I tried to write this one over and over again until I had nothing left to say. You know that feeling when you buy food, save the leftovers for later, and then drop the whole container on the floor or forget it at the restaurant? Yeah, that’s exactly how my feelings are about this father’s wound. I keep trying to hold on, salvage whatever I can, but somehow it keeps slipping right out of my hands.
I become angry, then peaceful, then back to angry, then peaceful again—like a never-ending cycle. It’s exhausting. The last few times I spent with my dad were a chaotic masterpiece, like one of those paintings that looks beautiful from a distance but is just a mess up close. It made me realize there were all these emotions I hadn’t faced yet, emotions that I’d buried deep just to get through.
Dad, I get it—you’re human, and you made mistakes. But let’s be real here: you left me to rot. You knew what you were dealing with when it came to my mom. You knew she wasn’t in a good place mentally, not fit to take care of us. And maybe you weren’t either, but instead of stepping up, all you did was think about yourself. You let us stay in a situation that you knew was wrong because it was easier for you to walk away.
I called you, hoping for some kind of comfort, hoping you’d at least show some accountability. And what did you say? “I’m not going to let you destroy my peace.” Man, that hit like a punch to the gut. Like, how was I supposed to respond to that? You had the nerve to protect your peace while mine was shattered to pieces on the ground. It was like you were more worried about keeping your own life tidy and stress-free than even caring for the child you left behind.
It makes me think—maybe my feelings about you are just like those leftovers: something I keep saving, hoping they’ll nourish me later, but eventually, I’ve just got to admit that it’s all spoiled and let it go. No point in holding on to something that’s not feeding me anymore.
Maybe that’s what I need to do—stop trying to salvage what’s broken and let go of the idea that there’s anything left to hold onto. It’s like I keep expecting you to show up and be the dad I always needed, but every time, you remind me that the person I want you to be just doesn’t exist. And it’s not that I haven’t tried to forgive, to find some way to make peace with it all. I’ve tried, over and over again, hoping that one day it’ll hurt a little less, that one day I’ll feel whole even without you.
But I’ve got to be real: it’s not just about forgiving you. It’s about forgiving myself too—for all those times I felt like I wasn’t enough, like maybe I was the problem, like maybe if I had been different, you would’ve stayed. It’s about letting go of that hope that you’ll magically change, show up at my door, and finally be the father I deserved. I can’t keep setting myself up for that disappointment.
I think about that call, how you said you weren’t going to let me destroy your peace, and I laugh now—not because it’s funny, but because it’s ridiculous. You were so focused on protecting yourself that you forgot your job was to protect me. I don’t know if you even see the irony in that, but I do. You were the one who destroyed my peace first, and I had to pick up the pieces all by myself.
So now, I’m choosing me. I’m choosing my peace. It’s not easy, and it doesn’t come without pain, but it’s time. Time to stop waiting for you to be someone you’re not, time to stop carrying this weight that was never mine to bear. I’m letting go of the leftovers, even if it feels like there’s nothing left. Because maybe, just maybe, letting go is the first step to finding something better, something that truly nourishes me—something that’s all my own.
And as for you, Dad, I hope you find your peace too. I hope you realize what you missed out on, but even if you don’t, I’m done letting it define me. I’m moving forward, and I’m gonna make sure that what I build for myself is something that no one—especially you—can ever take away from me.
Maybe that’s why my dating life feels like such a mess. I mean, how am I supposed to trust someone when the first person who was supposed to love me just up and left? It’s like I keep replaying that same story—finding someone, opening up just a little, and then waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s like I’ve convinced myself that everyone is going to leave eventually, so I push them away before they get the chance. It’s exhausting, but I can’t help it sometimes. It’s like this automatic defense mechanism that’s been hardwired into me.
I look for the red flags, the warning signs that someone might bail, and the moment I see even a hint of them, I’m out. Or worse, I stick around trying to prove that I’m worthy enough for them to stay, like I can somehow make up for all the times I wasn’t enough for you. It’s a cycle I can’t seem to break, and honestly, I know it all comes back to you.
