2021: Defying Gravity – Part #5 –THE FUCKENING

                Dear Reader,
 
                At the end of my previous blog, I mentioned that I had the feeling that my escape plan had gone a little too well, and I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Well, if ever I needed more proof that a gut-feeling is always right…
                I also mentioned that at the time, I had no intention of removing my father from my life entirely; I was all for finding a way to have a somewhat normal relationship with him, although in retrospect it’s probably a bit naïve to think that it’s even possible to have a healthy relationship with a pathological narcissist who sees no fault in their ways.
                After leaving NLPro, I thought I’d be ok. I thought we’d be ok. Clearly, it wasn’t the end of the story, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here writing another part to this already insanely long tale. So, what changed…?
 
                THE STRAP BOX FLYER
                 
                Have you ever heard the story of the Strap Box Flyer?
I hadn’t thought of it in years, but after I began to see my father for who he was, a short story that my primary school teacher once read to me, randomly popped back into my mind. I’ll try to give you the cliff notes version, but the last time I heard it was at least 25 years ago, so bear with me…
                The story is about a bloke called Giffen, who everyone thought was slightly mad, but he was interesting so they watched him anyway. Giffen had invented an absurdly strong glue, the only catch being that the glue only worked for four hours. Wanting to sell it anyway, Giffen travelled to various towns and told everyone how amazing it was, selling them the special glue and making sure that he was long gone before anyone discovered that they had been duped. One day, while on the road, he met an inventor who had created a flying machine he called a Strap Box Flyer. Giffen was intrigued, and when the inventor invited him for a test flight, Giffen secretly decided that he was going to try to steal the machine. So, mid-air after a few hours of flying around, Giffen was about to fly off when the inventor told him: “I only made two, but I gave you the best one, built with your special glue”.
To which the machine suddenly began to creak and grind, until it fell apart and Giffen came crashing down to the ground. Karma, bitch…
                I guess it’s not all that strange that this story came to mind; it may as well have been about my father. And it sort of describes how life felt for me after I figured out what was going on. It was like my life had been put together with the glue my father sold me, and now it was suddenly falling apart at the seams. And since I wasn’t sure which parts of my personality, my world view and my life were being held together by that glue, I couldn’t predict whatever would be the next thing to come crashing down. I suppose the best way I could describe it, is that I went through a kind of existential crisis. Unable to distinguish which of my memories were real, which of my thoughts, feelings, habits, or opinions were my own and which of them had been unwittingly and unwillingly engrained into my system through years of manipulation and abuse, I no longer knew who I was. Quite like the hero in a good vs. evil movie who discovers that they have a dark side, I often asked myself whether that meant that I was actually a bad person, and I found myself wondering how I could possibly trust myself, let alone anyone else. 
                For a long time, the events that occurred left me feeling numb. Stunned at how the rug had been pulled out from underneath me, I felt unsafe in the world and in myself. I felt utterly lost. Occasionally, I’d awaken from that stupor only to be engulfed by a tsunami of emotions. Old wounds that I’d worked so hard to heal were torn open and trauma that I wasn’t even aware existed began to (re)surface. Oscillating between numbness and complete flooding, my old suicidal thoughts were back with a vengeance and they were having a field day. Suffice to say, I was having a hard time.
                Never the less, I put on a brave face to the outside world and forced myself to keep going. To be honest, I wanted nothing more than to curl up and hide from everyone and everything, or at the very least just give it all a rest until I’d taken the time to process and get back on my feet. But I couldn’t do that; there were bills to be paid, and now that everything had fallen away, I had to do anything within my power to regroup, reroute and survive. There was simply no time to waste on moping around. I also felt an immense pressure to succeed. To show everyone, myself and my father included, that I could make it with or without his help.
 
