2021: Defying Gravity – Part #3 – A Bouquet of Red Flags

​​          Dear Reader,
 
​          This story is turning out to be a lot longer than I’d expected, but I will say that it’s doing me some good to get it all out on paper. As I get further into the thick of it, it’s becoming harder to see the forest for the trees and it’s taking me a lot longer to untangle everything and catch a coherent train of thought. I guess that means we’re getting to the hard part.
​          In this part, I’ll be talking about the events leading up to the aforementioned fucktastrophy of 2019. If you’re an observant reader, maybe you’ll be better than I was at spotting the red flags along the way. It’ll be like a fun little game, or something. Maybe I should hand out prizes…
​          Quick disclaimer; since the story involves people other than myself, I have changed a few names for privacy reasons. If you recognize any of the people mentioned, I respectfully ask that you keep that knowledge to yourself.
​          Anyway, let’s get on with it.
 
​          ​GOADING
 
​          As I mentioned previously, my father and I commenced NLP training in the spring of 2016 and as our respective dreams began crystallizing into goals and plans, our shared enthusiasm soon had us exploring various ideas for collaboration. When my father then decided to leave his current occupation and start his own practice only a few short months into our initial training, I may have had my concerns, but I can’t say I was surprised. I mean, when it comes to his tendency to latch on to whatever piques his interest, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And when my father sees something he wants, he goes straight for the gold. I suppose I’m like that too, but my approach is generally more reserved; I like to have everything figured out before I venture to try it and I can be quite the perfectionist, whereas he is a master of bluff who swears by the ‘fake it until you make it’ route. I did admire his guts and perseverance, but I felt no desire to trade places.
​          My father and I were taking different roads to Rome; he was on the bullet train, I was taking the scenic route, and we had basically agreed to travel together wherever our paths crossed and our itineraries allowed it. We touched base often and since our relationship had improved so much over time, I thought we’d reached a point of mutual understanding and respect. That being said, when my dad hops on that train, he tends to get tunnel vision, often dragging those standing along the side into the backdraft as he charges through anything and everything in his way.
​          From the very beginning of our journey, my father coaxed me to quit my job and become a fully-fledged entrepreneur, just like him. NLPro was growing, and he wanted nothing more than to include me in his endeavors. He presented it as a win-win situation for us both, a father-daughter Dream Team building an empire, changing the world and helping people all at the same time.
​          Latching on to my ambitions, he would poke and prod, push and pull, joke and nag, bait and hook…and he had countless aces up his sleeve. He would put me forward for exciting assignments and opportunities, talk me up to everyone around him, and refer clients to me that seemed to fit my target group. He even hired me as a training assistant for his workshops and began to pay me for my efforts so that I could afford to rent my first office space. He would glorify life as an entrepreneur, boasting freedom, adventure, fulfillment and more money than you would ever earn working for a boss. Quite an interesting stance considering he was still dealing with the aftermath of his previous bankruptcy, but hey, optimism and entrepreneurial spirit are strong with this one. And in all honesty, he did manage to get me curious, excited even. He made me feel like my hopes and dreams were all within reach, if I would just take a leap of faith. And he would be there to catch me if I fell.
 
​          I was still hesitant though. My plans and wishes clear in my mind, I was on a vastly different timeline. Not to mention I already had enough on my plate combining that with my training and my career. So, despite my father’s goading, I continued steadily en route. Picking up occasional gigs with NLPro, I took my sweet time deepening my skills and building up my own practice while maintaining a certain level of stability in my life. I was in no rush at all, if I ever wanted to make the switch to full-time coaching and entrepreneurship, it would be a slow transition over many years. And every time my father reopened the discussion, I held my ground and kindly reminded him of that.
​          ​The collaboration with my father actually seemed like the perfect learning experience, not just for my coaching, training and business skills, but for my personal development as well. I was still learning to hold boundaries and express my needs, and my dad’s fanaticism often put me to the test. For example, I’d often find myself having to pace him when he’d gotten ahead of himself and made plans, promises or decisions on my behalf without consulting me first, or when he had set me up with assignments and clients that didn’t suit me or that I wasn’t ready for. Every time he pushed too hard, crossed a line or took things a little too far, I’d remind him that I appreciated his support and then I’d kindly but firmly show him where he ended and where I began. It could be frustrating and tiring at times, but I kept reminding myself that he meant well and that it was good practice for me.
​          Most of the time, he’d then apologize and say that he was only thinking of me and trying to help. He’d scoff at those who chose to work for a boss and question my preference for the stability of a regular job, telling me that I was meant for greater things and giving me the feeling that I had something to prove. Or he’d chuckle and ask when I was finally going to let go of my insecurities and dive in, but he did take a step back and let it go. As kind or supportive as he came across, I also felt a strange, subtly condescending or contemptuous undertow that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I felt this nagging urge to pull back and run, whilst also wanting to lean in and make him proud. Those contradictory feelings confused me, and I wondered if my own issues were just having me on and I was imagining things. Guilty as I felt for doubting someone who clearly wanted the best for me, I decided to ignore my concerns for the benefit of the greater good and carry on.
 
