

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She is my safe space. When I am with her I feel nurtured, valued, loved, accepted, and protected. Yes, I am a strong independent woman perfectly capable of taking care of myself. There is nothing in there I can’t provide for myself. But it also doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel those things. She provides me those things; she is my safe space. Everyone else gets a diluted version of me; whatever it is I choose to let them see. But with her, she sees me. She sees through me, even at times when I need to be seen but don’t want to be seen. She sees all the parts of me. And she provides me that safe space of protection, love, and acceptance to let those parts of me I keep hidden from others roam freely.

She has always been that safe space but I never realized it, or more accurately, I never accepted it as much as I have recently. It is through that safe space that she also guides me to grow into the woman and the submissive I want to become. She has taught me and continues to teach me many things including how to ask for the things I need, how to communicate and clarify when something is bothering me, and even ways to calm my mind and soul from my anxiety and depression.

Recently, I realized that with her I overcame something I’ve struggled with for many years. I slowly learned to express my sexual desires with her. Through her, in my safe space, I continue to grow more comfortable with my submission and the things I desire. Before her, I had never been able to discuss the things I desired. My traumatic childhood had created a wall of shame and embarrassment I couldn’t overcome. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t tell my partner what I desired. It had become such an issue I had sought treatment with a sex-positive kink aware therapist. Unfortunately, that fell through after a few appointments. As it turns out, I just needed to find the perfect safe space. She is my safe space.

Don’t get me wrong. It certainly didn’t happen overnight and I still struggle at times. She has shown me extreme patience in times I believe others would have walked away. Sometimes she nudges me firmly in the right direction. Other times she will listen, offer advice, and wait for me to take those first steps. She will comfort me and she will call me out on my bullshit all in the same breathe. In the beginning, I would shut down or lash out stubbornly refusing to admit she could see through me. And she would laugh, reaffirm her position, and let it pass for the time because she knew, even if I didn’t, that I would get there eventually. And I did get there, in my safe space, through her.