A love letter to the former daddy's girls

Father’s Day. It’s a day when millions, literally millions, of people are celebrating the fathers in their lives. Whether that’s their partners, friends, family, or their own dads. For many, it’s a day of joy and appreciation. But for others, it can be a somber or uneasy reminder of the father they no longer have in their lives.

There are plenty of people who’ve lost their dads. There are also many who never had a relationship with their father, or whose fathers were absent during their childhood and teenage years. Some people find themselves in a different place, aiming to build a connection with their father as an adult.

But I fall into another category, one that’s incredibly layered and complex. I’m one of the people whose father was incredibly present growing up. He was once my favorite person on the planet as a child. And yet, at thirty years old, I made the decision to cut ties and sever all communication with him.

It’s a weird feeling to be at peace, even happy, with that decision when for a long time, my guilt stemmed from not grieving or mourning it the way I thought I should.

As with many of my blog posts, I want to offer an unconventional perspective, to give space and language to nuanced and complicated feelings. So, I’m dedicating this one to the former daddy’s girls who, like me, find themselves with complicated emotions around this global day of celebration.

MY STORY

I was homeschooled until I went to college at 14 years old. My homeschooling years were incredibly sheltered, even cultish, because I grew up in an extremely religious and conservative family. But even in that environment, there were moments of normality, and many of those moments came through my dad. My mom was a full-time mom and homeschooled us, while my dad was the primary (and sole) breadwinner.

My dad was my superhero, and for the majority of my childhood, he was who I wanted to be when I grew up. Heck, I was named after him. I remember feeling so excited on the days he’d let me tag along to his office. He was the person who instilled in me a drive and ambition I still carry today. He taught me about money management and finances, and the importance of financial literacy from a very early age.

When I turned 14, I didn’t want a party. I wanted a full day with my dad. We went to the pet store, and he let me get behind the wheel of the family van in an empty parking lot and drive for the first time. We went to all my favorite restaurants, and ended the day with him buying me my very first cell phone, a pink flip phone Razor. My dad was my favorite person because whenever I was with him, I didn’t feel like a sheltered homeschool kid, I felt like a person.

But when I turned 16, things started to gradually shift, especially as I began to find language around autonomy and sexism. I think many strong-willed daughters can relate to that slow, uncomfortable realization: that your relationship with your dad thrived only when you were agreeable and didn’t challenge his sexist ideologies. When you stayed in your "child’s place," upholding the patriarchy was easy.

There’s a tension that begins to build when dads realize that their daughters are no longer playing by the rules they’ve set. It’s like watching water slowly come to a boil when their daughters don’t follow the societal or religious scripts they hold so tightly. And it’s painful to realize that your father would only be proud of you if you didn’t have the voice, autonomy, or values that make you who you are.

Unlike sons (whose challenges to authority are often seen by dads as a rite of passage to manhood) when daughters question ideologies or assert themselves, it's seen as a different kind of disrespect. The assumption is that a girl has no business challenging a man, let alone her father.

The first argument I had with my father was about wanting a nose piercing. I didn’t think anything of it. To me, it was just like picking out a nail polish color or a new sweater. I mentioned it casually, not expecting any strong reaction.

To my surprise, my dad’s response was, “What if your husband doesn’t want you to get a nose ring?” At first, I was confused by the question, but I brushed it off thinking it would be an easy fix. First of all, what husband? Secondly, why would I be making decisions about my body to make an imaginary man happy? And third, if I did have a husband, and he didn’t want me to get a nose ring, I wouldn’t care, because it’s my nose, not his.

Then, my dad went to his home office desk, grabbed a massive King James Bible, and flipped to 1 Corinthians 7:4, which says, “The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise, the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife.”

We argued for over an hour. I refused to believe that simply choosing to legally bind yourself to another person should give them control over your body, regardless of what the Bible said.

The conversation ended with me saying that if I got married, it would not be under the assumption that my partner would have the final say over my body. My father’s response was simple: “If you don’t want to follow the word of the Lord, that’s on you.” (Ah, yes, religious guilt tripping.)

That argument set off a chain reaction of tension that lasted for years. As I gained more language around sexism and misogyny, I started to understand the deeper implications of his views. Language and education became a thread that unraveled the beliefs he held so tightly.

As much as I was shocked by my father’s continued sexist views, I think he was equally shocked by my lack of compliance and my willingness to challenge his patriarchal beliefs.

