Chronicles of the Journey- Day 11: the launching of a paper plane

The time at this art residency has been priceless- for so many things. For the solitude it has provided. For the opportunity to feel my own needs, be it rest or play. To be aware of my own rhythm and provide retreat from the desire to keep active. It has also been somewhat unsettling; the vulnerability of exploring my Self results in the exposing of my Self. Embracing my authentic self has created the space and birthplace for my creative spirit to feel safer and soar a little farther. I have had to make choices to invite gratitude into my heart, embrace the joy and the pain equally.

Brene Brown has inspired my healing immensley

I have seriously questioned the motive of sharing this part of my journey. Is it too raw? 

Is it too close to airing my dirty laundry? 

Or is this as necessary as all the other parts of my creative journey which I have unearthed and shared, and prospered from? 

This feels huge for more than just the aforementioned doubts, but maybe, this is the start of something new, 

the launching of a paper plane....

I am 11 or 12, the youngest of three, the only girl; my parents have just divorced and dad has left the building. At first, I am fine; daddy daughter dates, shopping and sleep overs; such fun. He has started to date, I see less of him; I start to rebel and seek attention-from either of my parents. I get scolded, given rules rather than comfort. I create independence from institution and family; I sleep on friend's couches, I work hard and seek comfort in men.

I am 19 now, I have to do some soul searching to sort out my past in order to be a healthy person. I ask my dad and middle brother to attend graduation at a self help workshop; they are the family members that I fear rejection from the most. As a result, my dad and I have a conversation; why had he left his parenting duties after the divorce with my mom? Because he didn't know how to be a half time parent. I feel compassion for him, it helps me remove the chip from my shoulder and see him as an adult and not as Daddy.

I carried on visiting my dad, house sitting for him, taking care of our shared cat, a throwback to his bachelor days when I lived with him for a short while. I try my hardest to keep ties with my dad, his family, his girlfriends. He has been dating a woman for sometime, I had liked his previous girlfriends better. I'd never interfere or share my feelings on his relationships; I only want him to be happy. They grow their long distance relationship by traveling to far away lands together. Eventually they get married, she moves to Canada from LA, they buy a house together. They have been dating for a few years, I am shocked when dad called to say that they had had a private wedding ceremony.

It was on a 'you should share this moment with your dad'  that everything changed. My heart burns with pain as I recall these all too painful events again. The question that burns in my heart, is when will that pain of 20 plus years ago go away?

I had bought a Sidekick, a SUV of the 1990's; I connected with the men in my life by having similar interests and enthusiasm for the things that they liked; mechanics, cars, gadgets. I was proud of my tomboy spirit, it made me a survivor in a world where I sought the acceptance of important men and boys.  I brought the Sidekick to my dad's place to show it off, to share with my dad one of my success's, give him a test drive. He was so excited, perhaps even proud of me. He jumped in, she did too; dad and I chattered away at the car's features and we caught up on each others life. 

I don't recall there being a rift with her, it was just awkward, she wasn't easy going. She had asked me to stay in the car, my dad had already exited the car. She asked that I come to her house mid day the following week. I thought it was an olive branch, I remember being excited, that this could be the start of something great between us. The climate had obviously not been fond between us, but I was always willing to ensure my relationship never faltered with my dad, ever again. I was used to my dad's previous girlfriends taking a shinning to me. I recall fondly, a lady he dated- in her library, in the sun, chatting and connecting, it is a warm memory, I really liked her. I thought this was our chance.

I came to my dad's home, her home, their home. He was at work. She opened the door, it was already uncomfortable. She formally asked me to sit down at the kitchen table. She asked me to listen. She said she needed to tell me some things and needed me to listen without interruption. She suggested, I would probably not like to hear the things she had to say to me. She started to tell me how she hated that I had invaded her privacy; she recalled an instance, some years previous, I might have been 14 at that time. I was over visiting at my dad's condo, she was also visiting from LA. Interested by the greeting cards on the kitchen table, I looked at the cards. She implied that the cards might have been hers, they might have had messages that I shouldn't read.  She continued to tell me with great detail and seething anger, how at age 17, I purposely stained my dad's condo carpet with, my then boyfriend's stinky socks. She recounted the numerous times that I improperly greeted her. She told me that I was often too loud, too excitable, too insensitive to their home's calm atmosphere. She told me that my dad was a racist, that she didn't hold it against him. She herself from Trinidad, a lady of mixed religion, ethnicity, and culture. She my father's wife.

I am sure that there was more, but my heart aches again, it hurts so much to think of the younger me receiving this wicked information, at the hands of my dad's lover and wife. Made all the more assaulting to my heart, after I had worked so hard to retain his love from the first robbery; I was not going to let her tear us apart. 

I thought I should make my dad proud, I quietly let her tell me how she felt. It was at the moment that she defamed his character that I had had enough, my father was not a racist. I gained confidence, volume, and cursed her. As I aimed for the door, I screamed that she couldn't take my father away, that I had worked too hard to lose him. I went home, bawling, shaking, rattled to the core. I called my dad, he hadn't been informed that she had invited me over. He was alarmed with how I upset I was; he told me everything would be okay. I warned him that I had probably ruined everything as I had called her so many horrible names, I told him that my greatest fear was that she was taking him away from me. He promised that was never to happen. He called me when he got home, he asked if he could put her on the line to resolve this. She acted curtly, she cursed me for cursing, she acted like a child and he scolded her as though she was one. I became the adult, I stuffed my rage. I told my dad that he was not going to resolve this, that we would have to continue our relationship outside of her.

Mostly it did exist outside of her, but she slowly removed him from my life. There were to be no Christmas presents, no birthday presents; something to do with unnecessary celebrations and favour. Something to do with her jealousy of his children. They didn't come to visit me when I moved to a new city, he couldn't chat freely when she was around, I didn't get help from my dad when I was sick or needed money. I got advice on what products to take, what meditation to do, what therapist to seek for help with my illness. I hated all of it. I needed some parents; I needed their love, support, and consistency.

One of the best parts of getting married was the moment my husband said to me, you don't need to seek out your dad, I am here now to support you and love you unconditionally. Profound. I married the right guy. I didn't need to chase my dad, I could move on. I could move to learning to love another unconditionally.


My dad died, of a massive heart attack, four and half years ago, I was 37. I had spoken with him on the phone a few weeks before he died. I was grateful for that moment, it was the first chat in a year, that's how it worked between us. 

I miss him, I still resent her and I will heal this.

check out Brene Brown on the net... she has books, ted talks, and plenty of youtube content to enlighten your own pain