                And so, I dove into getting Soulfire off the ground, working my ass off to create something from almost nothing. I continued coaching and drawing new clients in, I created and organized a buttload of workshops, struck up partnerships, wrote articles and posts online, forced myself to get out there and network… From the outside, you’d think I was motivated as fuck and doing well. But on the inside, I was really struggling. Soulfire had become like a minefield riddled with triggers, and working on what had once been my dream had become a tremendous source of anxiety and inner turmoil. As hard as I tried to convince myself that this was what I had to do, and what I wanted to do, it didn’t feel right anymore. My heart was no longer in it, but I wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.
                There were many factors, both practical and emotional, that kept me stuck between a rock and a hard place. Trapped in a cycle of feeling uncomfortable with what I was doing, wanting to be honest and authentic, and yet forcing myself to do those things anyway.
                For starters, I was completely marinated in shame. I was ashamed of how gullible and naïve I’d been, despite all the warning signs. I’d made some pretty bold choices and worked very hard to ignore all the doubts and convince everyone of how excited and confident I was about the whole plan. And now look where I’d ended up…I could already feel their I-told-you-so’s hanging over my head.
                Even more so, I was ashamed of the things I’d said and done under my father’s watch, my blind faith in his knowledge, skill and intentions leading me to act and present myself in ways that didn’t always fall in line with my values. Taking recent insights into account, I looked at my life and wondered how much bullshit I’d internalized and reproduced over the years without even knowing it. There was a good chance I’d made a complete fool of myself, which was bad enough, but what if was actually hurting people without realizing it?
                Considering how much influence my father had had on me, the setup of my business and the development of my skills, that wasn’t entirely unthinkable. I’d been faking it till I made it, just like he said, doing things I was unsure of and taking many of his tips and tricks to heart. And up until now, he’d always been there to back me up and to convince me I was doing fine. But now that I knew who was talking, I doubted myself more than ever. Sure, I was certified and all, but hey, so was my father, so apparently that wasn’t a good measure of character or competence.
                My insecurities had me worried that I was doing more harm than good, or that I’d eventually do something wrong and get called out and shunned for it. At the same time, given the state of my own life and my mental health, I didn’t feel like the right person to be helping others to get their shit together. I was doing the best I could to practice what I preached, but I mostly felt like a fraud. And to make matters worse, I found myself getting triggered by my clients and their input, which is not a healthy place to work from. Both coaching and training required me to be grounded, unbiased, open and authentic. But in the midst of my own trauma response, I couldn’t be any of those things, even with the smallest query. All this should have been enough reason for me to stop working for a while until I figured stuff out, but at the same time, what else was I supposed to do? 
                I really wanted to take a step back and rest. I wanted to talk about what was going on, find support, take the time to process this shit, heal and move on. But aside from the fact that I literally couldn’t afford to miss any work, I was also terrified of what the consequences might be if I opened my mouth. Painfully aware of the stigma around having issues of your own when you work in the mental health field, I was scared that I’d be judged for how horrid I felt and how badly I was coping, and mostly for not being able to solve this myself. That certainly wouldn’t be good advertising. Not that I even wanted to draw in more clients at this point; I felt guilty enough for continuing to work for my own selfish needs, despite my doubts surrounding my capabilities. But somehow, after having lost so much already and without a viable alternative in place, I was stubbornly clinging for dear life to what was left of the hopes and dreams I’d started out with.
                Other people’s opinions aside, the main thing that kept me silent was the fear of my father. If I suddenly closed Soulfire, albeit temporarily, people would start asking questions. And I wanted so badly to tell people what had happened, for so many reasons. I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, swallowing down all the pain he’d caused and keeping everything to myself. Not to mention, it killed me to see people still going to my father for help, while I knew how much harm he could do. I wanted to scream the truth, but I was gagged. I was terrified of what he might do if he found out that I’d been talking. Our status quo was precarious and I didn’t dare awaken any sleeping dogs. So, I kept my mouth shut, and I kept trudging on.    
                Rationally, I really believed that what had happened was fundamental and important. A paradigm shift for which I’d be better off in the long run, after I’d processed it all and resolved the practical issues, of course. But emotionally, I felt like I was staring death in the eyes, day after day.
 
                ​OH HELL NO
               
                As December edged closer and closer, that feeling of apprehension gnawing at my gut grew stronger. Things seemed peaceful, but I knew from experience that the weather could change at the drop of a hat and it had been a little too quiet for far too long. If I could make it through to January without waking the dragon, I was pretty sure I’d be home safe. But that meant I still had about two months on the clock in which I had to keep the boat steady; I had a few outstanding tasks left with NLPro, and lord knew that I needed those payments to bridge the gap until we got back from New Zealand and I was free to get myself a new job. Not to mention, we still had to make it through four weeks on each other’s lip and I was determined to make that trip worthwhile, which wouldn’t happen if we were at each other’s throats.
                So, for the next couple of weeks I pushed on, walking on eggshells so as not to disturb the peace, and honestly, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. My father and I seemed to be on good terms, though I admit I had been limiting our interactions and keeping it very superficial. Things with Soulfire also seemed to be getting better. I was getting back on my feet, and with new people, plans and prospects, I was starting to have a little more faith in my ability to climb out of the pit.
                As for our upcoming trip…For the longest time, I’d been afraid that it wouldn’t happen. After all, my father didn’t have the best track record when it came to keeping promises. It wouldn’t be the first time that he invited me and hyped me up, only for something to get in the way later on. In fact, in 2018 he even had me clear my agenda and pick out our tickets so that he could book them, only to text me the next morning that he’d decided to take my mother instead. Granted, we already had our tickets booked for this upcoming trip, but with everything that had happened over the past year, I was still a little apprehensive.

                Anyhow, with our date of departure drawing near, we’d been working out our itinerary. There were a few specific things that I really wanted to do, which I booked and paid for myself. But for the most part, I just was just excited to be there. I was most excited about mundane things like hearing people talk in that recognizable accent, seeing our old houses and going to the supermarket. My father took care of the other stuff as promised, booking a rental car and all the accommodations on his credit card. He went for the non-refundable option so that our bookings were fixed, not even bothering with cancellation insurance. He saw no reason for it; he was certain that we’d be going, no matter what. My mum later convinced him to get that insurance after all, but he didn’t tell me that.
                The idea of spending four weeks alone with my father did make me a little nervous, but as our plans filled out and our departure drew closer, I was actually starting to see it as an opportunity to put our differences aside, have a good time together and maybe even do some bonding. And as our itinerary took form and I could picture it in my mind, I started to loosen up and I even dared to start looking forward to it. In fact, I clung to a vision of myself celebrating Christmas on the beach under a Pohutukawa tree. I clung to it for dear life, because after everything I’d already lost and all the stress and pain that I’d been through over the past year, I needed just one good thing that made it at least semi-worthwhile.
                Quitting school seemed like the worst decision I’d ever made, but at least I could see the summer in my homeland, which I wouldn’t have been able to do if I were still teaching. So, there was that, and for now, it was enough.
 