​          Something happened, though, down the line that began to weaken my resolve.
As I mentioned earlier, I was working part-time as a biology teacher. I loved my job and my school, and I loved my team even more. I felt at home there and I was grateful that I’d managed to land that job, since it was the school that I had set my heart on during my second-year internship and chances were slim that I’d find a position there at all.
​          That being said, it wasn’t perfect. Not that any job is. My main frustration was the education system itself. With all the rules and regulations, I often felt like I was expected to do my job with my hands tied behind my back. That cost a lot of energy and sometimes it got the better of me. I cursed it at times, but I loved it none the less.
​          Anyway, that year, just like every year I had a performance interview. It was mostly fine, but one piece of critique in particular really packed a punch. Basically, my introversion led some people to question my involvement, or how much I cared. Well, considering how much I loved that school and all the people in it, and considering how hard I’d been working on myself and my relationships, that really hit me where it hurt the most. I had grown and changed a lot, and it stung to feel like my efforts were not being seen or appreciated. They also wanted me to show more of myself, step up to the forefront and take more initiative. I’d been called a ‘silent force’ in the past, but now I felt like I was being measured by my capacity for small talk and it sounded like my hard work only mattered if it was done in the spotlight, while I was at my best taking care of equally important shit backstage.
​          Up until then, I thought I was in a place where I was appreciated and accepted for who I was. But now I felt like an imposter about to be discovered, as if they had seen me for something I wasn’t and now they were trying to squeeze something out of me that wasn’t there. An old familiar feeling washed over me, hollow and afraid as I awaited being unmasked and discarded. I felt like I had lost them already, the bitter taste of their disappointment in me hanging in the air as I concluded that I could never please them just by being myself. The only way I could fix it, was by pretending to be someone I wasn’t. And that’s something I was no longer prepared to do.
​          I knew they wouldn’t fire me over it, but the thought of staying somewhere I felt unwanted was much worse. Suddenly, I felt very alone and cut off from what I had considered to be my ‘tribe’. I was absolutely devastated, and I’m sure this weighed in on my decisions later down the line.
 
​          THE LAST ACE
 
​          It’s obvious to me now, as I read back through my thoughts and feelings at the time of the interview, that I was not in an adult state of mind at the time. The overwhelming feelings of shame, hopelessness, abandonment and despair do not line up with what was factually happening in that moment. Rather, they were remnants of the past that had come rushing to the surface the second I felt a hint of disapproval or rejection. At the time, I didn’t know anything about complex PTSD and the existence of emotional flashbacks, nor was I aware of my triggers. I was being transported back to the way I felt as a child, but I was feeling those intense feelings in the here and now, so I responded to them as such. 
​          Either way, the performance interview really hit hard and as all those feelings continued to simmer in the aftermath, I figured I should probably talk to someone about it. You know, like normal people do. Coming from a family where we avoided problems and emotions, I wasn’t really used to being vulnerable with others and the idea alone made me really uncomfortable. But I had been told by many a therapist over the years that learning to open up and share the load would be good for me. And honestly, having only ever learned to bottle everything up and deal with shit by myself, my descent into self-destruction as a young adult wasn’t really all that surprising and it makes sense that learning to connect, trust and ask others for help was a vital part of my recovery. This is something that I was (and am) still working on, and on that day, starting with a parent seemed like a safe bet.
​          So, as unnatural and uncomfortable as it felt, I confided in my father, telling him what had happened and how upset I was about the whole ordeal. Looking back, I think this was probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life and you’ll soon understand why. My father took this information and ran with it, using it to drive a wedge between me and the parts of my life that were standing in the way of my full availability to him and his cause. And I fell for it.
​          Validating me in how hurt, rejected and frustrated I felt, he told me that this was simply a sign that I had outgrown the system and it was time to move on. It was time to stop ‘living in fear’ as he called it, I just had to take the dive and start making my dreams come true. And all it took, was to quit my job and get out on my own. I’d be free, never again having to push a square peg into a round hole as I tried to fit in where I didn’t belong. I’d achieve great things while doing what I loved, and I’d have only myself to answer to. And hey, since I’d be making big bucks and organizing my own time, I’d finally be free to do all those things I’d dreamed of doing but never got round to. I’d be living life on my own terms, and he would be there every step of the way to support me. I had to admit, it all sounded awfully tempting and as I began to mull it over in my mind, the hurt began to evaporate.
​          Seeing the internal conflict arise in me, he pulled out one last big, shiny ace from his sleeve: “Hey, wanna come to New Zealand? My treat…”
 
