2021: Defying Gravity – Part #4 – BEFORE THE FUCKENING

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​            Dear Reader,


            We’ve all experienced it, that phenomenon where your day is going too well and you don’t trust it until finally, some shit goes down. According to Urban Dictionary, that shit is what we call “The Fuckening”. 
            In my previous blogs, I told you a little bit about my past, setting off with a period in which things were going exceptionally well and providing some background on my life and my family history. Later down the line, you’ll find out how that is relevant to the story. Just like I did.
            I continued with some of the events leading up to the fuckening. I did leave you on a bit of a cliffhanger, though. Sorry about that, I swear it was for readability’s sake. As you may have noticed by now, it’s quite a long story and by dividing it into segments and themes, I’m trying to bring some order into the chaos for the both of us. For now, I’d like to pick up where I left off, around the time that my parent’s 37 years of marriage came to an end…
                Oh, and obviously, once again, some names have been altered for privacy’s sake.
 
            NOBLE KNIGHT
 
            Anyone here ever inform their children of their upcoming divorce via email?
Yeah, it was a new to me too but apparently to my father, this is a thing. Let’s just say, the divorce itself didn’t surprise me all that much, but the way in which it was communicated to us, was…odd.
                A few weeks after the dinner-of-doom, my father sent us a long, rambling email informing us that he and my mother had decided to separate, but that they would continue living together for the time being. For context, you should know that they already officially divorced a few years earlier, for legal and financial reasons following the bankruptcy of my dad’s previous business. The way they put it at the time, their divorce was done entirely out of love and trust and they were still in a committed relationship with one another. This relevance of this fact will become clear later on.
            For my mum, though, my father’s sudden change of heart came like a bolt from the blue. Although he continued to deny his thing with Amanda, maintaining that she had nothing to do with it, he’d never been happy and that their marriage never worked anyway, it was obviously quite the coincidence that he just so happened to bring all this to the table after Amanda entered the scene.
 
                Personally, I wasn’t surprised nor bothered by their separation. In my honest opinion, they probably should have done it years ago. Growing up, I often felt a strange kind of tension between them, and I remember wondering why they were together in the first place. Not that they fought or anything, aside from the usual bickering of a married couple. On the contrary, it was more like there was something missing, though I couldn’t put my finger on what.
            What’s more, I was so done with all the drama and glad that the cat was finally out of the bag. I was tired of seeing my mother hurt and confused, wondering what she’d done wrong and how she could win him back when he had clearly already discarded her. I was tired of my father jerking us around, saying and doing hurtful things and leading my mother on as he avoided making a decision. And I was especially tired of being the piggy in the middle, a position I’d somehow ended up in since the whole dessert-spoon debacle. For weeks on end, I received countless texts, emails and tearful phone calls from them both as they poured their hearts out, asking me for advice and support as the situation dragged on. I guess you could say, difficulty with boundaries was a bit of a family ailment.
            My father often called me to complain about his marital issues, making subtly demeaning passes at my mother as he tried to explain why his affair made sense and why his relationship with my mother was doomed anyway. But for some reason, despite the fact that he already seemed to have made up his mind about leaving, he just kept pussyfooting around and causing more damage along the way. Presenting himself as a noble knight, he told me he was staying with his wife out of ‘respect for the mother of his children’ and out of ‘concern that she couldn’t hack it alone’. But at the same time, while my mother was more than prepared to make an effort to repair and improve their relationship, my father rejected any bids for connection and told her that ‘she was no longer his wife’, ‘it had never been good’ and ‘trying to fix it was no use, as he’d already tried everything’.
            My father also called me in distress every time someone else, usually one of my brothers, wasn’t taking his crap. Venting his disappointment in them, he’d complain that they ‘just didn’t get it’ and ‘nobody was listening to his side of the story’, then he’d thank me for being so understanding and roll over onto his back, tearfully asking me if I was still ok with him. Sometimes, he’d ask me to talk to them for him, to bring them around. Looking back, this looks a lot like damage control to me. He knew that things were not going according to his plan, and this was his ditch attempt to control the narrative by means of emotional manipulation, triangulation and fragmented communication.
            During the time that all this was going on, I was already spread pretty thin. I was in the home stretch of my final academic year, working hard on finishing up, waves of grief washing over me as my last day drew closer. I didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with whiney, dramatic phone calls between classes, especially since our conversations always came down to the same thing. Time and time again, I told him kindly but firmly that no matter what decision he chose to make, people were going to be hurt and angry. Drawing it out wasn’t going to prevent that, if anything it would actually make it worse. He needed to cut the crap, take responsibility, make a damn decision and own it.
            So quite frankly, when they finally cut the cord, I was happy to see them setting each other free and I felt they’d both be better off. In fact, I was looking forward to seeing my mother blossom.
 