                My last stand-in training date for NLPro approaching, I was yearning to tie up those loose ends and move on. As I thought about how I was about to regain my independence and rebuild my life, I noticed that I was starting to feel a bit lighter. I planned to start off by looking for a simple job, so that I could support myself financially as I further built up my own practice. Sure, I was well aware that it wasn’t going to be easy, but this was no time to lay down and give up. I had no choice but to believe in myself and make it work. Well, we all know murphy, and murphy had other plans.
                ​Around half way through November, my brother and I met up with John to discuss the possibilities for a business partnership. Although he couldn’t afford to offer me a paid position as an assistant trainer, he was willing to mentor me somewhat and eventually refer specific clients to me.
                It was a great opportunity, though I was really nervous about it, too. I trusted and valued John, and I knew that he wouldn’t bullshit me. Which is exactly why he scared me so much; it was a lot to lose if I fucked it up. As you may recall, I had many doubts about my capabilities since I’d found out about my father. Hell, I even doubted my own character. And working with an expert in the field who had seen through all of my crap from day one, meant that there was no room for faking or hiding. It meant putting myself in an incredibly vulnerable position, in order to learn and grow. That excited me, but it also scared me to death. I was worried that I’d accidentally show how my father had rubbed off on me. If I exhibited pieces of him, would I be cast out, written off?
                Those fears don’t exactly give John much credit for his ability to see me for me, which he’d clearly already done in my favor, but let’s not forget that PTSD doesn’t really listen to rational thought.
                Anyway, we also struck up a deal that if my brother and I promoted his training courses in my workshops, we’d receive a commission for each new client that signed up. I’d previously had a similar deal with my father, although he never actually paid us in the end; he usually claimed that he already knew the clients before we brought them in. Obviously, I’d stopped referring people to my father a long time ago, as I couldn’t endorse his practices and I just didn’t feel comfortable with it.
                My clients often asked me for advice on where to take their next training, and I’d been sending them John’s way for quite some time as I fully supported his work and I wanted to be sure that they had the best possible experience. Also, most of my clients were located in our area, so it just made more sense. Of course, I didn’t tell my father that, for fear of repercussions.                 But since I was almost free from NLPro and he had given me his blessing to start venturing out, I didn’t think he had any reason to hold it against me. And if he did eventually kick up a fuss, I could always make it about location. John provided us with goodie bags and flyers to hand out, and I was really glad to be on board with him. I could now officially refer clients to a place that I was proud to be affiliated with, and our deal would help me out substantially in time. Although I was nervous, I was also really excited and hopeful that things might actually work out for the best after all.
 
                But then, about two weeks later, on the evening before that last training date, I received a message that made my heart drop. Omitting any details, my father sent me a vague text in which he mentioned that he’d gotten some bad news, and that our trip might be in trouble.
                As you can imagine, I immediately went into stress-mode and wanted to know more, but he wouldn’t answer any of my questions. So, I waited in agony for another day or two, but still no news. Every time I asked about it, he dodged the topic. I was getting more and more nervous as the date of departure drew closer and I still didn’t have any information as to what action I may need to take. Eventually, I couldn’t take the tension anymore and I asked my mum if she knew what was going on.
                And she dropped a bombshell: my father had lost his appeal in the long-running court case over his bankruptcy, and he now had to pay a massive sum of money. He’d always assumed that he’d win the case, going for appeal after appeal every time things didn’t go his way, but this time it seemed like the end of the road. And right now, he wasn’t even allowed to leave the country.
                Hearing this, I panicked. Although our tickets were paid for, virtually everything else had been booked by non-refundable deferred payment. And as far as I knew, there was no cancellation insurance. Meaning; whether we went or not, someone was going to have to pay up. And with both our names on those bookings, if my father was indeed bankrupt, my broke and jobless ass would be the next in line to fulfill our obligations. Weighing out my options, it looked like I was screwed either way and I had only two weeks left on the clock to come up with a viable solution. The weirdest part was that with everything that was at stake and with time being of the essence, he still hadn’t told me what was going on himself. It was almost as though he didn’t want me to find a solution.
                So, without telling him that I already knew, I asked him again what was going on. I suppose I wanted to see how long he was planning to drag this out, because it was starting to feel like he was keeping me in the dark on purpose. It had been three days since his original message, and we were supposed to be leaving thirteen days later. So, I pushed a little harder. Finally, he cracked and spilled the beans, blurting out that he couldn’t go and I needed to find someone else.
                You’d think I might have felt bad for him, but by now I was just plain pissed off. His current predicament was his own fault, but it seemed that he wanted to drag us all down with him. All this time, he’d refused to tell me anything and he probably would’ve kept that up until the last minute, leaving me with too little time to sort it out. And the possibility of losing the one thing that had been keeping me going all this time, was only a small drop in the tsunami of rage that I felt. What’s worse was that he was clearly willing to risk dragging me into debt along with him, ruining my life all over again without even giving it a second thought. By now, he’d already taken so much from me that I simply wasn’t willing to let him steal this last little glimmer of hope as well. I was prepared to fight for it, but I knew that I had to be tactful about it.
 