​          Now, for those of you who are a little confused as to where the hell that came from and why it packed such a massive punch, here’s the deal: I’m basically a kiwi. My family immigrated to New Zealand when I was three, moving back to the Netherlands just a few days short of my 12th birthday. Having spent roughly nine years going to school, playing, getting to know the world around me and growing up in the land of the long white cloud, Aotearoa is my second home. That being said, I didn’t really give it much thought when I boarded the plane to Amsterdam in October 1998. I saw it as an exciting adventure and being the social outcast I was, I figured I had nothing to lose and a fresh new start on the other side of the globe was a godsend. I hadn’t really considered that I was leaving my home behind, nor was I aware of the impact that it would have on me.
​          The longing to go back, grew over time. My own fading memories tugged at my curiosity as I wondered what I would recognize, and what had changed over the years. At the same time, I felt a strange sense of emptiness as though I had unwittingly left a part of myself behind that I needed to reconnect with. Unfortunately, travelling back to New Zealand hadn’t been possible for me all those years. My father had invited me along a few times before, but those plans somehow always fell through. Going by myself wasn’t an option either, since I was always either flat broke, tied down by work, terrified to go alone, or all of the above. But now, with this big, fat, shiny ace…my father had effectively wiped all those obstacles off the table. I’d stood my ground for so long, but suddenly I found myself about to topple over the edge.
 
​          A few days later, I approached my father for tips if I were to -hypothetically- quite my job, and he pounced. No sooner had I uttered the words, and we were sitting around the table together writing up a plan of action. He had promised me a while ago that he’d help me write a solid business plan and help me figure out everything from administration, finances and insurance to all the rules, regulations, what pension plan I’d need and what kind of a timeline I should keep in mind. Nervous and excited to start creating some order in the chaos, I was curious to see how this might work out. But as glad as I was to have my father light the way, I left feeling rather deflated and somehow more lost than when we’d started. I had asked a ton of questions, but somehow all his answers remained vague and implied that I was making way too big a deal out of it.
​          Eventually, I went home with a piece of paper reading nothing more than a few training dates and a quick calculation of how many coaching clients I’d need in order to make a basic living. It was by no means the formal business plan that I was expecting, nor had I learned anything about the ins and outs of business. But no matter how or what I asked him, he remained nonchalant and told me that he didn’t even have most of those things worked out himself. He didn’t have a pension plan; he planned to sell his house when he got old, and he’d live off that. He didn’t have unemployment or disability insurance, and he only set a quarter of his income aside for taxes instead of the advised third because with all the tax deductions, he figured he’d never have to cough up that much anyway.
​          He told me to let it go, take a leap of faith and learn to embrace the adventure; he’d back me up. All this made me very nervous, but his face had often given away his contempt for those who liked to play it safe and I didn’t want him to see me that way. I wanted to show him that I could be brave, confident and adventurous. I wanted him to be proud of me. I suppose, deep down, I was afraid of losing love. So, as terrified and unsatisfied as I was, I trusted him.
 