He lost it when I told him that, if I ever got married and chose to have a ceremony, both my parents would walk me to the aisle, take their seats, and I would walk down that aisle on my own. This would symbolize that they raised me, but I’m making this choice on my own. He insisted it was his responsibility, not my mother’s, to “give me away.”

We fought more as I focused on my career. When I mentioned that if I ever had children, I’d need to make enough money for a full-time nanny, he asked, “A parent should be with the kids. What if your husband has to work?” I turned to him, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, and replied, “What if I have to work?” That argument lasted two hours in the driveway.

It was heartbreaking to realize that all the lessons about wealth-building, financial literacy, and career ambition had been taught under the assumption that once I was married, I would abandon my career, become a "human breeding tool," while my husband was free to pursue his career. That same husband that has total say on whether or not I get a nose piercing.

As I got older, becoming more headstrong and vocal, my dad would often “joke” by saying, “I feel sorry for your future husband.” Though always said with a chuckle, there was an underlying truth to the statement, even if it was delivered humorously. As I slowly came to terms with my father’s core beliefs, he too was coming to terms with mine. In his world, I was heading in a direction that made him pity the man brave enough to commit to me. In his eyes, my headstrong nature and feminist beliefs weren’t suited for companionship—certainly not with a man.

When I turned 20, I moved into my first apartment. I was the first of my siblings to get my own place. My dad helped me move in and was proud of me. As I was unpacking, I mentioned wanting to get a cat. I’d always wanted one, but my sister was allergic and my mom hated cats, so it had never been an option. My dad, however, said my studio apartment was too small for a cat, and since I worked full-time and was in graduate school, it wasn’t a good idea.

I got a cat the following week.

When my dad found out, he called me. “Didn’t I say not to get a cat?”

“Yep, you did.”

“So why did you?”

“Well, I weighed the consequences and there were none. I pay all of my bills. I don’t live under your roof. You can’t ground me, confiscate my phone, or punish me in any way. So I did what I wanted to do.”

I’ll never forget the silence that followed. It was a stone-cold silence that lasted what felt like hours.

Finally, he broke the silence with a lecture about safety. “I tell you things to keep you safe, not to control you.”

“I understand that. However, having a kitten isn’t unsafe, and I have worked out a schedule where I spend time with her daily.”

“You need to listen to me. Next thing you know, you’ll be calling me from London or some other country.”

“That sounds like a good idea…”

“Zanah…”

“Gotta go, Dad. Bye! Love you!”

That moment marked the shift in our relationship from constant arguments to avoidance. For the rest of my 20s, I barely spoke to my father. 

Age 25-29 were pivotal to my journey of self discovery. It took me 15 years to understand myself as asexual and polyamorous. As I began my healing journey, going through sexual trauma therapy and self-discovery (more on that here), it became painfully clear that the woman I was becoming was the complete opposite of the man who helped raise me. 

Once I had the language to articulate my sexual and relationship orientation, I was incredibly proud of my journey. I was also very adamant about protecting my peace and prioritizing my mental, emotional, and physical safety.

I’m someone who’s rather private about my personal life but open about my orientations and lifestyle. I don’t mind sharing that part of myself with the world and the people around me. For me, labels aren’t restrictive. They give language to help articulate the nuances of our identity while also helping us find our people. They help give language to experiences so that others can say, “Oh wow, I’ve experienced that too.”

I made the decision to come out to my parents before my 30th birthday. My mom was quite supportive and even talked about asexual people she encountered in college. We had a chuckle about non-monogamy as well. My dad’s response was the exact opposite. It was, by far, the worst argument we’d had to date.

“So, you think not experiencing sexual attraction is normal?”

“You haven’t been delivered from the spirit of sexual trauma, that’s why you think you’re asexual.”

At first, I attempted to reason with him. I was used to the grotesquely flawed myth that asexuality is caused by sexual trauma. I explained that any sexual assault someone has experienced is the result of their “no” not being respected or accepted—whether that was a soft “no,” a hard “no,” or a partner giving the cold shoulder until they gave in. My sexuality—my lack of sexual attraction, which often manifests as a lack of desire for sex with a partner—was always present. It was the reason for my hesitation, my discomfort, my “no.” My asexuality did not cause the trauma. My perpetrator’s responses to my “no” did.

I let him know that therapy helped me unlearn and unpack that.