                Once I’d gotten my bearings, I got back to him so that we could calmly discuss our options. I can’t say I was surprised at how he flipped back into savior-mode, promising me that he was willing to go above and beyond to make it possible for me to go anyway. Looking back, I think he was fully aware that I couldn’t afford to go alone and that his ticket was non-transferrable, but none the less he told me that if I could find another travel partner, he’d gladly transfer his ticket to them. So, I told him that I’d try to find someone who was willing to split the cost, and I asked him to check with the booking agency whether his ticket was transferrable, which he agreed to do.
                Two days later, I found my youngest brother ready to jump in. He was even willing to pay for the transfer fee, as long as he got a definitive answer from my father within a few days. That way, he could still make arrangements for time off work. It was a win-win situation; my brother and I could go to New Zealand, we’d split the costs between us, none of our bookings would go to waste and my father would be absolved of all costs apart from the original ticket, saving us both any unnecessary debt. However, when I told him the good news, he still hadn’t sorted it out. Frustrated, I hopped onto google myself, found all the necessary info and steps to be taken, passed on the information to my father and even sent him a link to the exact page where he could take care of it…but he didn’t. Instead, he deflected with a guilt-trip, whining: “Do you really expect me to pay for everything, now that I’m not going? I’m in severe financial trouble right now and it really hurts that you’re asking me for money instead of asking me how I am.”
                Remaining factual, I reminded him that I was going to be paying my half of the travel expenses and my brother had offered to pay for the transfer fee along with his half. The only money that he would actually lose, was the non-refundable ticket itself which he had already paid for months ago, when he decided against getting a cancellation insurance. To me, it seemed like the best-case scenario in a shitty situation. But my father wasn’t done with me yet.
                What ensued was a tantrum that looked a lot like an alligator in a death-roll, as he clamped down and jerked me around, pummeling me from all angles with every manipulation tactic he could muster in a frantic attempt to regain control. One minute he’d talk down to me in a condescending tone as though I ware an unruly adolescent, the next he’d be sulking about how we were casting him out and I needed to let him in. Then, switching positions yet again, he’d point the finger and exclaim that we both had our part in this fucked up situation and I needed to own up to my faults, followed by putting on his cape a few seconds later and presenting himself as the hero who was willing to do absolutely anything and everything to give me what I wanted and make me happy.
                It was a sad and infuriating shitshow that would have rattled me, had I not recently learned to recognize each maneuver for what it was and see through this bullshit. Sure, he was dead serious, but I’d already come to a point where I’d rather laugh than cry about it, and from my new detached point of view it was actually quite hilarious. My father, unaware of this shift in me, was still swinging around like a shadow-boxer and arrogantly counting his points without actually checking to see if his punches had landed at all. As he kept switching back and forth between victim, hero and prosecutor rolls, I did nothing other than textually ‘smile and nod’ without throwing him any bones whatsoever.
                 My friend, who just so happened to be over at my house that evening, read along with the messages and saw the whole thing play out in real-time as we shook our heads in disbelief and bewilderment.
                Eventually, my father had apparently convinced himself that he’d accomplished his mission, signing off with some cheesy, covertly gloating and condescending statement about how he was glad that we’d talked it out and come to an understanding. Staring at the screen of my phone, all I could do was roll my eyes and laugh at the irony and the sheer what-the-fuck-ness of the whole situation. His lack of empathy and social intelligence rendered him blind to the fact that his tactics had failed, as he had read my disengagement and sarcasm as genuine agreement. It seemed that this time, the tables had turned and the manipulator himself had been fooled.
                Anyhow, since my father was still refusing to look into the ticket transfer, I eventually took matters into my own hands and contacted the agency. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a no-go; my brother couldn’t come along and I had to find another solution. Honestly, I considered giving up and cancelling, anxiety raging through my system as I thought about all the complicated and scary things I’d have to do if I decided to travel alone. Not to mention the fact that with what little savings I had, I was still around two grand short. But deep down, I knew that I had to go, no matter what.
                You see, this trip to New Zealand was no longer a mere consolation for everything I’d been through, nor was it just a cool holiday or a trip down memory lane. It had quickly become so much more than that. For my own health and safety, I needed to extract myself from the situation I was in, leave my environment and distance myself from my father as far as I possibly could. I had to escape in order to breathe, process and plan my next move. And not only that; I felt like I was on the cusp of a personal breakthrough. My upbringing had left me feeling chronically unequipped to handle life in this big scary world, which often held me back in life and left me vulnerable to people with less than honorable intentions. I needed to get out there on my own and face my fears, thus proving to myself that I was my own person, capable of living my own life and fending for myself without my dad there to swoop in and save me. I had to break free, and it was now or never. 
 