                After that conversation, things suddenly started moving very, very fast. Personally, I wasn’t in a hurry. I hadn’t made a definitive decision yet, but even if I had, I’d still have to complete the academic year at work. I had months to go, so I was taking the time to process and figure it all out. For my father however, things couldn’t move quickly enough. At least a few times a week, he’d call, text or email me regarding some new development, job or client that he wanted me to partake in.
​          At one point, we were at a concert together and just before the curtain went up, he sprung on me that he was setting up an online agenda on his website so that our clients could automatically book appointment with us. Instantly freaking out internally, I spent the entire concert zoned out as I frantically tried to come up with a way to respectfully decline. You see, I highly value my own time and autonomy. I don’t ever want anyone else controlling my schedule for me, and I had also made it very clear that I was starting my own business, separate from his and in my own area, and he could hire me freelance. I was supposed to hold the reigns, but I felt like I was already being swallowed up.
​          In the weeks that followed, I continued to hold off, only taking on occasional small tasks that I could combine with my busy schedule. But it felt as though the fact that I still had my own life was just a hinderance to him, even though he acted as though he was doing it all for me. Whenever I rejected him, he would point to my ambitions and say: “Ok, but the sooner the better, for you...”
​          Adding to the pressure was my growing desire to have children. I reasoned that if I was going to leave school, I’d either have to do it now or wait another twenty years. Leaving now would give me a good two or three years to get my business off the ground and create a strong foundation for me to support a family. And since I didn’t think it wise to leave a stable job for a new small business while caring for a child, if I decided to wait, I’d have to stick with school for at least another eighteen years. Considering the situation at school, I didn’t think I’d be able to hold out that long.
​          So, the pressure grew as time passed and it began to feel like waiting any longer was just a stay of execution. Maybe my father was right, maybe these were all signs that it was finally time to take that leap of faith.
 
​          CUTTING THE CORD
 
​          In January of 2019, I finally cut the cord: I walked into my superior’s office and told her that I was leaving at the end of that academic year. I was terrified, yet exhilarated at the same time.
                It wasn’t an easy decision to make and, in all honesty, I still felt torn about it. Scared of the great unknown and heartbroken over leaving something so familiar and dear to me, my head was working overtime to convince my heart that it was all for the best. I told everyone that I was letting go of something good in order to make room for something even better, hoping that if I repeated those words often enough, I’d come to believe them myself.
​          Hiding my worries and uncertainty, I hoped that my father would be proud of me for finally stepping up and becoming the ballsy, optimistic person he always wanted me to be. But when I told him the news, his response caught me completely off guard. My jubilation faded quickly as his previously breezy and encouraging attitude flipped 180 degrees and he turned dead serious.
​          I broke the news by referring to our trip to New Zealand, which we had planned for that upcoming December. But instead of excitement, he responded with: “Well you can’t exactly leave for a few weeks now that you no longer have a job and a stable income.” He then proceeded to list all of the things I needed to start worrying about: my budget, business plan, insurances, coaching clients…all the things that I’d asked his advice on before, and that he’d always brushed aside.
​          He emphasized that he was willing to help, but that I was solely responsible for my choices and their consequences. I’d done exactly what he’d told me to do, and now, all of a sudden, he was saying: “Don’t make any decisions unless you’re absolutely certain that you have everything figured out, dependence isn’t going to get you anywhere.” To my horror, he even suggested I quit teaching group fitness classes. The gym, my passion, my outlet and practically my second home, was the only thing I had left that was entirely my own, not to mention my only remaining source of income. Giving that up seemed like a ridiculously stupid thing to do, but he was dead serious.
                I was absolutely flabbergasted, his new approach a polar opposite to the angle he’d been maintaining the past few years. Preaching ‘fake it till you make it’, pushing me into things I wasn’t always ready for, making decisions on my behalf, offering to help me out financially or otherwise, condescending hesitance or caution, making it all seem so easy and telling me not to make such a big deal out of it. I had been under the impression that he wanted to see me step up and take the dive, but now that I had finally gone and done it, he seemed to want the opposite. This unexpected new angle freaked me out, but since I’d already passed the point of no return, I pushed back my fear and told myself it was fine. He was testing me, and now I needed to show everyone what I was made of.
 