            As for the aforementioned email, it was just cringeworthy and aggravating. Written like a lengthy monologue for a broody, self-sacrificing knight in a romantic drama, it missed the mark entirely. You see, my brothers and I had already made it very clear that we that we were fine with the separation. We could even understand and come to forgive the affair. But we’d also explained to him that we were angry and hurt by the way he bowed and scraped to save his neck, lying to our faces and beating around the bush, emotionally manipulating us and treating us like crap rather than just owning up to his shit and holding himself accountable.             Unfortunately, he didn’t take this to heart. Instead, he did exactly what we told him not to do. He deflected, and geared the entire email towards our dismay, anger and lack of understanding over the divorce. It was gross and insulting, the way he nobly begged us not to worry about him and to take care of our poor, fragile mother instead, dramatically stating that ‘he simply had to do what was best for the both of them and he hoped that someday we’d understand, and we could find it in our hearts to forgive him.’
            What’s that sound? Oh, sorry, that’s just me dry-heaving in the corner.
 
            ​INTERVENTION
 
                Here’s a pro-tip: if you ever plan to cheat on your partner, you might want to refrain from letting your children use your PC if you have push-notifications enabled. That way, you will not only decrease the chance of accidentally blowing your cover, but you’ll also save your kids the hassle of scrubbing their eyeballs in hopes of unseeing things that they simply don’t want mental imagery of.
            And on that note, let’s just say that my brothers had found good reason to confront my father with undeniable evidence and demand that he stop pussyfooting around and tell the truth. Because it’s one thing to do something stupid or hurtful, but it’s a whole other level of assholery to continue the behavior and not even have the balls to own your shit. My brothers had had more than enough of his bullshit, and they were enraged by how he was treating my mother. Something had to give.
            And so, they set an ultimatum, asking him to get together with the whole family, cut the crap and finally talk about it all in an open and honest conversation. An intervention, if you will.
Prior to the date we had planned, my father texted me some sob story, asking me if I was still okay with him, since nobody else was willing to understand and they seemed intent on casting him out.
            He then asked me for advice on how to deal with the upcoming talk. In retrospect, I think he was collecting information on what we wanted to hear so he could make his act as plausible as possible. But still wanting to see the best in my him, I helped him out none the less. I remember telling him that although I did not agree with his behavior, he was still my father and I loved him. I explained to him that he needed to drop the charade and stop trying to save his ass. He seemed to think that our feelings and opinions were indicative of a lack of information, and so he constantly tried to bowl us over with more information which only pissed us off even more. My advice was; come from a place of vulnerability, stop overintellectualizing and show how you feel, tell the truth and own your shit.
                Well, the evening of the ‘intervention’ came around, and it was as though he’d followed my advice to a tee, almost like a script. His body tight with anxiety as he walked in and sat down, sighing deeply as he laid all his cards on the table, apologized and then proceeded to bawl his eyes out. My youngest brother asked for the truth about Amanda, wanting to know when it had started and what his plans were. He confessed that it had started around May, which later turned out to be a lie, and he told us that he intended to continue on with their ‘relationship’. Following this information, my brother immediately announced his resignation from NLPro.
            I thought about it and decided to stick around a bit longer, hoping I could find a way to make it work between us. I’ll be honest with you; I had never seen my father so open and vulnerable before and I really believed that we were having some kind of breakthrough. That gave me hope. Afterwards, he hugged all of us and I remember telling him ‘Well done’. He told me that he was so scared he’d lost us, and I remember saying: “Well, you already have me. You may be an idiot, but you’re my idiot.”
 
            Unfortunately, the breakthrough was short lived if it was a breakthrough at all. I received multiple phone calls from my father that week, requesting advice from my end. It felt as though he was trying to flatter me or keep me close, which would make sense considering I was apparently the only one of his children still willing to see past his bullshit. He had to keep me on his side, I guess.
            He had probably also noticed that I was having a hard time getting though our training days now that he’d promoted Amanda to assistant trainer alongside myself. I’d come in to work feeling fine, and then half way through the morning I’d be completely drained with a whole weekend still left on the clock. There were so many triggers to navigate. The way they were both sickeningly nice to me, made my skin crawl. It was hard seeing them together, and even harder to ignore their flirty behavior, while I was also still terrified that the other clients would notice it and all hell would break loose. I still felt that their ‘relationship’ was ethically unsound, and unhealthy for the both of them.
            And it took so much restraint and numbing on my end, just to refrain from opening my mouth and calling him out every time he spouted bullshit or put on his fake guru-like persona. All the while, I was still running around doing damage control for all the balls he dropped, trying to make sure that our clients got the quality they deserved while trying to keep our reputations, careers and our own relationship intact at the same time.
            It was gnawing at me, continuing to work in a place where I felt unsafe and where I didn’t agree with what was going on. But I had no place else to go just yet; I had yet to find an alternative that would safeguard the roof over my head and give me some kind of perspective for the future. After all, I’d just given up everything to be here, so I was about to be left with absolutely nothing.
            Also, the idea of cutting myself loose from my father terrified me. I was scared of what he might do if he realized that I was ‘rejecting’ him and his practices, or if God forbid, I made him ‘look bad’ by telling people the truth of why I’d left. After all, there would be questions. So yeah, plucking up the courage to leave was going to take some time and careful planning, I wasn’t ready. At the same time, staying was killing me slowly and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep it up.  
 
