Goodbye Dad, Hello Father
Over the past week, I've found myself deeply reflective about my childhood. I’ve revisited vivid moments and scenes, searching for connections and new insights. Please don’t mistake this practice for regret or a longing for something different; rather, it has brought me peace and, in some cases, closure. For me, closure means feeling at peace with what I believe to be true. While it may not represent the complete answer, I can accept it in my heart.
Allowing your past to serve as a catalyst for your future is a powerful practice. However, it’s important to acknowledge that this process can easily become a source of pain. I wouldn’t recommend reflecting on past moments if you are still grappling with trauma. But if you’ve found healing, looking back can be profoundly enlightening.
One of my recent discoveries involved recognizing the negative role my dad played in my mental and spiritual health. I recalled a specific moment when I first experienced the fear of dying. I was driving with my dad from upstate New York to my college in western New Hampshire. It was late fall, early winter, and as we descended Hogback Mountain in Vermont, the thought struck me. We weren’t discussing death; still, the fear enveloped me, chilling my blood and triggering what would later be identified as a panic attack. Though I didn’t understand it at the time, that fear would resurface frequently, leading to feelings of shortness of breath and paralysis.
These attacks haunted me during nighttime walks on campus or while being left alone at night. To cope, I developed the habit of sleeping with the TV on and learned to avoid certain areas on campus. My parents, misunderstanding my fear of death as suicidal tendencies, placed me on depression medication. While it helped, it didn’t address the root issue.
My dad was my best friend and someone I loved deeply. He inspired my capacity to dream vividly and was kind to others. Yet beneath that kindness lay a burdened man who endured a traumatic childhood, health issues, and the devastating loss of an infant son (a son from his first marriage). His struggles with mental health ranged from depression to suicidal thoughts, and our family life fluctuated dramatically based on his state of mind. When he was present and mentally strong, we created beautiful memories; during his darkest times, we could go weeks without seeing him. His demons were not ours to bear, yet we often suffered the consequences.
I will never forget the speeding ticket I received on Route 88 in New York on our way to see him after hearing that he had been hospitalized due to suicidal thoughts. I was in college, and the feeling of helplessness and devastation was overwhelming. My dad’s struggles transcended to my sisters and me, shaping our upbringing. The instability he projected was our reality until high school. Weekend visitations could turn into weeks apart due to his mental health.
As we transitioned into adulthood, we began to wrestle with the mental health issues he had passed down to us genetically. Depression became a constant companion in my life from my teenage years through my early twenties, particularly seasonal depression, which created unhealthy habits and made discipline difficult. I was exhausted from fighting that undercurrent.
In my early twenties, while living with my dad, I decided to stop taking depression medication and adopt a “toolbox” mentality. This approach, taught by many professionals, encouraged me to find my tools for coping. My toolbox quickly filled with strategies like healthy eating, gluten-free choices, chiropractic care, and therapy. Over the years, I added friendships, faith, and quiet time to this arsenal. Gradually, I began to feel better in every aspect of my life. Looking back, I see that creating this toolbox marked the moment I began to break free from the chains of my childhood, influenced by my dad.
However, my journey toward mental freedom didn’t end there. It took ten years of utilizing my toolbox, choosing sobriety, and embracing my faith to fully break free. While the battle never truly ends, I’ve learned to recognize the onset of depression and take proactive steps to address it, skills that have developed through years of practice.
During my reflections, I traced the timeline of my renewed faith and my decision to walk with Christ, paralleling it with the unraveling of my relationship with my dad. When my earthly father couldn’t love me beyond his demons, my heavenly Father stepped in. I don’t believe in coincidences; I view my journey toward healing and the development of my toolbox as part of a larger plan. My dad, in his brokenness, would never have been able to love the free version of me that I had become. At that point, I had discovered more freedom than he had, and I can only imagine the pain that caused him.
There is so much more to this story, including my sisters’ perspectives and my mother’s, as well as my dad’s. In 2016, I penned a twelve-page letter to my dad, imploring him to become the man and father I needed him to be. Unfortunately, he chose to give up being a father. Emancipating from myself and my two younger sisters. I never thought of him as a failure until I reflected on that moment. He failed not only us but ultimately himself.
Recently, while speaking with my mom about my dad, I shared a raw confession. My dad had been my best friend, my go-to for everything. At the time, no one could compete with that. But I realized that I wouldn’t have made space for God in my life had my dad remained in it. God has healed me and made me whole from the trauma and pain my dad caused. Letting him go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, filled with memories of father-daughter dances at weddings knowing that would never be my reality and moments of celebration I longed to share with him. Even the ache of standing just fifty feet away from him at a funeral, where he didn’t acknowledge me or my sisters, was a heavy burden.
Yet, I am grateful that God called me to Him, removing people, idols, and distractions that kept me from finding peace.
My childhood and my relationship with my dad have become sources of strength for me—experiences that are unique yet relatable, allowing me to help others. My “daddy issues” could have crippled me, but instead, I aspire to be a voice of experience and hope for women struggling with similar challenges. I want them to see how God can support them, ultimately revealing that there are good men in the world—brothers, friends, mentors, father figures—who can fill the gaps.
Once I released my relationship with my dad, I began to notice these positive influences all around me. Through reflection, I’ve found peace in connecting the dots and speaking truth over my past. This truth is the result of my journey through pain. Walking through that pain and pushing forward has taught me that the discomfort will subside. Reflection is indeed powerful, and I hope it can help you make sense of your own journey as you move forward.
Until then,
Britt