As I sit here, enjoying every minute of time, resting my mind and comfortably tucked in the corner of my black leather couch, dressed in my PJ’s and watching my favorite pastime; my phone rings.

I look down at it as it vigorously vibrates and I see that it’s him.

As I’m sitting here, I can remember thinking to myself for a quick second, “Is it true that we only accept the love that we think we deserve?” Is this really my truth?

I take a deep, contouring breath and slowly exhale as my finger gently swipes the screen and the call connects. At this point, I’m aware that this call isn’t going to be any more pleasant than all the other drunk late night rants that I’ve experienced time and time again.

And it begins. “Hello”.

His deep, joyous, yet slightly drunken voice pierces every nerve in me as I calmly and somewhat giddily begin to have a conversation for the sake of it.

This is no different than the previous thousand of calls that have ended with me wanting to scream at the top of my lungs out of frustration and just aimlessly throw my phone at a wall so that it could break. This way, I wouldn’t have to suffer through the remainder of his future calls.

It was just a matter of time before his call would gravitate from how much he loves me and how thankful he is to have the opportunity to have me as his own, to his displeasure with my distance from him, my stubbornness to follow his doctrines of life, and my clinginess to my own little family, my husband and son.

The jealousy always spills over like liquid from an overly filled glass. 

But, why? How could he be my example of a girl’s first encounter with love? 

I then look back on all my past relationships before him and I can’t seem to put my finger on it. While I didn’t know who he was until I was nine years old, it feels like I’ve had to deal with this negativity that he’s hovered over me for so many years beyond my knowing him.

Every man in my life (including him) has shown me how love was supposed to feel like, be like, and look like. It was everything short of real, genuine love. I saw the cheating, the disrespect, the dishonesty the manipulation, the disloyalty, and so many other negative things wrapped up in one comforting four letter word that far too often escaped lying lips—LOVE. Granted, as a young girl, you only chase the type of things that you’ve only been exposed to. And It’s true that you really look at your Father as a blueprint for any other guy that you allow to enter your life. Daddy’s little girl looks at her Father, as a hero and someone who she believes will always be armed and ready to save her whenever need be. But what happens when your fairytale ending doesn’t align with your reality? What happens when life has a way of revealing to you the sins of your Father?

It takes a certain level of strength to come to terms with the fact that Daddy doesn’t really care about his little girl. All the run-arounds, last picks, lies, divisiveness, gossip, set-ups for failure, harsh words, double-sided charm, and master manipulation, would’ve woke any woman up in the midst of it all. But for me, this is my normal. This is whom I’ve always seen. His desire for self-recognition, self-pleasure, and survival, outweighs the sacrifices and selflessness needed to nurture or even foster our relationship. Soon enough, his lies and underlining motives begin to seep in conversations and actions, forcing you to realize that Love just doesn’t live there. 

That’s what I’ve learned along my journey through love. The sins of my Father are too great to ignore. Distance is necessary. Anything else could be deadly.

Now, I’ve realized just how often I found myself in search of love elsewhere and everywhere far and in between, and it was dangerous. The danger lied in my absolute need for love because what was given to me by those who should’ve set the highest standard in love just wasn’t enough to have an effect. Then I found myself caught up in the charmers (romantically and in friendships), who speak so eloquently and in-depth to the parts of me that longed for the attention, security, and protection of him. 

But it’s not him. They weren’t him. It won’t ever be him. And for my own happiness, honor, and utmost worth to myself, I’ve so graciously come to terms with the fact that LOVE JUST DOESN’T LIVE THERE.

Signed,

A Fatherless Daughter.

Shanika is a blogger, wife, mama, and believer that it's never about where you started, rather where you finish. She is a creative at heart, looking to inspire others one blog post at a time. Blog website: https://orchidsandsweettea.com/

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