            ABANDONMENT
 
            As time passed, Amanda’s roll in the company became bigger and bigger. She had already joined me as a training assistant and now my father had decided to make her his full-blown business partner. He was pushing her forward and including her in virtually every business venture there was, but although I felt cast aside, I figured I couldn’t complain since I was the one that kept holding him off and keeping my business separate from his. It was only fair that he should move on, right?
            Never the less, I was beginning to feel like a third wheel and it seemed a hell of a lot like I was being ignored or discarded on purpose. My input or corrections were no longer appreciated as he seemed to be getting more annoyed with me, his responses crasser by the day. He would also ‘forget’ to keep me in the loop with important business matters like altered or cancelled training dates and locations, leading to embarrassing and frustrating situations for me.
            For example, there was a situation with a professional photoshoot that we had done for the website, back when my brother was still on the team. It was a whole big thing, including a make-up artist and the whole shebang. After my brother backed out, we obviously had to re-do the shoot. My father planned a new date together with Amanda, but didn’t ask me when I was available. He also conveniently forgot to inform me that we’d be doing things differently this time. And so, after going through the trouble of cancelling my own plans so that I could be there, I showed up with my bare face and a similar outfit to the last shoot, only to find Amanda and my father had already done their make-up beforehand, and they were wearing a completely different style of outfit to my own. I felt so embarrassed and left out, it was hard to pretend to be a team for the pictures.
            It wasn’t just business that impacted me, though. As a daughter, I simply missed my father. I hadn’t spoken to him one-on-one in ages, because he was always joined at the hip with Amanda and I never got to see him in anything other than his guru-persona anymore.
Coping with working at NLPro was becoming harder and harder for me, constantly having to manage my own triggers and feelings around the situation whilst trying to function as normal. It was draining me, I felt down and heavy whenever I entered the building and it was preventing me from being my best self, both as a trainer and as myself. Feeling ashamed and guilty towards both my father and our clients, I eventually got to a point where I just couldn’t do it anymore.
            Gathering all my courage, I pulled my father aside one day and confessed: “If you’re really planning to continue down this road with Amanda, then I don’t know if I can cope with that. I’ll give it a little while longer to see if I can make it work, but if I continue to feel this horrible, I’m going to have to leave.” I don’t know what I was expecting or hoping for, but the way my father responded felt like a punch to the gut. Although he did his best to conjure up a soft expression, there was an emptiness behind it, and his words rolled so casually off his tongue that it was almost like he’d had them parked there for ages, waiting for the moment that he could finally say them out loud: “I’m sorry you feel that way and we’d like it if you stayed, but I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing.”
            And just like that, my own father, who I’d always thought I was close with, effectively chose his midlife-crisis fling over his own daughter, despite seeing the pain she was clearly in. After having just coaxed me out of the life I’d built up for myself, dragging my hesitant ass out into the middle of nowhere with a common dream and the promise to always have my back, he was just going to leave me there without so much as a second thought. The sheer nonchalance with which he discarded me, was a knife to my back. I felt so abandoned, and though I couldn’t quite place the feeling, somehow it felt but all too familiar.
 
