To my Father,

You gave me a foundation
I had to tear down,
after I had built an entire life upon it, 
to find Her -
the part of me that you bruised, 
and maimed, 
and took from.
A life I had to pull apart to see
Her innocence, 
Her pain,
and Her worth.

You gave me a realtionship with men
I will be forever healing from; 
scanning rooms to see which seat was farthest from the grown ones,
always on guard for the predatory look, the ravenous gaze.

You gave me a body 
that flinched, and froze;
that could not trust touch from the safest person in my universe, the person I loved most; that led me to leave him, and lose him, because I didn't know what was wrong with me and thought he deserved more.

You gave me a blueprint 
That taught me I was most valuable when I let people use me;
Most valuable when I didn’t say no;
Most valuable when I ignored what I needed, for what a grown man wanted.

You taught me that sexuality 
was something to be afraid of.
That a penis was something that harmed, 
and a vulva was something that made me vulnerable 

You taught me that being “special” to someone 
meant you were close enough for them to hurt you.  

You gave me a chronic, devouring search for places
where being held was safe;
where I was protected, not used;
where I don’t have to shoulder burdens that are far too big for me to carry;
where my body was a safe place to be in, and feel;
where I don’t have to be sexual before I’m ready or because someone else wanted me to.

You gave me a frozen adulthood. 
I look at pictures and wonder where I was in that moment, because I wasn’t in my body feeling that sunshine, seeing that sunrise, or feeling loved by that person next to me. I missed so many moments.

You gave me 
A mind that always blamed myself, because you could never be at fault. 
A mind that never had answers for my pain, because you would never confess.
A mind that thought I was the problem, the sickness, in our family. 

You gave me
A determination to always know myself well enough that I don’t use an abuse the people around me to meet my needs.
A determination to deal with my shit, to face my pain and shame head on and do the hard work of healing.
A determination to break down martyr complexes, workaholism, and low self-esteem.
A determination to be accountable. 
You gave me a determination 
To never be like you.

It took me thirty-two years to run far away from you, but here I am.
Awake. 
Alive. 
And at peace, because I finally believe I never deserved what you did to me.
I deserved so much more; so much better. 

I will no longer think about what helps you; I will think about what protects me. 
I will no longer prioritize your comfort; I will prioritize my wellbeing. 
I will no longer try to protect your reputation; I will tell the truth. 

And so, I’ll spend the rest of the time I have on this earth loving her; 
loving the one you failed to love. 

You really missed out – 
She is the coolest little girl. 
Witty. Bright. Stubborn, and curious.  She sees things others don’t, sees beauty everywhere. And already knows to treat all living things as sacred.
Mom said she was beautiful.
She is precious, 
and I love her.