I’m a magnet for anything involving Iyanla Vanzant. The very title of her show on OWN contains a command to “Fix My Life!” so I mean, really, what more could a viewer ask for in the way of a reality television spiritual guru.
Although I’ve admittedly scoured perused old Iyanla YouTube episodes with titles like, “A Father of 34 Children Confronts His Painful Past,” and “My Toxic Obsession: A Former Model Battles an Addiction to Butt Injections For Beauty,” it was the five minute segment called “Daddyless Daughters” that rendered me something of a human rag doll — a sudden mix of nausea, full body shakes, tears and snot — lying solo in the fetal position on my bathroom floor.
Sorry neighbors. Sorry readers.
But you see, I am a Daddyless daughter.
That I might possess a societally ordained disguise as a well bred, high functioning woman with two parents who live in the heart of Greenwich, Connecticut, matters little when Iyanla poignantly, and so fucking factually, states the obvious — “Daddy Gone –” encouraging all of the other daddyless daughters in the audience to own the enormity of their pain/hurt/confusion via the use of three short, grammatically incorrect syllables that cut, like a flesh ripping blunt blade, right to the crux of the matter.
Daddy Gone.
Statistics would suggest that I’m one of twenty-four million Americans who grew up in a biological father absentee home and that — for all intents and purposes — I’m decidedly one of the more fortunate byproducts of a broken system.
It stands to reason then that I’ve never allowed myself to bask in an elongated state of self-pity or to feel the residual effects of a rejection that I still can’t even really begin to process myself. Although I was made aware of the sobering, “wow-this-is-really-kind-of-a-conversation-STOPPER” circumstances surrounding the situation, like my father’s apparent demands for my mother to have a first trimester abortion (cat’s out of the bag now, guys!), by the age of fifteen, I was determined to play sleuth, spending my summer vacay hidden away on the desktop computer in my attic and ascertaining all of my Dad’s noticeably covert contact information while blasting Ashlee Simpson’s, “Pieces of Me.” Eventually, I reached out to him via letter (From what I’d been told, we both had a penchant for writing) and we actually corresponded via a series of enthusiastically riddled long distance phone calls.
But for reasons that I can’t quite make sense of, the deeply articulate voice on the other end of the line suddenly slipped away again like a helium balloon passing through the fingers of a credulous child as it soars through the boundless blue sky above. Fly if you must, John, but fix me first. Give me back the piece of myself that you took with you at the outset.
Beyond the absence of my “bio dad,” one could easily assert that I lead a fairly privileged existence, especially because at the age of five, my stepfather arrived onto the scene like a brand new pink Power Wheels Corvette convertible (That was the hot toy car circa 1992) — the pinnacle of big red bow surprises sent straight from the universe.
Offering up an entirely new identity that came replete with a two-parent family, a big white house, pre-paid tuitions aplenty, and a little sister, to boot, surely, I could no longer be categorized as a daddyless daughter. In fact, even within my household, we rarely spoke about the subject or mentioned the fact that I had another father floating around somewhere within the continental United States.
Here’s the thing: my stepfather provided for me as if I were his own, and I believe that he genuinely intended to view me as his biological daughter. My Dad, as I came to call him, was indisputably good to me for the large majority of my life. That said, there was always a palpable disconnect that existed between us — an unspoken, if not inconvenient and tragic truth, that alluded to the fact that a fundamental piece of our emotional bond was mysteriously absent.
I can’t speak from his perspective, of course, but I can tell you that although I loved him, I loved him, I loved him, I consistently felt largely inadequate beneath the glare of his presence. The relaxed cadence that he seemed to enjoy around my mother and sister quickly dissipated when it came to striking up conversation with me. Was there something wrong with the way in which I communicated? Was I boring? Was I stupid? Worse yet, was I a subconscious physical reminder of another man — one with dark features and Grecian roots? As a child, I really didn’t want to be that; the very idea of it sickened me to my core and made me feel guilty, helpless and dirty.
Although I’m deeply appreciative of it and believe that it’s something that shouldn’t just be swept under the rug, I needed more than the financial stability that my stepdad afforded me. I craved some further measure of warmth, expression, cajoling, empathy, humor, love –- anything to break the unyielding glacial barrier that rudely, aggressively, purposely wedged itself between us for twenty some odd years. If I could have knocked it down by myself, believe me, I would have, but ultimately, it was too strong, and I needed his focus and concentration to dismantle it in its entirety.
Of all the people that I’ve encountered in my life (sans my biological father of course because, well, again, I’ve never actually encountered him), ironically, my stepdad was the only one who I could never quite win over despite my foremost efforts. I always believed that if we could somehow remove the invisible wedge that consistently drove us into an awkward abyss of horrible politeness, struggling at times even to form small talk, we could’ve enjoyed a profoundly rewarding father/daughter relationship.
Recently, my Dad and I decided to go our separate ways. He’s another helium balloon in the bright blue sky now, and regardless of our conclusion, I’ll always pray that he soars safely and peacefully amongst the gentlest of winds.
But I had to stop looking up at the sky in order to face what’s right here in front of me.
At the end of the YouTube segment, Iyanla sat upright in front of the women like some kind of eretheral maternal deity. She encouraged them to “clutch their pearls,” which is really code for “I’m-Iyanla-Vanzant-and-I’m-about-to-dispense-some-really-fucking-unbelievable-wisdommmmmmm-so-listen-up.”
And then she chided, “You really have to be able to forgive yourself for the things you told yourself as the result of the story that you made up about the reason why your father wasn’t there.”
In doing this — that is, in retracting all of the less than kind words and sentiments that I’ve developed throughout the course of my life about myself, I’m healing.