            Then, somewhere in July, only a week or two before my time at school was up, I was at my parent’s place, upstairs in the guest room as I tried to unwind after a long day of training. My father walked into the room with tears in his eyes, stood in front of me and begged: “I’m so sorry for not realizing what a difficult position I put you in, especially when you’re already going through such an emotional time yourself. I should have been more thoughtful, and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
            I was completely bowled over, and replied: “Listen, it’s ok. I’m an adult and I’m responsible for how I do my life. I’m the one who chose to stay, and it is still my choice whether I continue with this situation or not. But for the love of God, I’m begging you, please be careful how you proceed. I understand that you and Amanda may have developed feelings for each other, you’ve both just come out of long-term relationships and on top of that it’s actually really common for romantic feelings to develop within a therapeutic setting. But even if there’s a small chance that it’s the real thing, there’s a much bigger chance that it’s not. What you’re doing right now is really unethical, and the right thing would be to break contact, distance yourselves from each other and wait it out for a few months. If the feelings are real, they will still be there by then. And if it turns out they aren’t, well, then you won’t have risked your business, your reputation and your family for a fling.”
            I told him that I was afraid it would be a huge scandal and damage us both if our clients and found out, not to mention how Amanda’s husband would react. I expected he’d be on a warpath to tear us down, which I would have understood completely. I mean, you don’t go to relationship therapy only to watch the therapist run off with your wife. My father replied: “Oh but he already knows, and he’s fine with it. He said that he knew from day one that he’d already lost her.” I was baffled, and to this day I still don’t know if that was the truth, or whether he was just trying to save his ass again.
            Never the less, my father thanked me for my advice, my understanding and for letting him make his own decisions. He promised me with tears in his eyes that he was being careful and would take it slowly. I believed him, which is why what happened the next day was another kick in the gut.
            Half way through another long day of training, we’d just finished an exercise and everyone was sitting in a big circle in the middle of the room, casually discussing their findings as they awaited further instruction. Sitting at my desk off to the side, I cast my gaze across the group and noticed my father approaching the front of the room with an odd look on his face. Avoiding me entirely, his eyes met with Amanda’s across the room (she was a participant in this particular training) and clearing his throat, he directed himself towards the group and announced that there was something he wanted to share with them. I had no idea what was going on, but as I watched his body language shift to his fake-vulnerability-mode, my heart started pounding and my gut clenched in anticipation. Then, after he’d buttered them all up, he finally cut to the chase and announced to the entire group that he and Amanda were now in a serious relationship.
            I was utterly gob smacked. After our little heart to heart the night before, I was hopeful that he’d gained some insight and would be making smarter decisions henceforth, keeping everything on the down low for the time being. But in less than 12 hours’ time, he had gone from making a teary-eyed promise to take it slow, straight on through to nailing down a serious relationship. Never mind taking a break to explore his feelings, never mind casually dating for a while, and never mind telling his loved ones about it before making a cringy, formal announcement to his entire client base. With his own oblivious daughter sitting right there, mind you.
            Awkward congratulations began to tumble from people’s lips, both Amanda and my father avoiding my gaze as they mingled with the group and engaged in weird, cheerful banter. My insides churning, I sat frozen in place fighting off the urge to scream my lungs out and slap some sense into them all. I felt so incredibly betrayed and abandoned, I couldn’t believe the charade I was witnessing and I couldn’t understand how everyone was just shrugging and going along with it. I heard someone ask about his wife, by my father told them (as he’d apparently also told Amanda) that they divorced ages ago. Which is technically true, but also not the full story. I ached to open my mouth and scream the truth, but it seemed that I was the only one who had a problem and I was afraid they’d see me as a bitter, unreasonable child. So, numbing myself from the inside out, I planted my mask firmly on my face and tried as best as I could to make it through the day.
            Unfortunately, things became infinitely worse when later that day, we received the message that my New Zealand nana had passed away. Already numb, I sat there with my grief and watched my father slip back into another vulnerability act, sharing the news with the group only to bask in their attention, compassion and admiration for his willingness to stay and complete the training just for them. I wanted to tear the place down, by I remained silent and swallowed it all down, as usual…

                THE SEMINAR
                               
                With no further need to be discrete, my father really laid it on in the weeks that followed. Watching him act exaggeratedly lovey-dovey for everyone to see, becoming someone I didn’t know as he amplified his new charming, fun-loving, youthful persona and switched to the sole use of the pronoun ‘we’ as if he and Amanda had suddenly merged into one, I felt like I had lost him for good. Getting him alone became damn near impossible; he was always with Amanda, and if I tried to set up a date for some quality father-daughter time, he’d only agree if Amanda could join us. I’d often decline because being around them together was still painful for me, but effectively, this meant that I never really saw or spoke to my father anymore outside of work. And if I ever did get him alone, it felt like I was speaking to a figment of the person I once knew. His new persona was fully catered to his new catch, and no matter how hard I tried to connect with the man I knew somewhere beneath that fluffed up exterior, the road had been blocked. My father was nowhere to be found.
            In the weeks that followed, I continued to come in to work as I internally struggled with my feelings and searched feverishly for some kind of solution. Even so much as being around my father was triggering, let alone if Amanda was around. There was a potent mixture of grief, rage and terror festering beneath my skin and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Quitting wasn’t an option just yet, since I no longer had school to provide me with a tribe and an income. Not only was my father the one keeping a roof over my head, his business was also the road to my future as it was helping me generate clients, gain experience and build a name for myself in the field.
            I felt trapped. Working there was taking a massive toll on me, having to function normally whilst constantly managing my own emotions and triggers, careful not to be too open or authentic for fear of saying too much. Coming home completely drained and with a massive headache at the end of each day, I knew I couldn’t go on like this. But I had nowhere else to turn as of yet, and all I could do was force myself into auto-pilot to keep going on. But at the end of October, something finally pushed me over the edge in terms of seeking help and making a decision.
 
