"When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong"
Jerry Orbach, Dirty Dancing

If I'm going to whine on this blog, I think it is important for me to also share the truth. I've gotten in a habit, not a very good one, of whining about how my father doesn't love me. See the post below for my most recent rant. I've gotten lots of positive comments from others who know what it feels like to want something from someone who just can't give it. And even when I know that, I still want it. And if that isn't enough I seem to want whatever it is I don't get even more.

What I've realized in the last few days is how much my Dad does love me. Maybe it's not any more than he ever did, but here's the difference ... he's saying it out loud. Or maybe I'm just hearing it out loud. Things like:

What would I do without you.
You've gone beyond the call of duty.
I'd be stupid to run away and leave you (said as he was wheeling himself outside for fresh air.)
Thanks, God, for Mary.
... make we want to cry and jump for joy at the same time. I'm 58 years old and feel a little like Sally Fields at the Oscars.

A counselor told me many years ago that I confuse love with need. If I felt needed, then I also felt loved. It's hard for me to accept love given without being attached to a need I'm filling.

Here is truism that's beginning to make sense to me. Just because I didn't "feel" it doesn't mean my father hasn't always loved me the only way he knows how. I've known for awhile that Dad's love language is NOT warm and fuzzy words, or hugs. He's a man of steel who hides most of his emotions and speaks love by solving problems. I must say he's helped me out of many a jam.

What's different is that as my father nears the end of his life the walls that have always been between us are crumbling down. We're learning how to speak each other's language. Oh sure, my Dad can still be mean. He can lash out and cut deep with an ugly look or nasty comment. He can stop short before saying it as if the "L" word might cause him to choke. Yet, we are learning, together, how to speak a language we can both understand. What is it St. Francis said? Preach the Gospel at all times and if necessary use words.

For all of you who have shared your personal stories of longing with me, I am grateful. More than that I'm honored that you trust me with them. You've helped me know I'm not alone. I'm not crazy. That there is more to love than words. That I am worthy even if the words aren't said. That I am lovable by just being me, not because I'm picked up on your need and slipped into that slot. Love isn't quid pro quo. Love is one heart speaking to another.

I think I've made a real connection between head and heart and I want to put it out there so I can be gently called on it if needs be. I'm not sure I'll be able to completely stop whining about this particular subject, but I'm now on record as being aware.

Wishing for you the language of the heart,
Merry ME

Comments

Constance said…
My father never loved me as I wanted to be loved or needed to be loved. He loved me with his version of love, which was horrifically emotionally abusive while being financially generous as though one made the other okay.

What I have come to learn is that because of his treatment it eventually forced me to learn self-esteem if I wanted to survive and thrive.
I had to reparent myself, to find people who were actively loving and kind in my life.
I had to gradually begin to learn what it looked and felt like to love me in a way nobody could take away from me.

So my father gave me an opportunity through his nasty destructiveness. *This is the key*

Oh, at age 89 my Dad says nice things to me now in the midst of his nastiness. Things I needed to hear when I was young, and never heard.

I do everythig I can to be different from him. Another opportunity.

I no longer expect him to be any different than who he is. He cannot surprise or disappoint me anymore. I no longer look to him for the mirror of my worth as a person, or the gauge of my own loveability.

Do the same, dear Merry.
Every hurt has a chance to grow stronger from it, and nourish your own soul in the process. Love yourself in the way you always wanted to be loved.

You have a right to complain, and also a right to explain. It's part of the growth process, of knowing ultimately it is a path to learning self-love, so that YOU can be the loving person you always wished your father was.

((hugs))
September 7, 2010 at 9:15 AM
Pamela Jones said…
I'm so glad you're hearing your father's love...even if you had to wait for a very long time.

Much love,

Pam
September 7, 2010 at 9:31 AM
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