​          IGNORING RED FLAGS
 
​          As I’m writing all this down, I see so many red flags whipping around in the storm that I can practically feel them slapping my face. You might be wondering how on earth I didn’t notice them before, and to be honest I spent quite a while mulling over that question myself.
Here’s the thing: you can’t see red flags if you’re wearing red tinted glasses, and I saw the world through a lens that had been colored by my father’s shenanigans from a very young age. Thus, I wasn’t seeing anything out of the ordinary and if any warning signs did reach my subconscious, they were quickly neutralized by the fact that I’d been conditioned not to trust my own intuition. And let’s not forget that kids are notoriously loyal to their parents, even as adults. I wanted to see the best in my father, just as any daughter would. All in all, it’s a lot like that metaphor of the frog sitting in the pot of water as it gradually gets hotter. It took a long time for me to notice the heat.
 
​          ​Throughout 2017-2018, I probably spent more time with my father than I ever had in my life. We were in training together, we became business partners, taught workshops and eventually full training courses together, I even spent weekends over at my parent’s place to limit my commute.
                At first, everything was really exciting and fun, which boosted my confidence and motivated me to seriously consider doing it full-time. But over time, I started noticing things that unsettled me. As we worked together more closely, I began to see things that didn’t quite add up. Small things that by themselves could easily be ignored or brushed off as a misunderstanding, a mistake or a silly little quirk. But as time went on, these things piled up and slowly, the cracks began to appear. It’s hard to explain exactly what I saw, since the individual puzzle pieces are so small and scattered. But for the sake of illustration, I’ll give you a few examples.
 
​          His website stated that he had over 20 years of experience and that our trainings were fully accredited. This wasn’t true. I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to meet expectations and we’d be handing out invalid certificates, but whenever I voiced my concerns, he dismissed me. He told me that the IANLP had already completed their audit on NLPro, and they just kept forgetting to list us on their website. This seemed odd to me, since he wasn’t even officially certified as a trainer yet. There was no way. But whenever I questioned him further, he just waved it aside and told me not to worry.
​          In another situation, he asked me to edit the course material he was writing. Going through the pages, I couldn’t help but notice that the vast majority of it was a simple copy-paste from several internet pages and from our trainer’s own training manual. Not wanting to be a dick about it, I asked him whether it was intentional and if he’d asked for permission, since the material was copyrighted. He acted very surprised, saying he didn’t know what I was talking about and he’d worked especially hard to write everything in his own words. I was flabbergasted, since the plagiarism was so blatantly obvious that he couldn’t possibly deny it. But he maintained that I was mistaken, and I let it go.
​          This was a common theme: if he received critical questions, he’d either dismiss them, beat around the bush or just lie. His communication was always indirect, giving everyone different pieces or versions of the story and keeping people separated so that the full picture never came into view.
 
​          Another example. After a workshop, an enthusiastic participant inquired about our training options. My father presented our upcoming NLP Practitioner and Hypnosis courses as though he’d been doing them for years, when in fact this was going to be our trial run. He wasn’t even certified yet, nor did we have our training dates, location and course materials ready.  
​          She told him about her desire to start her own small business, and he promised we’d help her with that, too. “I have a lot of experience, and so does Carolien. You can ask her anything. You can trust us!” he said, with a smile. I stood there feeling incredibly awkward, since he’d just lied to her face and made her a promise on my behalf that I knew I couldn’t live up to. If I failed, it would make us both look bad. It could ruin both of our reputations and careers. But it would make us look equally bad if I called him out on the spot. So, I kept my mouth shut and pulled him aside afterwards. He shrugged it off as a business tactic, and when I asked him to let me speak for myself in the future, he agreed. I was proud of myself for setting a boundary and I was certain that if I continued to do so, we’d be fine. But these things happened more and more down the line.
 
​          Another thing I noticed, was that he was like a chameleon. Around others, he’d step into some kind of ‘guru’ mode, presenting himself as superior and all-knowing, yet humble and relatable. He’d bluff his way through, telling inspirational life stories that were either exaggerations or flat out lies. Initially, I assumed that he did this just to illustrate a point, which I can understand. But it made me feel increasingly awkward, especially when he dragged me into it and made me play along.
​          ​He acted overly friendly, helpful and jovial with everyone, continuing to laugh and talk on the way out after training, but he’d switch it off the second we got into the car to drive home. That switch was especially confusing; we’d be in full conversation one minute and then suddenly I’d get nothing more than a disinterested “hmm” out of him, leaving me to wonder what I’d done wrong.
 