            A year earlier, I’d been to a seminar with Robert Dilts. I’d had such an amazing time that I immediately signed up for the next edition, and tipped my father and brother to tag along. By the time the next seminar rolled around in the fall of 2019, my brother was no longer a part of NLPro.
            But I still went, and so did my father…with Amanda in my brother’s place.
The seminar was held in a beautiful area somewhere in the middle of the country, at a hotel in the middle of a forest. It had been organized by another NLP training institute, called IEP. What’s relevant to know, is that my father was no stranger there. You see, about a year prior, my father was taking his trainers training at the NLP Academie and about half way through, he had a messy falling out with the trainer and ended up quitting. After my tip about this seminar, he’d looked into IEP and contacted the trainers, seeking to complete his training with them. After his certification, he put me forward to do the same, even offering to pay for it if I would agree to teach more courses for NLPro. Knowing that I wanted to use the skills within my own growing business, I didn’t want to be bound or indebted to my father and I politely declined, signing up on my own accord instead. And so, my father signed Amanda up in my place. Anyway, what it comes down to is that although I knew these people vaguely from the previous seminar, my father was already in cahoots with them and couldn’t wait to introduce them all to his new girlfriend.
                A week before the seminar, I celebrated my 33rd birthday. My father didn’t show up, texting me that it was probably better if he didn’t come and promising me that we’d set up a separate date to celebrate together. Since we were both staying in the same hotel for the seminar, I sort of hoped that he would take the opportunity to make good on that promise. After all, we hadn’t had a good heart to heart since Amanda had entered the scene and I really missed him, which I’d expressed to him many times. I didn’t even know where he was currently living, as he’d moved out and Amanda had pretty much moved straight in with him. Granted, he’d invited me over for dinner at ‘our house’ at some point and I had declined, but I had been very clear in letting him know that I’d gladly come over if it was just us. He didn’t respond to that, though.
            Unfortunately, it was wishful thinking on my end. As per usual, the pair spent the entirety of the three days stuck together as though they were intent on shoving their happy relationship down my throat. Although I’d expressed my desire to spend some time with my father alone and indicated that being around them together was very difficult and painful for me, he made absolutely no effort to show some sensitivity towards my feelings. On our first day there, they plopped down next to me in the conference room and acted overly chatty and casual as I sank further and further into my seat.
            And to make matters worse, we were then placed in the same break out groups to discuss personal matters and practice interventions on one another. The following days, I made sure to show up early and pick my seat more carefully, surrounding myself by other people and leaving nothing to chance. Later on, they showed up together and cheerfully struck up conversations that always happened to be within earshot, reciting their glossed over version of events. It enraged me, hearing old friends and new acquaintances swallow the story and gush over the glowing lovebirds as I thought of the pain and destruction that he’d caused. But I had to stuff it all down as making a scene would only make things worse.
            I tried to avoid them as much as possible, still hoping that my father would find a moment to spend some time with me. How hard could it be, realistically, to tell his girlfriend: ‘Hey, are you good entertaining yourself for an hour or two while I go out and have a little walk & talk with my kid?”
            But instead, they would seek me out in the breakfast hall each morning and pull up an extra chair to my table for two, acting like nothing was wrong and making casual conversation as a lump formed in my throat and I hurried to finish my coffee so I could leave. With the hotel surrounded by a beautiful forest, I often made my escape amongst the trees for some space and some fresh air. But even as a roamed the grounds trying to recuperate and ground myself, I constantly ran into them on the same route. There was no escape, and I felt more awful by the day.
            As much as I had looked forward to the seminar beforehand, I was having a horrible time. It was like there was a huge black cloud hanging over me that just kept growing and growing. I couldn’t concentrate, I felt drained, anxious, depressed and utterly hopeless. Even as I went on long walks in the beautiful autumn scenery, all I could do was bawl my eyes out with no relief. Something ominous was pressing down on me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. All I knew, was that I was in way over my head, and I needed help. It was time to take responsibility for my own part, meaning: either get help with processing my own issues so that I can maintain my job and my relationship with my father without destroying myself in the process…or find a safe way out, without losing everything.
            And so, on the last evening in the hotel, sitting on the edge of my bed, I took a deep breath and tapped out a text to the one person I trusted to treat this situation with discretion, integrity, skill and compassion: “Hey John, can you coach me through something? There’s a lot going on, and I get the feeling that I’m way over my head…”
            To my surprise, John was already expecting me. Apparently, my brother had recently been to see him about the exact same thing and it was clear that some kind of shit was about to go down. We set up an appointment for later that week and I sighed a breath of relief. We’d sort this out.
            At the end of the last day of the seminar, I remember grabbing my gear and speed-walking out to the car, fully intending to leave that very second. But after dumping my bags into the boot, I found myself standing outside an open car door, frozen in indecision as I tried to figure out whether or not I should go back to say goodbye to my father. Exhausted and hurt, I felt compelled to speed off without saying a word, but I stopped myself at the last moment in a conundrum. Was I really going to act out my anger and disappointment by leaving without saying goodbye? He was still my father, after all, and I loved him. I reigned myself in, convincing myself that if something were to happen to him, I would regret having been so petty. Besides, I didn’t want to be the one to put our relationship on the line just because I was feeling hurt. I just needed to grow up, right?
            And so, I turned back, elbowing my way through the crowd and finding my father in a jovial conversation with an old friend, completely oblivious to what had just played out in the parking lot. I hugged him and told him that I loved him, nodded a quick goodbye to Amanda and headed back out to start the long drive home. Little did I know that the next time I saw my father would be the last.


