Scrolling through my newsfeed on Facebook this morning (a daily ritual while I enjoy my first cup of coffee), I came upon a picture of a friend and her father. Aside from the fact that it was a fantastic photo, it was the first photo she has taken with him in nearly two decades. After 17 years, healing has begun. I only know a handful of reasons for their estrangement, though despite the gravity of it, they have come together, my friend much in the spirit of putting the past behind her. The peace and happiness I wish them both has nearly brought me to tears.
When I was twelve, I stopped seeing my mother's first husband (I reserve the words 'father' and 'dad' for the man who actually raised my sisters and I). I saw him once more at 16, when he, my younger sister and I met for a therapy session. It is my recollection that when my answers and input were not within his ability to manipulate and control, he became incensed and eventually stormed out of the office. In all honesty, the memory of that day is muddled, and I do not recall much other than that being the last time I ever saw him.
Over the past 26 years, I have had contact with him twice. The first time was a phone call just before my younger sister got married; I urged him to hold off on calling her, so as not to disrupt her happy glow. That may seem cruel, but this man has no concept of anyone, save himself. A narcissist if there ever were one, interactions with him were based in manipulation, coercion, and abuse. I didn't want his twisted need for control under the guise of self-pity to upheave my sister's excitement. He called her anyway.
For a long time I was bitter, hating this man who tormented my early years. The mere mention of him brought a slew of unpleasant emotions bubbling back to the surface that would take me days to stuff back down. I ended up marrying a man who was altogether too much like him. For 12 years I stayed and allowed the emotional terrorism and mental abuse to reign over my sons and myself. At some point during the latter half of that marriage, I was thrust into another situation that sent me reeling. As strange as it may seem, the resurfacing of my rape triggered the reclamation of myself.
After some 13 years had passed, I was given the chance to face the two men who abducted and repeatedly raped me when I was 19 in court. That opportunity, that vindication, set things in motion for my soul that have resulted in where I am at this moment. Something else happened as well; I decided to free myself and my sons from a tumultuous home life. It wasn't easy in the beginning, but I no longer harbor contempt for my children's father; just the hope that he someday figures out how to be the father his sons deserve.
The similarities of my sons' estrangement from their father, and my choice to cut ties with my own have not escaped my attention. That I bear some responsibility for history repeating itself, at one time, weighed heavy on me as a mother. I have rarely thought of my mother's first husband in the near three decades since I last saw him. Last year, however, sentimentality must have gotten the better of him, because he reached out to both my sister and I via Facebook. He typed up a rather lengthy message, detailing recent tragedies in his life, comparing them to my mother's, made mention of 'that night' (this was the first time he'd ever acknowledged I was raped) and how awful he'd felt and what it had done to him...suffice to say that in one read through, I became aware that not much had changed. I responded with condolences for his loss, but kindly let him know that I had no interest in reconnecting. His response to that was straight from the bitter narcissist I once knew. Instead of feeling badly, or wanting to continue this unhealthy exchange, I opted to let him have the last word.
Two good things have resulted in first being subjected to such a self-serving person; I am able to recognize when it is not in my best interest to allow or continue to allow a person who has narcissistic tendencies to be in my life, and that it is possible to find peace and forgive without needing to make amends. I do not believe that I could have ever have walked away from those courtrooms and the men who raped me with the sense of peace that I did, had I not truly let go of the hate and hurt their actions caused. And I would not have been able to do that, had I not first learned to walk away and find peace after years of abuse from my mother's first husband.
By no means does having forgiven these men eliminate all of the issues I still struggle with even today. Abuse leaves marks that often don't go away; they may heal, but the effects alter how we relate, react, and resume life around us. I would be foolish to ignore or deny that some of the character flaws I possess aren't connected to the my first father-figure and the two men who violated me. Being aware of the root of some of the things I do and say, helps me continue to become a better person. It is possible to release resentment, anger, and hate while living with the scars.
Whenever I see people I know and care about letting go of the past, as my friend and her father did this weekend, I have nothing but absolute happiness for them. I have been fortunate in my lifetime to have experienced the healing power this kind of interaction provides, but I don't feel it necessary or beneficial to seek that type of resolution with my first-father figure. I am elated that I was able to find inner harmony and a sense of peace on my own, as any kind of reunion with a man like him would be a one-sided attempt at forgiveness while deflecting daggers of blame and an unwillingness to own past wrongs. I wish him no ill-will; on the contrary, I hope that he continues to live a good, fulfilling life with as much happiness as possible. My life is full, and I have been blessed with an abundance of love, acceptance, and respect, enabling me to offer so much of the same in return.
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