I’ve dated people who were emotionally unavailable, people who couldn’t commit, people who were all charm but no substance. I thought maybe if I could get them to love me, it would somehow make up for the love I didn’t get from you. But it never works that way, does it? The truth is, I’ve been looking for the love you didn’t give me in all the wrong places, hoping someone else could fill the void you left behind. And every time it doesn’t work out, it’s like that wound gets ripped open all over again.
It’s made me realize that I need to heal, not just for myself, but so I can stop letting your absence define my relationships. I deserve love that’s stable, love that stays, love that doesn’t feel like it’s going to disappear at any moment. And maybe the first step to finding that love is learning to give it to myself, to stop seeking validation from people who remind me of you and start choosing people who make me feel safe, valued, and seen.
I’m not there yet, but I’m trying. I’m trying to unlearn the idea that love has to be earned through struggle, that I have to prove myself to be loved. And I think that starts with letting go of the idea that your absence says anything about my worth. It doesn’t. You made your choice, and now I’m making mine—to heal, to grow, and to finally let myself be loved the way I deserve.
So now, as I stand here at this crossroads, I have to make a choice. I could keep carrying this burden, letting your absence define my worth and dictate how I show up in my relationships. Or I could choose to let it go. I could choose to love myself more, to give myself the care and attention you couldn’t, and to finally break the cycle that’s kept me trapped for so long.
I’ve held onto the hope that you would come back and make things right, but that hope has only kept me from moving forward. It’s time to stop waiting for you to change and to accept that the love I need isn’t something you can give. And that’s okay. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you—it just means that I love myself enough to stop letting your choices define my future.
So, Dad, I love you, but I choose me. I choose to let go of the anger, the sadness, and the expectations. I choose to heal, to open myself up to love that is real and steady. I choose to let go of the fear of abandonment, to trust myself, and to build relationships that are built on respect, care, and genuine connection. I’m choosing my peace, my happiness, and my future.
I’ll always have love for you, but this time, I’m putting myself first. And for once, that feels like enough.
As I close this chapter, I know now that it’ll be easier to focus on the parts of my relationships that bring me joy. It’s not about ignoring the red flags, but rather seeing them for what they are and choosing to address them in a healthy way, without letting fear be the main reason I walk away. I’m realizing that no one is perfect, and that includes me. I don’t need to hold people to impossible standards just because I’ve been hurt before.
I am not superior to anyone, and my pain is as valid as anyone else’s. We’re all just doing our best, navigating our own wounds and healing journeys. And as I move forward, I want to allow space for growth—not only for myself but for others too. It’s about balance, compassion, and learning to love without letting old scars control my heart. That’s how I know I’m finally on the path to building relationships that feel right—not perfect, but real, and worth the effort.
As I grow, I want to be intentional about how I communicate and the energy I bring to my relationships. I realize that sometimes, my defense mechanisms have been a way to protect myself, but I don’t want that to be my default anymore. I want to learn to express my needs, to let people in without always expecting the worst. Vulnerability is scary, but it’s also where the deepest connections grow.
Boundaries have always felt like a complicated topic for me. But I’ve learned that creating boundaries doesn’t mean pushing people away—it’s about protecting my own peace and energy while also allowing the people I care about to understand me better. I want to build relationships that are based on mutual respect, where both of us can be open and honest, knowing that we’re committed to understanding each other.
I also want to be accountable for the ways my past has impacted my behavior. I know I haven’t always shown up in my relationships in the healthiest ways, and I want to work on that. Healing isn’t just about letting go of old wounds—it’s about choosing to grow, even when it’s uncomfortable. I want to face my triggers, challenge the negative patterns, and become someone who’s able to give and receive love in a way that feels authentic and true.
Ultimately, I’m learning that love starts with me. The more I honor and nurture myself, the more I can share that love with the people around me. It’s not about perfection, but about showing up, doing the work, and allowing myself—and others—to be human. And as I move forward, I’m excited to see what kind of connections can grow when I come from a place of genuine self-love and openness.
Sincerely, a mad Black Daughter