His response was: “You need to figure out why you don’t desire it.” (because I’m asexual…like I just explained) 

“It doesn’t matter if you desire sex or not. It doesn’t mean God didn’t design men and women to have it.” (the basis of desire is consent, so umm…yes. It does matter if I desire it.) 

“The only language you need is the living word of God.” (yeah….no)

“I don’t need therapy, I have the word of the Lord.” (I- )

This was the week of my 30th birthday, and this was the final straw. I realized that this was a man in his mid-50s who wasn’t interested in accepting my truth, respecting my autonomy, or validating my very real orientation. It was that moment that I realized that I no longer had the desire for my father to be in my life.

For the first time in my 30 years of existence, I cussed my father out. Frankly, the rage of my 16-year-old self was jumping out of my 30-year-old mouth. Every word I’d ever wanted to say to him, I said. And I concluded it with the fact that I no longer wanted any communication with him going forward.

The reality is, any person who challenges your autonomy is not safe. All too often, asexual people are told they need to “fix” themselves. And frankly, people who suggest this are eerily similar to those who sexually assault others. The common thread is that someone shouldn’t be saying “no.” Justifying that with scripture, or saying that your body is designed to accommodate the act of sex, is frankly inexcusable.

But this goes beyond this one argument about my orientation. This was the final straw because I had enough of trying to convince my father that my life choices are right for me. I was done making a case for my ability to make sound decisions that prioritize my well-being. I was done defending my choices or convincing him that they aren’t frivolous or careless, but rather a reflection of my most authentic self and desires, and oftentimes the result of deep reflection and self-awareness. I only keep people in my life who respect the fact that I’m the captain of my ship and trust in my ability to steer my own life in the direction I see fit. 

And I respect wise counsel and very much heed sound advice, but that can only come from mutual respect and from someone who genuinely supports my personhood. That person is not my father.

That was September 2024, and we haven’t spoken since. 

THE AFTERMATH AND MY TAKEAWAYS 

I wasn’t quite prepared for the aftermath of this decision. I thought I would mourn. I thought I would be heartbroken that the man who was once my hero is now someone I don’t even want to be in the same room as. Instead, there was an overwhelming sense of peace and relief that only grew stronger as time passed.

I had no desire to check in.
No desire to reach out and reconcile.
No desire to attempt to explain.

For weeks and weeks, I waited for the moment of regret to sink in… and it didn’t.

That’s how I knew I made the right choice. 

But the choice didn’t come without guilt. Guilt that I didn’t feel the need to reconcile or attempt to “fix” our relationship. My father worked incredibly hard to provide for our family, paid for my college education, and I have some fond childhood memories before realizing that our fundamental belief systems were polar opposites. Shouldn’t I at least feel sad about this?

I finally came to the realization that holding space for multiple truths is part of being human. On one hand, my father was a great financial provider, and to this day, I credit him for my drive and work ethic. On the other hand, those qualities aren’t enough to sustain an unhealthy relationship, nor do they negate the other qualities that were detrimental to my well-being.

In addition to accepting this truth, a few other things have really helped me with being at peace with my decision to end my relationship with my father.

First, I had to accept that life is about living. What I mean by that is that so much of our stress is the result of us trying to control outcomes rather than accepting things as they are. Rather than hoping and trying to convince someone to accept you and respect you, accept the fact that they will not. Focus on relationships and connections that breathe life into you, support you, and love you for who you are.

Secondly, to that point, I have so many incredible people in my life who are loving and supportive. The reality is, I lost nothing by severing my connection with my father. It cleared space for me to focus on the various connections in my life that are so incredibly affirming. It's a blessing to have family, friends, and lovers who are so supportive of me. Who love and care about my well-being and celebrate my journey of self-discovery in so many ways. It also made me realize that I don’t have to plead my case to be respected or validated. 

Lastly, when it comes to holidays like Father’s Day, this is the time for me to celebrate friends who are wonderful fathers and are actively working to parent in ways that are emotionally safe and supportive for their children. I also have friends who are excited to be dads one day, and I know their children will be so loved and so supported in growing into who they become.

So to all the women like me, the former daddy’s girls who didn’t quite imagine their life without their childhood superhero, I hope you find joy and solace in the fact that you’ve grown into an adult who would've protected you as a child. Your inner child who needs love and validation, your inner teenager who wants revenge, and your current adult self who wants nothing but peace are all applauding your decision. 

And for what it’s worth, so am I.