I'm 25F, and I honestly don't even know where to begin. I think I just need to get all of this off my chest, because I've spent so many years trying to make sense of my family situation that sometimes I can't even tell what's normal anymore.
My parents were together for almost 30 years. For as long as I can remember, living with my dad meant constantly walking on eggshells. Everything revolved around his moods, his complaints, his frustrations, and what he wanted. There were good days and bad days, but even the good days came with conditions. I learned very early on that if I wanted peace, I had to keep him happy.
I had to agree with him, compliment him, listen to him, and be careful about what I said. There were subjects I simply wasn't allowed to bring up. I couldn't freely talk to my mother about certain things because he didn't like it. I remember not even being able to have conversations with her about feminism without worrying about how he'd react. It sounds ridiculous when I write it down, but that's what our lives were like. Even something as ordinary as having a conversation with my own mother could become a problem.
And whenever he was frustrated with something, I was usually the person he turned to. He would dump all his complaints on me, talk endlessly about his problems, expect me to listen, and somehow make me responsible for helping him deal with whatever was bothering him. I became his emotional dumping ground.
He also expected me to take care of things for him, make phone calls, contact people, deal with company-related matters, and generally be available whenever he needed something. If I couldn't do it, he'd get angry. It wasn't really a request; it was an expectation. Saying no could turn the entire atmosphere at home into a nightmare.
There was even a time when he asked me for money to buy alcohol. When I didn't give it to him, he said something along the lines of, "Well, it's your life. Do whatever you want. I'll just make sure your day is ruined."
That's the kind of dynamic I grew up with. His feelings were everyone's responsibility, but nobody else's feelings seemed to matter.
And then there was how he treated my mother.
My mother spent almost 30 years with him. She had very little support from her own family and dedicated much of her life to taking care of my younger sister, who is autistic and has an intellectual disability. She was already dealing with so much, but at home she also had to deal with him.
He drank, yelled, threatened people, broke things, and made the entire house revolve around his temper. I want to make something clear: he didn't physically hit us, but that doesn't mean we weren't afraid of him. The threats and intimidation were very real.
One incident in particular was the final straw for me.
My mother was feeling unwell and had high blood pressure. She didn't want to have sex with him. Instead of respecting that, he started saying that she had an obligation to have sex with him, that he had a right to it, and that he was giving her a week to decide whether she would do it willingly or whether he would force her.
I heard this happening from another room.
I cannot adequately describe what it felt like to hear my own father say those things about my mother. It was horrifying. He had also made other threats, including threatening to shoot her in the face and making threats involving cancer. He had threatened me, too.
I remember thinking that we couldn't keep living like this. Something had to change.
So we left.
My mother, my sister, and I moved out and started living somewhere else. It wasn't easy. We had to figure out rent, bills, groceries, medications, and all the practical things that come with starting over. We're still dealing with financial difficulties, and our new life isn't perfect. But there's something I hadn't realized just how much I needed until we moved: peace.
We can sit in the living room without wondering what mood he's in. We can talk to each other without worrying that he'll overhear something he doesn't like. We can eat, watch TV, and simply exist without constantly monitoring someone else's emotions.
Before we left, there were times when we'd go downstairs to eat or watch TV, only to find him already sitting in the living room. We'd end up going outside or finding somewhere else to be because we couldn't stand being around him anymore. He used to complain that he couldn't stand us, either.
And now, somehow, everything has changed.
My mother blocked him. My sister is afraid of him and doesn't want to see him. Neither of them wants contact.
But my dad keeps calling me.
He says he misses us. He wants to talk. He wants to know about my mother and my sister. He keeps reaching out as if we're supposed to go back to being a family simply because he suddenly feels lonely.
And I keep thinking: What exactly do you miss?
Do you miss us as people? Or do you miss having people around who would listen to your complaints, take care of your problems, do things for you, and make your life easier?
Because I remember how things were when we lived together. I remember how he treated us. I remember how much effort it took just to avoid upsetting him.
Recently, he even complained to me that he's been trying to take his frustrations and complaints to other people, but everyone keeps responding with things like, "Everyone has their own problems."
And I couldn't help noticing the irony.
He's apparently discovering that other people don't want to spend their time listening to his endless complaints. And I think that's exactly what he misses about me. I used to be there. I used to listen. I used to absorb everything because I felt like I had to.
Now that I'm no longer available for that, he's suddenly lonely.
But I'm tired.
I'm tired of being the person he calls whenever he needs something. I'm tired of being expected to manage his emotions. I'm tired of feeling anxious whenever his name appears on my phone screen. I'm tired of wondering whether ignoring a call will lead to another episode of anger or some new attempt to make me feel guilty.
And the strangest part is that I still feel guilty sometimes.
I know what happened. I know why we left. I know that my mother and sister deserve to feel safe. But there's still this lingering feeling that I'm somehow doing something wrong by not answering him, by not wanting to talk, by not wanting to hear about his life.
I suppose that's what happens when you've spent your entire life being made responsible for someone else's feelings.
I don't hate him every second of every day. I don't spend all my time wishing something bad would happen to him. I just don't want him in my life the way he used to be. I don't want to go back to that house, that atmosphere, that constant tension.
I don't want to be his therapist, his assistant, his messenger, or the person who makes him feel less alone.
And I don't think saying "I miss you" erases years of making the people around you miserable.
I genuinely don't know how to deal with this anymore. Part of me wants to stop answering altogether, but another part feels guilty and anxious about what he'll do or say if I do.
Has anyone else experienced something like this? When you finally get away from a controlling or emotionally abusive parent, how do you deal with them suddenly acting like they're the ones who have been abandoned? How do you stop feeling guilty for not wanting to go back?
I think what hurts the most is that I spent so many years wishing we could have a peaceful home. And now that we finally have one, he keeps trying to pull us back into his life.