My Dad Chose Me Over My Abusive Mother. But It Was Too Late.
By: Laura Fox
Tags: Relationships, Prompt, This Happened To Me, Child Abuse, Family

My Dad Chose Me Over My Abusive Mother. But It Was Too Late.

I waited twenty-six years for this moment. But it wasn’t what I hoped it to be.

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I never had a close relationship with my father, but I always thought of him as the “kind parent.” Unlike my mother, he was laid back and funny. His rules were relaxed and he seldom shouted. Although we didn’t always see eye to eye, he wasn’t the aggressor. He clearly favoured my sisters over me and seldom gave me attention. But I was tolerant of this because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother.

My mother was a volatile woman and most likely a narcissist. She had low self-esteem yet at the same believed she was special. She often said she was more intelligent than most people and attributed any conflicts in her friendships to jealousy.

She took zero responsibility for the negative emotions she felt as a result of her low self-esteem. She often believed she was an exception to the rules and could act out without consequences. She would fly into uncontrollable rages that were frightening. Her interpersonal problems with other parents impacted my social life at school. She had the same problems with relatives, which made it hard for me to fit into my extended family.

My mother said many cruel things to me that will stay with me for the rest of my life. She often did this in front of my father, who said nothing. I reasoned this was okay because he was the nicer parent. He didn’t shout. He didn’t insult my character. So I accepted this way of life because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother.

My father would put the responsibility on me to calm her down. Often this meant me apologising. It was a lot of pressure, but I did it for him because he was nicer than my mom. He was also very childlike, so I felt the urge to protect him from my mother’s rage and forgive him for never standing up for me because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother.

My mother’s abuse wasn’t just psychological. She also allowed me to be abused by family members. She avoided the blame by saying she had told my father about it but he was the one insisting we must still visit the relatives.

This caused a rift in my already difficult relationship with my father. It also created an inner conflict, because one of these relatives used to beat him when he was a child. I reasoned that perhaps my father was still scared of them. So I endured the abuse to be brave for him because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother.

My teenage years were difficult in terms of having a relationship with my father. I never spent time with him and we hardly spoke. My role was to be my mother’s therapist. If I didn’t fulfil this role, it would be a rare occasion when my father would speak to me. He would explain my mother’s moods were impacting the family and would ask me to fix it. And I would. And then it would go back to us not interacting much as I was serving my purpose. But it was okay because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother.

As I grew older I realised the dynamics in my family were not okay. I also realised I had been abused, not only by my mother directly but in the way I was never protected from other relatives. I found out that she had not been telling my father about this. She was the reason it was allowed to continue.

When my father heard this, I hoped he would wake up and realise exactly who my mother was. As always, he was fiercely loyal to her. I believe he was a victim of her abuse too and he was very dependent on her. I felt disappointed and let down, but I let it slide because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother.

But then I grew into an adult. My mother couldn’t control me as easily now. My sisters were also older, and she had the same problem with them. This proved difficult for her, and her usual manipulation wasn’t working. As a result, she would fly into more rages. I wasn’t there to fix things as I had moved out and was living my own life. This meant my father was fully experiencing what I had been going through my entire childhood.

If things were going well, my mother had to engineer a crisis. This pattern was present my whole childhood, but it got worse when I left home. Her children were doing well in the adult world, she and my father were financially secure, and it wasn’t enough for her. So she created crisis situations. The worst one was when she went missing and my father found her having an affair with a man she barely knew and refused to come back home.

I supported my father through this. I would speak to my mother on his behalf and endure her verbal abuse. I felt he should have been the one to handle it, but I reasoned it was okay because at least he wasn’t as bad as my mother. I finally told him everything, and my dream came true. He woke up and seemed to understand.

My mother had walked out on the whole family, saying “I’ve done my bit. I’ve raised my kids. I’m doing something for me now.” My father was the only parent I had left so I was grateful for him.

Things seemed to be going well between my father and me, but then I didn’t hear from him for a few days. He turned up at my flat and I thought he was visiting me due to not getting in touch for a while. Little did I know, I was about to have the most difficult conversation of my entire life.

He revealed to me that he hadn’t been in touch with me as my mother had moved back in and they were getting back together. I was crushed. I started to sob and he responded with “I didn’t come here to make you cry!” as if my reaction was an inconvenience. I reminded him of all the things I had told him. I reminded him of all the things he had witnessed her do. It was as if he couldn’t hear me and I was in one of those nightmares where you are screaming in a crowded room but no one is paying any attention.

Pouring your heart out to someone and pleading with them to listen to you is so painful. My body physically hurt trying to make him see sense. I finally had no mental or physical energy from carrying the entire conversation. The last thing I said was “you always choose other people over me.” He acted as if he had no idea what I was talking about. He left and I cut contact with him shortly after because although he wasn’t as bad as my mother, he wasn’t much better.