- Gogo uMkhanyakude
- Jan 25, 2018
- 4 min read
Truth is, my father is a bully at best and a sociopath at worst. He dominated the lives of both of his wives and all of his children, starting with me. His influence in my life was devastating and insidious. His use of intimidation, public humiliation, gaslighting, and physical violence was the way in which he attempted to superimpose his will onto mine. For 30-sumn-odd years, it worked. Until I realized that it was only working because I let it. He is not any standard of manhood, in my opinion. Any man that will abandon and reject his family because they don't comply with his self-centered wishes, while still living in the home so he can control them, is not a man at all. I used to adore my father. He was, to me, the most beautiful man in the world... Even when he slapped me to ground and called me a whore for getting a ride home from a boy who happened to be driving a van. I protected him when he lectured me for two hours immediately after coming home from an abortion I was forced to have at 17, and then brought home a video of a partial-birth abortion and made me watch it as punishment for getting pregnant in the first place. I caped for him even after he brought his girlfriend home under the pretense of being my friend and then married her. I was hooked on him and his dysfunction. I thought it was mine to fix. I was wrong. My father, and the people like him, can't be fixed. Narcissists don't change and sociopaths don't get better. Can you imagine how difficult it was to come to terms with this truth, especially when it's pertaining to your father?! Let me tell you how it was for me. It all came crashing down for me a few weeks ago. I'm temporarily staying with my father until I move into my home; two months at most. Anyway, I'm the oldest of my siblings, who range from 15-22 years younger than me. Because of this and other things, I believed the illusion My father and I created that our relationship was somehow more evolved than his relationship with others. In short, I thought he respected me as an adult. I was wrong. I mistakenly violated an unspoken house rule and my father immediately regressed into the emotional bully I've always known him to be. It shook me because for years, he'd kept that part of himself hidden from me, presumably because I was kowtowing to keep the peace. But this time, I didn't. I stood toe-to-toe with him and demanded he tell me why he was treating me like I was something less than a 42-year-old woman, published author, and grandmother. His response, which I've heard him say countless times before in my youth, echoed through my soul.
"I don't CARE how old you are and who you are or what you've done. This is MY house and YOU'RE going to do what I say. Period." Y'all... That thing shook me to my core. Why? Well, other than the visceral toxicity of his energetic output, it was the truth as he saw it. And I saw it, probably for the first time in my life. And I was forced to accept it, again, for the first time in my life. My father doesn't care about me if I'm not compliant. You know how long I've been trying to win the approval of a man who will NEVER approve of me? Do you know how this has played out in my life, especially my relationships with men?! The revelation of the level of cognitive dissonance I had been living in was earth-shattering. I saw that I'd made my home at the wall of suffering in the name of loving my abusive father. I cried for three days straight. Since that incident took place, my relationship with myself has been in recovery. I've been releasing the self-loathing that I'd adopted as a defense mechanism, and I've been reminding myself of this one truth: I am not like him and he is not a threat. I am an empath. I feel other people's pain and I care about what I feel. I am a Thwasa who is on the path of awakening Ancestral greatness from within the very DNA that once carried projected paternal poison. I am a free-spirit who brings love and light wherever she finds herself. I am a human being, with valid thoughts and feelings. I am Miss Buttafly, and I am worthy, capable, and I deserve all the good things that come to me in my life. I still love my father; there's nothing really that can change that, nor would I want it to. I can't help but have compassion and understanding for him. I'm an empath. How-the-fuck-ever, I made the decision that I am not obligated, under any circumstances, to save him, counsel him, comfort him, or commiserate with him. We aren't friends, no matter how much he may try to push that narrative. There is no mutual respect, only the illusion thereof, which serves a method of control and manipulation. His emotions are inauthentic and disingenuous. The only thing real anyone has ever felt from him is his rage and his disgust. I make the conscious decision every time I see him to remember this truth; that no matter how charming he may be, he DOES NOT CARE about anything or anyone more than he cherishes his suffering. And up with that bullshit, I will no longer put.Â
-mb.
