If I could change anything about myself, it would be to plunder the periodic emotional insecurity I feel from never having a real dad. I am proud of the person I have become, and I did not need my father to get to the place I am now, but even if I had needed him, he would not have contributed.
Part of my insecurity arises when I wonder about why my father does not love me enough to be apart of my life. I hear from him maybe once a year, and the birthday cards I receive from him, are actually signed and sent by my stepmother. His existence is pretty mute to me, yet the lack of that same existence, has cultivated myriad pain.
I believe that God intended every child to have a mother and a father because each parent serves a distinct, unique purpose in regards to nurtureing. I only had a mother, though, and she was forced to be both the rock and the soft, sentimental one. She did her best, and little flaws marked her efforts, but there still remains an aching void in my heart at times.
How can someone who had little influence in your life, make such a great impact? I have tried to figure out why he was never there. Was it because his new family, or his freedom were more important? Was he just not ready to be a father?
My mother told me, my father admitted to wanting four daughters, and only four daughters. He got his four daughters—myself, and three of my younger sisters.
My insecurities have been influential in shaping my self-concept in the past. I was always “daddy hungry” in a way, and would search for comfort in other male figures in my life. I have also been guilty in being dubious when it comes to trusting people. Whenever one person disappears out of my life, whether it is a lost friendship, lost connection with family members, or broken romantic relationships, I questioned what I did to make them go.
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