                LAST RESORT
 
                So, scared shitless and motivated as fuck, I was doing everything I could to figure something out. But with just 1.5 weeks left on the clock and still no viable solution in sight, my chances weren’t looking too rosy. None of my attempts to scrape together the necessary funds had been particularly fruitful, and although I wasn’t planning to throw in the towel just yet, I was feeling pretty desperate when I confided in a friend who proposed that I set up a Crowdfunding campaign.
                Initially, I brushed the idea aside as I was certain that it would piss people off. And I couldn’t blame them. I mean, considering the fact that I still couldn’t tell anyone exactly what was going on, all people would see was a context-less campaign that looked a hell of a lot like I was just randomly begging for holiday money. It wasn’t a good look, and considering the large amount of cash needed and the limited time available, I didn’t think it would work anyway. Why would it?
                But you know what they say: desperate needs call for desperate measures. It was ten days before take-off, all my other efforts had been to no avail and at this point I had nothing left to lose. Swallowing my pride, I decided that it was time to ask my network for help. It was a long shot, but it was at least worth a try. And so, I began to write a campaign description, typing and deleting, typing, deleting, and typing some more until I had finally put together a carefully composed statement that provided enough context to convey my desperation without incriminating my father and potentially detonating the bomb that was still there, silently hanging over me. My hands were literally shaking as I clicked the upload button and watched it go live, expecting an avalanche of offended, berating comments to descend upon me at any minute…but to my astonishment, that’s not what happened.
                Aside from one snarky comment which was quickly neutralized by a friend’s reply, help was flooding in from all angles in the form of supportive comments, link sharing and countless donations of all sizes. I was absolutely flabbergasted. Even people I hadn’t spoken to in years and people from whom I’d least expected it, were coming through for me. It warmed my heart to realize that I wasn’t as alone as I always felt. Amazingly, within less than 24 hours I had almost reached my goal!
 
                In an interesting turn of events, my father, previously having shown no interest whatsoever in following through on his noble promise to ‘do anything he could to make sure that I could still go’, suddenly felt compelled to jump on the bandwagon before it was too late. Too late for the knight to make a grand gesture that would help to polish up his shining armor, I mean. Because despite all his efforts to keep me under his thumb, it was starting to look like I was actually going to be fine without him. And for someone with a savior-complex and an intense need to be liked, admired and needed in order to maintain an image and some semblance of control, we can’t have that now, can we…
                Out of nowhere, my father popped up offering me an exorbitant sum of money that would essentially top off the Crowdfund. Given his current predicament, his offer was quite ridiculous, not to mention a tad suspicious. When I asked him about it, he just shrugged it off and said that he’d use the NLPro credit card, which was now registered to Amanda. My suspicion growing, I asked whether
                Amanda had consented to this, which she had not. But my father was certain that she’d be fine with it. Naturally, I declined and told him to discuss it with her first. Judging by the discrete donation that showed up on my page later, she must have managed to talk some sense into him, thankfully.
                None the less, it was a pretty weird situation considering his previous disinterest and refusal to cooperate. To me, it looked a lot like he’d been hit by panic stations. He’d clapped the dust off his hands and walked away from the ravage he’d created, marking the spot where he’d left me behind so that he could return at the perfect time to publicly pull me out from under the rubble, like a hero.
                But he’d underestimated me, and by the time he noticed me climbing out, other people had already arrived on the scene and he was no longer needed; I was almost there. He saw me slipping through his fingers, along with the narrative he’d been trying to create. And with his nice-guy image wearing thin, he was suddenly willing to spring into action and take drastic measures to reinstate his position. And apparently, he was even willing to screw over his partner to achieve that. Either way, I was glad that I’d managed to avoid getting reeled back in to that co-dependent trap. I’d ignored the bait and warded him off without stirring up any drama, effectively taking another step towards my freedom.
 
                ​No more than 48 hours after posting the campaign, tears of gratitude sprung into my eyes as I stared at my computer screen in utter disbelief: my Crowdfund had been successful, I’d reached my goal and then some. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and I sat there in silence with my jaw on the floor as my heart beat right out of my chest and I allowed the emotions to wash over me.
I guess my father was equally surprised that I’d pulled it off, immediately getting on social media to post a sickeningly sweet sob-story in which he expressed his undying gratitude to everyone who’d helped his beautiful daughter while he was incapacitated. It was a shrill contrast with the way he’d been acting and speaking to me throughout the entire ordeal, it reeked of damage control and I really had to bite my tongue as I watched people take the bait. Comments flowed in asking him what had happened, sending him hugs and kisses and even offering to donate extra money if that meant that he could go with me. Internally, I was screaming ‘NoOoOoOo!!!’, bile rising in my throat as all the emotions I’d repressed and all the crap I’d swallowed tried to force their way out into the open.
But as much as I wanted to call him out on his bullshit and expose his behavior, I kept my mouth tightly shut. I wasn’t in the clear yet. Still in close proximity to the bomb, I was terrified that I’d trip the switch before I’d made my way out of the nuke blast zone.
So instead, I chose to ignore him and focus on the positives: I was going to New Zealand! And I was going alone, yet supported by all the people in my life that cared about me. People who had my back, even when I couldn’t tell them what was going on. I felt warm and fuzzy with gratitude, a sparkle in my eye as I thought about the life-changing adventure that I was about to undertake.
 