                As his assistant, I spent most of my time sitting at a desk at the back of the room, where I could oversee everything and jump in when needed. I loved it at first; it felt really good when I could help out or contribute something useful to the lesson. However, it became increasingly stressful as more and more of my time was spent correcting his mistakes or filling in the gaps whilst trying not to step on his ego or damage our reputation in the process.
                My father seemed more concerned with his image than with the safety and validity of what he was teaching. He loved to be seen as the most knowledgeable person in the room, he’d rather lie than admit that he didn’t know something. A master in bluff, he could be incredibly convincing while spreading information that was false or incomplete, sometimes leading to very sticky situations. But even then, he seldom owned up to his mistakes. Instead, he’d try to convince everyone he was right, blame it on someone else, or he'd just make it seem like the mistake was intentional. I shit you not, even that cliché statement ‘I was just checking to see if you were paying attention’ was deployed.
​          It frustrated and worried me that these people trusted my father blindly, and he handled it so carelessly. At the very least, they were receiving false information. But worst-case scenario, they could get hurt during training, or they could be learning inadequate skills and hurting others when putting them to practice somewhere down the line. And as if that wasn’t bad enough; now that my name was linked to NLPro, if my father did ever take the fall, he’d effectively drag me and my future down with him. And so, I was constantly alert as I frantically tried to intercept any balls he dropped.
​          ​If I caught him out, his response depended on whether he could reasonably talk his way out of it. If I was within my area of expertise, he’d be more inclined to chuckle, thank me, and weave my contribution into the lesson. If not, he’d tell me I was wrong and point out that he was ahead of me in training and I’d probably just misunderstood or missed that particular subject. As you can imagine, this caused a lot of confusion and self-doubt on my end.
​          Never the less, I didn’t see malintent in my father’s behavior. I assumed that he meant well, even though his execution wasn’t always up to par. But that’s why we made such a good team; my qualities and expertise overlapped where he fell short and vice versa. So, when I got annoyed or frustrated, or when I got the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, I told myself that I was being mean, nit-picky or arrogant. It wasn’t my job to judge him for the balls he dropped, it was my job to catch them. Our results were a combined effort, after all. And he’d do the same for me. Besides, I didn’t plan to stay forever. I had my own dreams, my own business (Soulfire) was slowly coming off the ground, and one day I’d be ready to fly out on my own. In the meantime, I’d just make it work.
 
