I maintain very little communication with my father. We exchange texts a few times each year, mainly during major holidays, and it’s been over a year since I last heard his voice. This distance often leaves me feeling guilty. Am I being unfair? Hasn’t he suffered enough? I find myself questioning whether the things I believe he did are true, and if they justify my decision to limit our relationship.
During the holidays, the guilt feels even heavier. It’s a time when families are meant to come together, and I can’t help but picture my father sitting alone in his small, untidy apartment. I know he’s unhappy, and I feel that I am a part of that unhappiness.
To navigate these feelings, I rely on a mental checklist. It’s not written down; it’s burned into my memory through repetition. Yet, it only fully materializes when I need it.
I start by recalling the inappropriate remarks he made about me and my friends. I remember the way his gaze lingered too long on my young friends and how he commented on their appearances. I remind myself that he made those choices, and he was aware of his actions.
Then, I think back to when I was 14, experimenting with nude sunbathing on our flat roof. My dad suddenly felt the urge to do yard work, and I sensed him trying to sneak a glance. In the past, I blamed myself for being out there, thinking it was my fault for lying naked on the roof. But now I realize, he was trying to peek at his own daughter—he knew exactly what he was doing.
I also remember a moment when my sister confided in me, frantic and whispering about something that happened to her friend involving our father. I never learned the full story, only that it occurred when her friend was without bottoms. I doubted the truth of her claims because her friend had a reputation for dishonesty, but I can’t shake the feeling that something did happen.
As I continue to mentally sift through my memories, two significant events rise to the forefront. The first is a memory from when I was about 15. I woke up to a strange sensation between my legs, and there was my father in the dark, claiming he was just fixing my covers—an odd claim from someone who rarely came into my room. It took a while for me to accept that he was attempting to touch me while I slept.
The last item on my mental checklist is particularly haunting. Back in the late ’90s, when the internet was still new, I discovered my father’s browsing history on the family computer. Page after page of child pornography. This piece of evidence should suffice to justify my decision to cut him out of my life. Yet, it’s always the final thought that comes to me after I revisit all the other memories. I have to remind myself of these points, item by item, as if I’m seeing them for the first time.
I’ve learned I’m not alone in this coping strategy. A friend of mine, who had to sever ties with their narcissistic mother, has a checklist of their own. They receive desperate emails from her, pleading for a relationship, which evoke feelings of guilt and selfishness. But they, too, have their list to remind them of their reasons for stepping back.
Another friend, a survivor of rape, has a checklist that starts with acknowledging the assault and reinforces that she did not provoke her attacker. The instinct to blame oneself is strong, and these lists help navigate the difficult emotions that come with trauma.
Though I may still carry guilt about distancing myself from my father, my checklist reassures me that I’ve made the right decision. It’s a reminder that trauma can cloud our judgment, leading us to question our choices. But each time I run through my mental list, I find clarity.
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Summary:
The author shares their personal journey of distancing themselves from their father due to a history of inappropriate behavior. They navigate feelings of guilt and self-doubt by relying on a mental checklist that outlines the reasons for their decision. This checklist includes memories of uncomfortable encounters and evidence of unacceptable behavior, serving as a coping mechanism to combat self-blame. The narrative highlights the shared experiences of trauma survivors who use similar strategies to affirm their choices.