THE LAST STRAW
 
I should have known the storm was coming when the clouds appeared. I felt it in the air, something was up. Counting down the days until my departure, I’d kept myself busy taking care of everything that still needed to be arranged now that I was heading out on my own. I’d gone out to buy a daypack and sunglasses, gotten my international driver’s license, taken care of insurance and made sure that I had all my documents in order. The thought alone that I’d be navigating unknown roads in a foreign place, driving a strange car whilst somehow remembering to stay on the left-hand side of the road…it scared the living shit out of me, but there was no turning back now. I was about to flex my wings and discover what I could do if there was nobody there for me to hide behind, and nobody to hold me back. Everything was looking good, but somehow, I still couldn’t quite believe or trust that it was really happening. It just wasn’t sinking in, and I couldn’t seem to shake the ominous feeling that something was about to go horribly, horribly wrong.
 
My last week at home, things remained uneventful and I almost thought I’d made it through to gauntlet unscathed. But just three days before departure, I opened my mailbox on my phone and saw an email from my father, addressed to both me, my youngest brother and John. My gaze fixed on the screen as my heart immediately leapt into my throat and I froze, contemplating whether or not I was going to open it. My brother didn’t leave me much time to think about it, though, almost giving me a heart attack when my phone suddenly started buzzing in my hand. The second I picked up, he exclaimed: “Have you seen it yet? Don’t read it. Just bin it.”
I steadied myself as my brother proceeded to explain what had happened. Earlier that day, he’d had a talk with my father. He’d asked all the questions that had been bugging him, requested the truth, and was taken by surprise when my father showed himself willing to oblige. They spent quite some time talking out their beef in what seemed to be an open and honest conversation, and after a while, my brother had gathered enough faith in the honorability of my father’s intentions to conclude that it was only fair if he reciprocated with full disclosure. And so, he told him about our new partnership with John. That turned out to be a big mistake.
Initially, my father’s reaction was very calm and reasonable. It didn’t seem to bother him at all. But no more than a few hours after they’d hugged it out and parted ways, the three of us were bombarded with an epic four-page rant in which he completely exploded and shredded us to bits.
Apparently, when he realized that he was no longer the center of my universe and he’d lost control over me as his pawn, the mask slipped and he effectively blew his own cover by breaking out into a full-blown narcissistic temper tantrum. It wasn’t pretty, but it was pretty damn telling and if I’d had any remaining doubts about my decision to step away, this told me exactly what I needed to know.
                My father was clearly trying to elicit a reaction, but I refused to let him hoover me back in to a drama triangle with him. And so, I decided to take my brothers advice and leave the email unread.
I archived it for documentation purposes, but not before I’d run it past my coach and had her check if there was anything that required immediate action on my part. After all, a cat in the narrow can be dangerous, and I didn’t trust him one bit. If for example he’d threatened to sue me, harm me, hurt himself or cancel both our plane tickets out of spite, I needed to know about it.
After looking it over and sifting through all the bullshit, my coach reported back to me with the cliff-notes version and assured me that there was nothing in there to be taken to heart. Just a lot of emotional blackmail, finger pointing, blame shifting and self-pity, along with a laughable attempt to pit us all against one another. Long story short, he was accusing John of brainwashing his children and turning them against him out of jealousy, he made my brother out to be naïve and dishonest, and he was accusing me of being a selfish bitch who had only used him for money. And he himself, he was the poor, innocent, loving father whose only fault was that he’d been too trusting, leading others to use him for his kindness. He’d only ever loved us and wanted the best for his family, but we’d all screwed him over and ruined his life. Woe. Is. Me.
Lashing out like an animal backed into a corner, he was practically foaming at the mouth, loudly hissing and snapping with the intention to intimidate and scare me back into line. And if he couldn’t control me directly, he could at least get to me through the people around me, which is probably why he dragged John into this as well. Unfortunately, my father’s outburst did result in John backing out of our partnership, knocking me back substantially and uprooting my future yet again. I did understand John’s decision, though. I mean, imagine you were just starting a new relationship with someone and their crazy ex suddenly showed up on your doorstep with a baseball bat…you’d probably back out, too. Even if there had been potential, it wouldn’t be worth losing your livelihood over, right?
If indeed it was my father’s intention to scare me shitless, his tactic was working. My legs were wobbly, my hands were shaking and I was utterly terrified. But no matter how scared I was, I refused to play the game and this time, I wasn’t going to budge. I’d probably read the email somewhere down the line as my curiosity would likely get the better of me, but for now I needed to keep a level head in order to avoid getting swept up in the chaos that he was intentionally creating.
And so, taking a deep breath, I tucked the email out of sight and sat down to contemplate the best course of action. I could just sit back and wait to see what would happen, or I could put on my big girl pants and pluck up the courage to take the reins and stand up for myself.
 