While I try to reserve most of my blog entries for substantially more uplifting topics, the preeminent reason for creating the written portion of NoteBrooke.com was to normalize either esoteric, unattainable or hard to talk about topics — to make them more chit chat worthy and less… dire.
So, here’s my truth: I’m a Daddyless daughter, and I forgive myself for it anyway.
I appreciate your authenticity so much! The street style inspiration and the interesting and personal topics are a great combination and I always look forward to reading your new entries! xx Gabriela
Gabriela, thank you so much for taking the time to leave such a thoughtful comment and to let me know what you like about NoteBrooke.com — that’s incredibly important for me to know. I’m so happy that you look forward to the new entries, and your kindness has literally made my day 🙂 Thank you again for reading; I’ll be sure to keep the content coming!! Lots of love, xx
Hi Brooke, I guess I never thought how many people are Daddy-less until I read the post (I’m a little behind I know I know). I’m 26 and have been Daddy-less my whole life – not by my choice but his. All my life I grew up knowing my mom was “mom and dad” and I think seeing her fight for her kids have made me so much closer to her. Without knowing I forgave myself for excusing as to his absence and I’m okay with that. Im okay knowing I tried at some point and he wasn’t feeling it – after all, not everyone is deserving of being a dad. Thank you for making your blog open to all sorts of topics where a wide range of people can discuss and relate to. As always, I appreciate you being so open with all of us.
I love this. Although our experiences are different (I knew my father who later left our lives, and many years later, I invited him back in), your words resonated with me. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to post this; it’s vulnerable, raw and real. I hope writing this post was therapeutic for you, and that you continue your journey to gain peace and healing. Your words are brave. Thank you for your vulnerability.
Hi Nicole, I really loved receiving your feedback on this issue 🙂 Thanks for being so open because I know that it can be a difficult subject to discuss on any forum. I’m also super happy to hear that your situation worked out well and that you were able to find the forgiveness to let your Dad back in. Thats’s a beautiful ending and the best possible outcome given the circumstances. 🙂 And yes, the post was both therapeutic (sometimes just to put such a confluence of emotions into one cogent piece can help me to understand my own emotions), but also super scary to send out there. It’s comments like yours that help me to realize that I made the right decision. Thanks for stopping by, all my love, xx
Brooke, you are such an amazing person. I’m honestly blown away by this piece. I love your raw and authentic voice/style. I always love reading your writing, you’re an inspiration. xx
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Alyssa! Thank you for always finding the time to stop by and to read the content — you’re a gem. I’m glad that you enjoyed the piece so much. It was very nerve wracking to put up (even for me, and obviously, I talk about a lot of awkward subjects on here – haha), so you can imagine how much your positive feedback means to me. I love your blog, as well, and it’s inspiring to see all of your hard work paying off. No one deserves it more than you — thanks again for stopping by, beauty. xx
This was a very beautiful insightful article and love the way you write. cuddos to you and always stay strong, life is beautiful
Thank you, Nancy. You’re SO kind. I’m so appreciative of your (always) thoughtful comments and words of encouragement. I’m also really glad that you enjoyed the article! It was a a tough one — phew! I hope you’re doing well and enjoying some sun in Miami!! xx
I can so relate to that! Thank you for writing about it. Although i dont believe i am ready for the forgiving part quite yet. I will work on that.
Vic, I love receiving such open feedback from you . Thank you SO much for your time and for your honesty. It’s difficult; I totally understand that. Remember to be gentle with yourself and to give it time. Sending you thoughts and prayers for healing and fulfillment, all my love, x
Danielle, you’re never patronizing — thank you so much for all of your constant encouragement and enthusiasm. I loved chatting with you about this post and getting all of your feedback. You’re wonderful. xx
Beautifully written piece. You brought me to the brink of some truly dark emotion and then magically pulled me up again.
Linda, thank you so much for taking the time to stop by and to read the piece! 🙂 Unfortunately, I think we have to experience some of that profoundly dark emotion in order to truly free ourselves from it once and for all. I’m glad I was able to pull you back up again, but truthfully, you did it all on your own. Sending you love and healing, xx – Brooke
Wow, thank you for being Transparent,Courageous and Bold enough to share a piece of your story. Just WOW. I can relate as I’m a fatherless daughter too. My mothers friend talked her into skipping the abortion clinic. We share a common thread in the fabric of our life’s story.. sidebar: I Love watching Iyanla Go TO WORK. lmbo
Paulette, thank you so much for your kind words of encouragement. You have no idea how much they mean to me, especially with respect to this subject (of course). Actually, in thinking about what you mentioned, there’s something profoundly disturbing/bizarre about knowing how close we came to, well, not being born. Actually, to this day, I’m still not sure if I should be wildly insulted/offended by it or not – lol. That said, it also gives me a greater sense of purpose, a feeling that I’m here for a reason, and that you absolutely are too. I guess we share two common threads in the fabrics of our life stories…that fact, and our love for Iyanla. 😉 Thanks for sharing a bit of you’re story — it moved me a great deal, X
Thank you for being honest. It’s so hard to have that very real discussion with yourself about why your father chose to be absent in your life. If you look at me, I seem very privileged and pretty put together with a lot of opportunities- but what really ends up happening, is that I place this awful sense of loathing and self doubt because of the lack of my father’s presence from 7th grade to now, as a 25 year old. Even though he’s in a position to support me financially, I hate him for abandoning not just my family- but me, the daughter he took to ballet every Saturday, who he stayed up with a read books growing up. I thought I forgave him a few years ago, but I realized recently that I’m still upset and it trickles into my romantic relationships with men, and I make up this elaborate story about how my dad is still very much in my life so I won’t seem like I’m broken and can have a healthy relationship. All of that is to say, thank you for sharing your story with us!