            THE CAT’S OUT OF THE BAG
 
            It’s funny how the world as you know it can seem to fall apart, yet come together at the same time. Throughout my life I’d often had a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, and over the past year and a half, a sinkhole had opened up. As more and more signs breached the surface, my loyal brain had been working overtime to explain them away or block them out entirely. But now I had reached a point where I couldn’t deny it any longer; my father was not who I thought he was.
            After coming home from the seminar, I called my younger brother. In that conversation, putting the pieces of the puzzle together with our family history, our combined experiences and the things he’d already discussed with John, the penny finally dropped: my father is a pathological narcissist.
                 Obviously, it wasn’t an easy conversation to have, nor was it a fun realization. Everything I thought I knew was imploding around me, but it simultaneously felt like everything was falling into place. When I showed up for my appointment with John later that week, the info wasn’t new to me anymore, but the sole fact that I was finally being seen in everything I’d gone through, and validated in all the things I had picked up and explained away over the years, was incredibly impactful. Even more so considering the fact that it was coming from someone who knew his shit; an expert in the field of analytic profiling, who had been working with us long enough to have seen every fucked-up pattern play out before his eyes. 
                Nervously walking into his office and shifting in my seat, my eyes darted around the room before finally making eye contact with John, and before I even knew what was happening, the dam broke and I burst into tears of relief, repeating over and over: “It wasn’t just me, it wasn’t just me…”
            Because all these years I had been convinced that I was the crazy one, the selfish bitch, the bad guy, the one who was inherently flawed and had to fight for love, and for her right to exist. But after the façade fell away, I knew that I wasn’t imagining things and it wasn’t my fault.
                Sifting through a tangled web of emotions, thoughts and memories that flooded my body and mind, the pieces were falling into place. I’d never consciously allowed myself to feel what I really felt in relation to my father, always pushing it away and telling myself I was wrong. But as my gaze turned rigid and my body began to tremble, I was quickly becoming painfully aware of how afraid I was of him, and I was even more terrified of what he’d do if he discovered that I’d figured him out.
            Realizing that our working together could only end in disaster, it became apparent that I had to find a way out of his clutches and become independent as soon as possible. And seeing the extent of the damage that our toxic relationship had inflicted on me over the years, given his complete lack of insight and accountability, it was clear that he’d only continue to cause harm if I didn’t take a step back and hold extremely firm boundaries moving forward. At the same time, I knew that making my escape from NLPro and from our enmeshed relationship would be an incredibly delicate operation. Our lives were intertwined on so many levels, one wrong move and his repercussions could tear my life apart beyond repair. If I were careless with my timing or approach, I could be bankrupt and on the streets in the blink of an eye and before I’d even had the chance to find or create an alternative, he would most certainly launch a smear campaign so potent that I could kiss my future plans, hopes and dreams goodbye. I knew what he was capable of, both from first- and second-hand experience, and this time, I did not want to be caught on the receiving end. And so, that afternoon, John helped me lay out my options and figure out the best route to take.
            My plan carefully mapped out in my brain, I was both hopeful and scared to death. At this point, I did not intend to remove him from my life entirely, I just wanted to untangle myself from him, get out on my own two feet and find a way to have some kind of safe, functional relationship with him. But although I knew that this was the best thing that I could possibly do for myself, I felt apprehensive of the great, empty unknown ahead of me.
            Keep in mind that my father intentionally created our bond to be heavily enmeshed and I’d felt that I needed him for my survival from a very young age. The foundation had been laid down in early childhood; the outside world was a big, scary place and my father was always there to ‘rescue’ me, never mind that he was often the one who’d tripped me up in the first place. He fronted as my biggest cheerleader, but in reality, he was more like the peppy team captain who would hype me up only to secretly sabotage my routine so that I’d crash before I reached the top of the pyramid, undermining my confidence and thus keeping the vicious cycle in place. 
            And now he had inserted himself into my future plans, hopes and dreams, making himself an integral part of them while prying me away from my own life. I’d given up everything to be on board with him; my job, my own income, a large portion of my social network and even my opportunity to have a baby in the near future, which I’d postponed in order to set up shop first. But now that I saw the truth, I had to cut loose from it all and venture out into that big scary world with nowhere else to go and nobody to fall back on. It was so tempting to shove everything back down the hatch, pretend nothing had ever happened and carry on as always…but I couldn’t unsee it anymore. So, I had to pull myself together and get moving.
 