                Call me crazy, but deep down I still harbored the silent hope that if I offered him a chance to redeem himself, he’d take it. As his daughter, I just couldn’t wrap my brain around how he was able to treat own flesh and blood like a pawn, a mere possession that served only to further his own self-interests. I didn’t understand how he could tear me down, cast me aside and watch me struggle with the damage he’d caused, all without showing even the faintest mark of genuine regret or empathy.
                Surely, if I approached him with kindness and understanding, we could figure this out. If I modelled healthier boundaries and communication, maybe he would pick up on it and eventually follow suit. And then maybe, just maybe, we could still fix this. But as much as I wanted to give him another chance, I was no longer willing to jeopardize my own welfare in the process. I still wanted a relationship with my father, but not at the expense of my wellbeing. And so, I decided that my olive branch would have to be accompanied by a very clear, firm set of boundaries. Should he choose not to respect them, it’d be my responsibility to hold up my end of the bargain by taking a step back.    
And I wasn’t going to wait for him to come to me. If ever there was a time to get into the driver seat and take charge of my life, this was it. So, before I could chicken out, I whipped out my phone.
                After taking a deep breath and planting my feel firmly on the ground, I contacted my father and let him know that I’d received his message, though I had chosen not to read it. Staying neutral, I explained as calmly as I could that I had considered that the wisest course of action, since his words had been written in anger after hearing only one side of the story, and he may have said things he’d regret later. I also reminded him of a conversation we’d had recently, about his tendency to jump to conclusions and run with them. At the time, he’d asked me to give him a heads up if I noticed him falling into that pattern, so that we could improve our communication. And so, I let him know that this was me giving him the signal, and offering an opportunity to work it out. Then, I asked him if there was something going on that he wanted to talk to me about. His reply: “Read the mail, I’m done listening to your bullshit. Take a real good look in the mirror.”
                Not wanting to give it up right then and there, I took a moment to regroup and answered: “I’m not sure what’s going on, but the behavior you’re showing right now is not ok for me. I’m not going to read the email, as you’re running with your interpretation of one persons’ side of the story. The way you’re lashing out towards me, isn’t acceptable. So, I’m going to take a step back for now. My door isn’t closed, I still love you, I just need to take care of myself as well. I hope you understand and I hope that we can talk about this properly later on, when everything has died down a bit.”
                I’m going to take some creative liberty in the translation of his Dutch messages, but his reply didn’t leave much room for interpretation, meaning something along the lines of: “Go fuck yourself, I’m pissed”. Not wanting to get dragged into slinging mud, I responded only to the latter portion of the sentence, telling him: “That’s ok, just don’t burn all your bridges in the middle of it. Love you.”
                He must have noticed that his attempts to get a rise out of me, weren’t really getting him the reaction that he was hoping for, and in what seemed to be a ditch attempt to draw me out, he replied: “Then read the mail…if what your brother says is true…you both sold me out…you betrayed and used me…your brother was very clear about that…didn’t leave much room for interpretation…I have never been so angry in my life…I’ve been used.” By the way, if you’re wondering what’s with all the ellipses, your guess is as good as mine. For some reason, my father always types like he’s reciting a dramatic monologue in a soap opera whilst suffering an exceptionally wheezy asthma attack. 
                By now, it was quite clear to me that there was no getting through to him in this state, and I was not looking to serve as his punching bag, so I decided to round up the conversation. I told him: “Sounds like there’s a lot going on. I’m bummed that you didn’t come to me first, instead of drawing your own conclusions. That hurts me, too. I understand that you’re angry. Even if I’m not exactly sure what’s going on right now. And you can be angry, that’s totally fine. What’s not ok, is the way you’re choosing to act this out on us. So, I’m going to take my distance for now. We’ll talk about it some other time, when it has all died down. Take care Dad.”
                He replied with: “Forget it. I’m so fucking angry and disappointed…you have no idea. And you’re choosing not to deal with it. So, forget it...” and I signed off with: “Ok, take care.”
 
                My heart beating out of my chest, I finally exhaled and put my phone away. The frightened child in me was feeling overwhelmed by the urge to get straight back on the phone and start doing anything within my power to placate him and bring back the peace. But it was too late for that, and as uncomfortable and scary as this whole situation was, I couldn’t just unsee what I’d seen and go back to playing by the rules of his game. Right now, the status quo breaking apart, my father was on a warpath and I was the unfortunate bugger on the receiving end of his rage. There was no point in fighting it; in war, there are no winners. Frankly, the best thing I could do for either of us, was hold my ground, protect my boundaries and try to prevent further escalation while I let it run its course.
And in that, I had succeeded, which was a first for me. That was something to be proud of in itself!

                As one could expect, my father didn’t stay away for long. Looking back, I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, I knew this game like the back of my hand; if one approach doesn’t get you what you want, just switch it up until you find an angle that works. And if you get called out on any of your bullshit, just pretend it never happened. Needless to say, when my father popped back into my text messages the next morning, he was courteous, controlled and sweet as pie:
 “Hey Caro, sorry I overreacted. I’m still really mad and angry but I should have handled this differently. I don’t want you to get on that plane while we’re fighting. You do have a lot of explaining to do, because the facts that your brother laid on the table really hit me like a bullet to the chest.”
 
                Unable to gage whether he was genuinely remorseful or just changing up his approach, I replied as neutrally as I could, but held my ground all the same:
“Morning Dad. Thank you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re not fighting. I understand that you’re angry and hurt, that’s totally ok. At the same time, I see you lashing out in your anger while being blind to the damage you’re causing along the way. Your emotions are valid, it’s your behavior that’s not ok. I refuse to step into that drama triangle with you, since we both know that there are no winners there. There’s just a lot of damage being inflicted, and connection being broken. I don’t want that for myself, or for you. I want to communicate with you as equals, and that’s why I’ll step back when that isn’t possible. If I were standing in the pit with a bucking bronco, I’d go and stand behind the fence for a while. That’s safer and fairer to both parties. I also hope that you understand that this behavior contributes to my not feeling safe or free to share things with you. I have learned a lot over the years about my own boundaries and how to maintain them. I get that that can be hard for you, just know that it’s not “against” you, it’s just “for” me. And indirectly, it’s also for you. Because if I protect my boundaries, I can hold space for the both of us to be who we are. Like I said, I still love you. Even when I don’t accept an aspect of your behavior. And I hope that we can talk about this like adults somewhere down the line, when everything has calmed. Take care of yourself, I love you.”
 