​          THE DESSERT SPOON
 
​          By the time 2019 rolled around, I wasn’t the only one to notice that something weird was going on. His questionable behavior becoming more overt by the day, it soon took all the cognitive dissonance that I could muster just to be able to keep giving him the benefit of the doubt. But with the stakes so high, I suppose my subconscious had good reason to stay in denial for as long as I did.
​          Up until then, all the puzzle pieces that presented themselves to me had been inconspicuous or open to multiple interpretations. But what happened in January 2019 is still etched into my brain as the moment that the façade began to waver and pennies began to drop.
​          With NLPro growing steadily, my father decided to expand our team. My mother took care of administration, my youngest brother completed his own NLP training and joined us as a coach and training assistant, and a young woman we’ll call Amanda was recruited for marketing and social media. Initially a coaching client, Amanda had been seeing my father for relationship therapy with her husband, and they both took part in our NLP Practitioner training. That’s how I knew her, too.
​          Although I’d noticed that my father was very friendly with her, I didn’t think much of it. I was used to seeing him in guru-mode, exerting his charisma and being overly amical with everyone, and I knew him to be a little…oblivious, or tone-deaf at times. Nowadays I wonder if he was just playing dumb all those years, but at the time I was convinced that although he acted like an idiot sometimes, it was innocent. My mother and my brother weren’t too sure though, and they voiced their concerns more than once. I suppose that from my biased standpoint, I didn’t see what was happening right under my nose. Until of course, the evening came that my father took us all out for a celebratory business-dinner and proceeded to hand-feed Amanda whipped cream from his dessert spoon.
​          Yet even after walking out ahead of his wife and kids to the restaurant, arm in arm with a giggling, stiletto clad Amanda, choosing his seat beside her at the dinner table and performing this peculiar mating ritual right in front of our eyes, he seemed surprised by our dismay upon returning home. My mother was hurt, my brother was pissed, I was confused…yet my father maintained that he and Amanda were just friends and we all needed to stop overreacting.
​          Although he didn’t understand the problem, he agreed to distance himself from her and keep their interactions professional. Yet lo and behold, just a few evenings later, Amanda called him from a gas station in the middle of nowhere, where she’d been left behind by her husband after an argument. It was late, he’d only just returned home and scarfed down his dinner, but before he’d even told my mum about his day, he leapt off the couch and started the car. Jumping to the rescue, he picked Amanda up and took her home with him, consoling her as she wept on my parents’ sofa.
​          To her credit, my mother kept her cool, though needless to say she was not amused. My brother on the other hand, ever protective of our mother, didn’t even try to hide his feelings on the matter as he completely went off at my father.
​          To them, it was clear as day that something unsavory was going on. But for me, through the lens of my loyalty bias, I didn’t see it yet. Looking back, I feel so stupid that I actually jumped into the crossfire to protect him. I took on a mediating role as I tried to keep the peace and restore the status quo, assuring everyone that he was just overdoing it with the nice-guy gig, blissfully unaware of how he came off. I desperately tried to convince everyone that it was just big misunderstanding. But over time, things got weirder and weirder until they became impossible to deny, even for me.
​          Before Amanda had completed her training under my fathers’ wing, the quality of which is up for debate, he had already promoted her to the position of assistant trainer. She always showed up early and they were attached at the hip for the rest of the day. I could hardly even get a word in, he dismissed me entirely. He was an entirely different person around her, acting goofy as though he were trying to dial down his age, regurgitating cliché motivational quotes that he didn’t actually live by, developing a sudden taste for her go-to beverage, fresh ginger tea, and uploading sentimental Facebook posts about his dead parents despite having basically shunned them in the past. It seemed as though he was mirroring her, drawing her in, and she fell hard for it.
​          Although he maintained that their relationship was strictly professional, they eventually got sloppy. Their constant flirting was nauseating and uncomfortable to watch, and with so many other clients around, I was terrified that they’d soon be caught in the act. They didn’t seem too bothered though, my father at some point even sitting down right next to me at lunch while playing footsy with Amanda under the table. Not wanting to draw attention to the matter, I held my tongue until I could get him alone. But when I asked him to stop flirting in front of everyone, he put on the most innocent face he could muster and replied: “What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything.”
​          At some point, a mutual acquaintance in his office building told me that she regularly saw them slip into his office together and place the flip-over in front of the window, hiding their faces but leaving a view of their legs standing…suspiciously close together, as she put it. They were not leaving much up to imagination, but even then, I hoped that it wasn’t what it looked like.
 
​          Maybe I just didn’t want to see it. I mean, think about it. My own father, my partner in crime and the man I’d just entrusted my entire future to, seemed to be having an affair with his coaching client. A young woman just two months older than myself, with plenty of issues of her own, who had initially been seeing him for relationship therapy, of all things. Granted, my dad is not a registered therapist so it technically isn’t illegal. But it’s definitely frowned upon, and for good reason; general grossness aside, there’s an undeniable power imbalance at play there. It’s just not ok.
​          What’s more, if people found out, it’d ruin his reputation and credibility in the field, risking the future of his own business as well as tainting mine by association. If he took the fall for this, he’d drag me down with him. Having just quit my job, I was financially dependent on NLPro. And aiming to build up my own career in the field, both my future and my dreams were on the line along with the roof over my head. My father didn’t seem bothered by this at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly aware of his leverage over me as his behavior became more erratic by the day and he didn’t even really bother to mask it anymore. Whether it be cockiness, sloppiness or just plain assholery, I think he assumed that with so much to lose, I’d keep my mouth shut and take whatever he threw at me.
​          Furthermore, the way he held himself throughout the situation was beyond hurtful to those closest to him. He treated his family like a cast-off doormat, shoving his own wife and children aside for the high of others’ attention and adoration. Dancing around the truth and beating around the bush, he continued to drag the whole thing out as he frantically evaded any form of accountability.
​          ​But still, even with this situation added to the list of questionability surrounding his person, nothing in me assumed malintent. Sure, he had some issues and he’d done some stupid things, but hey, we’re all human and we all make mistakes. Hurt and angry as I was, I still believed that my dad was a good person at heart and we’d eventually figure this out, just like everything else.
​          I guess I still hadn’t clicked enough puzzle pieces together to see the full picture. But that day was coming closer, looming on the horizon like a flock of birds heading straight for the blades of a windmill.
​          ​I didn’t know it yet, but the shit was about to hit the fan…