            EMERGENCY EXIT
 
            ​Step one of operation get-the-fuck-out proved to be quite a challenge; I wanted to talk to my father in private, but it was exceptionally hard to pry him away from his counterpart since they had all but merged into the same person. Thankfully, he still owed me a belated birthday celebration and after I proposed a date and deflected his adamant offers to hit up a fancy restaurant, I managed to convince him to come over to my house. I promised to make pancakes and he suggested we work out our New Zealand itinerary over lunch, since December was around the corner.
                Jumping at the slightest sound, I nervously waited for the doorbell to ring. He was running late and I was beginning to worry that he’d flaked on me, meaning I’d have to push the whole thing forward and marinate in my anxiety until I could finally get this over with and move on with my life.
            By the time he finally arrived, twenty minutes late, I was already a nervous wreck. My heart beat right out of my chest as he hugged me awkwardly and made his way into my living room. But I kept it together, retreating to the stove to prepare lunch and making light chit-chat until we eventually sat down at the table together, each with our own stack of sweet-smelling banana pancakes.
                Naturally, the conversation soon steered towards business and I took this as my chance to carefully nudge towards the matter at hand. Making sure to stay as neutral and as close to myself as possible, I reminded him of how I’d recently agreed to stay at NLPro for a while longer to see how it went. I explained to him that it was proving to be harder on me that I’d expected, the situation with him and Amanda triggering some deep-seated issues and past pain within myself and leading me to conclude that leaving NLPro would probably the wisest course of action for my own wellbeing.
            What followed was a conversation in which my father shifted back and forth between savior, victim and perpetrator roles so quickly and seamlessly that he almost had me lost in the convolution of it all. The savior asked me about my struggles, listening and nodding until he found something to latch onto for the old bait-n-switch: the second I honestly expressed my pain over his recent actions, he feigned surprise and confusion, then randomly and inexplicably dragged my ex-husband into the mix. If your head is spinning, that’s the whole point: it’s a mindfuck. In the past, I would have lost track as he further muddied the waters to hide the truth, deflect from his shortcomings and avoid being held accountable. But now, I knew what to expect, I recognized the patterns and I managed to shake the confusion before it got the chance to take root.
            As the conversation went on, that oddly familiar sense of abandonment that my father often triggered in me, slowly began to make sense. You see, throughout life, my experience had been that my own thoughts, needs and opinions could only exist at the expense of my connection with others.
            Remembering the many arguments and discussions I’d had with my father over the years, I felt that old familiar terror or having to choose between losing myself, or losing love. There was no room for the both of us to exist simultaneously, he raised me in his image and whenever it came down to it, I always chose to abandon myself and give him free rein. But things were about to change.
                Being careful to stay close to myself and avoid pointing fingers, I got back on track, calmly telling him that his actions had really hurt me. He was clearly caught off guard when he noticed that his usual tactic hadn’t taken effect, swiftly redirecting his approach toward rationalizing and glossing over everything that had happened. Then, when I didn’t respond to that either, he promptly hopped on the pity train, complaining that I hadn’t been talking to him and everyone was shutting him out.

            My next move may not have been the smartest considering his inability to empathize, but something inside of me still hoped that if I was open and honest, maybe he would be, too. I wanted to believe that there was someone there behind all the smoke and mirrors, and deep down I hoped that if I reached out and told him what was bothering me, he’d be willing to take my hand and work on fixing this mess together. And so, giving it one last chance, I responded to his complaint by telling him why I’d been closing myself off: “When I tell you how I feel, the way you respond feels dismissive. When you avoid the painful stuff and ignore, rationalize or gloss over my experience, I feel like I’m not being seen and heard and that only hurts me more. That’s why I often keep things to myself.”
             Ironically, his response to this statement was to do exactly what I just told him not to do, exclaiming that ‘he didn’t do that’, and that I was ‘getting him all wrong’. And when I pointed this out to him, the crocodile tears appeared as he cried: “I don’t know what you want from me, am I such a bad person for not wanting to hurt anyone?”
            Protesting that we weren’t giving him a chance and we were pushing him away, he wailed: “Everyone has an opinion on what I’m doing, and I don’t understand why now that I’m finally feeling happy and alive again, everyone has to hold it against me”. Feeling the irritation bubble up inside of me, I held my tongue and ignored the bait. By now, I knew enough.
            I had thrown him a bone, opened up to him and provided a chance for us to connect, reflect and make amends. Not all was lost, I still hoped that we could mend that ever-growing rift between us. But instead of taking the hand I was offering him, he made sure to pull out all the stops in saving his own ass and succeeded in making everything about him within a matter of seconds. He’d shown me exactly who he was: an emotionally immature man who was not willing nor capable of self-reflection or change. He’d effectively confirmed that I was making the right choice by leaving.
            And so, with a deep sigh of resignation, I leaned back in my chair and watched the show. For the first time, I was no longer engaging with his attempts to reel me in or get a reaction out of me. It was almost funny in a sad kind of way, watching him squirm and flail about as it gradually began to dawn on him that he was no longer in control. Not over me, nor over the situation. Trying every trick in the book as he frantically grasped at the reigns, I ignored his hooks and responded with the same sentence over and over: “We both have personal issues to work on, and that’s ok.”
            Running out of steam, he eventually calmed down and fell back into his nice-guy routine, which I can only assume was a last-ditch attempt to salvage whatever was left of his image and his influence. Admitting that the situation at work wasn’t healthy for me and he’d noticed that I’d been having a hard time, he agreed that it was probably best if I left, even though he ‘missed me’ and he was ‘afraid of losing me’. Of course, if that were true, he had a pretty fucked up way of showing it. But I held my tongue once again as I felt the hurt and the anger build up inside of me. Instead, I told him that I’d finish the tasks I’d already promised to do and make a clean break from NLPro after that.
            When he offered to continue paying me, I assumed that there were strings attached, if only it being that he could uphold his good-guy image and maintain some form of dependence, a kind of influence in my life. A finger in the pie, if you will. With this in the back of my mind, I told him that as much as I appreciated the offer, I didn’t feel comfortable accepting money for something that I was no longer doing. But he insisted that he help me out, considering my situation was a direct result of his indiscretion. And so, we made a deal: I would complete the tasks that had already been planned, including a training that I was going to fill in while he and Amanda were on a business trip, and he’d continue to pay my monthly invoices until we got back from New Zealand and I’d found a new job.
 
            Keeping it light-hearted as the conversation ran at its end, I told him that even though I was pissed and sad, he was still my dad and I loved him. And now we knew that we were better off as father and daughter rather than business partners. Offering him a smile, he asked me: “What now?” and I replied with a grin that we should start working on our itinerary for New Zealand. December was approaching fast, after all, and we had a lot of planning to do. Ironically, he hadn’t brought the necessary documents despite the fact that it was the whole reason he’d agreed to come over in the first place, so we had to take a rain check on that one.
 
            When my father finally walked out the door, I waved him goodbye and sighed a deep breath of relief. I’d done it: I stood up for myself, did what I needed to do and got the both of us through it unscathed. My father and I were still on good terms, he was still acting normal and could stay a part of my life, albeit at a safe distance. I was free from NLPro, I wasn’t suddenly homeless or penniless and I had my father’s blessing to go out and find something new. All in all, it was the best outcome I could have wished for. Especially since we were about to spend four weeks holed up together on the other side of the world. Can you imagine how awkward that would have been, otherwise?
            Weirdly, a part of me also felt confused and guilty after he left. You see, during the time that he sat in front of me crying, I was surprised to notice that I felt irritated rather than compassionate, despite the fact that I usually feel someone else’s grief to the point where I can hardly hold back from bursting into tears myself. It made me wonder if maybe I really was a selfish, horrible person.
            ​It wasn’t until the next day when the realization hit me: the reason I didn’t feel his grief, was because it wasn’t grief at all. It was self-pity. He’d just been trying to manipulate me again, and he’d almost succeeded. Thankfully this time, I figured it out before I got ensnared again.

            I was happy and relieved that we could both turn towards the future and move on without any drama or bad blood between us. But at the same time, there was something ominous looming in the back of my mind, like part of me was silently waiting for the other shoe to drop. The whole thing had gone a little too well, and I was worried that he’d just been holding back. Something was bound to come round and bite me in the ass…

To be continued…