                We exchanged a few more superficial pleasantries before I eventually put my phone away, but it was with mixed feelings. My response had been very calm and rational, but on the inside, I felt torn. I’d basically just promised him that after my return, we would talk and hopefully make up. Part of me still hoped that we could work it out, and part of me even felt obligated to do so. After all, he was still my father and rationally I believed that that’s what I was meant to do. Or supposed to want. But somewhere deep down, yelling at the top of her lungs from a distance so far that I could barely make out what she was saying, a part of me was screaming: I’m done!
My gut, my heart and my brain clearly all had different opinions on the matter. But it would take a while longer for all that to process.
 
                THE GREAT ESCAPE
 
                On December 16th 2019, I finally boarded the plane and left for my homeland. Up until the very last second, my anxiety had been through the roof. Even after making it through security, safely boarding the aircraft and looking around to confirm that the people sitting on either side of me were in fact not my father, it wasn’t until we were actually up in the air and sailing through the clouds that I could finally draw a deep breath and drop some of that weight from my shoulders.
In those last couple of days before departure, I’d been absolutely terrified that my father would go into another frenzy and do something awful. I conjured up all kinds of disastrous scenarios in my head, such as arriving at the airport, only to discover that my father had secretly cancelled the tickets. I imagined him showing up at the airport to come along after all, or simply to verbally assault me in public. Not that he’d jeopardize his reputation like that, he prefers the covert route. Never the less, I couldn’t really relax until I was up in the air and far, far away from him.
 
                On the other side of the world, alone with myself and with space to breathe, I finally began to process what had happened. And along the way, I came to some important realizations. For the past 33 years, I’d been the metaphorical frog in a pot of water, slowly being boiled alive. Now that I had removed myself from the pot, I was looking back and suddenly realizing how hot the water had actually been. Although I hadn’t really noticed while I was in the middle of it, I was severely burned.
During my first week in New Zealand, I sent out postcards to everybody, including my father.
My brain was still holding on to the notion that I had to reconcile with him when I got home. But as more time passed and more pennies dropped, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to get back into the pot and allow that boiling water to harm me any further.
                I spent a lot of time just wandering through the forests, pondering and processing. The voice that shouted that I was done, became clearer. My father had gone much too far, and I’d allowed it to go on for far too long. He’d been violating my boundaries over and over for the past 33 years, and it was enough. This whole situation had been the final straw, it was time to do what was right for me.
                Taking into consideration my father’s lack of insight and his unwillingness or inability to take responsibility for his behavior, I could not trust him to treat me better in the future. After all, he saw no wrong in his ways and he had proven this over and over. And so, it was up to me to finally do for myself what my younger self never got the chance to do: stand up for myself, and choose me.
I made the decision that I would not tolerate any more of his abuse; so long as he continued to cross my boundaries and cause harm without holding himself accountable or showing any change, I would keep my distance. That meant ending our relationship for the foreseeable future. And since previous vulnerable conversations had only ever resulted more manipulation and damage, I decided against having a “final conversation”, as that would only do more harm than good. Besides, despite what my father had always taught me to believe, I didn’t owe him anything.
And so, I solidified my decision: no more. It’s over. I’m out. I won’t contact him upon return, I’m breaking all contact indefinitely and moving on with my life. Silently closing off communication may seem cold or unfair, but it’s no worse than having a ground-zero type battle with someone who knows exactly what they did and refuses to acknowledge it. I was no longer willing to put myself in harm’s way, nor was I under any obligation to do so. I deserved better than that.
                As a child, a teen and even as a young adult I remember hearing about people who weren’t speaking to their parents. I never understood that, and I even remember having conversations with people in which I tried to convince them to make amends. In retrospect, I don’t know if I ever really agreed with that, I was mainly repeating what I always heard society preach: blood is thicker than water and family goes above everything else, no matter what. Just think, how often do we condone toxic behavior from someone just because they happen to share a few genes with us, and how often do we tell people to let shit slide because ‘they’re still your family, you only get one and you’ll regret pushing them away once they’re no longer around.
I don’t subscribe to that notion anymore. If someone is consistently hurtful and damaging to your (mental) health and shows no intention to take responsibility for that, let alone change it…why on earth would you keep them around? Blood is no excuse; abuse is unacceptable either way. 
 
Anyway, for the next four weeks I was on the other side of the world, experiencing what it was like to be my own person. I was learning to stand up for myself, and without anyone with me to hide behind, I was forced to do things I was afraid to do and I discovered that I was capable of a hell of a lot more than I’d always believed I was. Far away from the influence of anyone else’s thoughts or opinions on the matter, I was taking the time to reconnect with myself. Doing whatever I wanted to do, resting whenever I felt the need, feeling my feelings and learning to trust myself again. It was an amazing experience with all its ups and downs, and I valued every second of it.
 
THE HOME STRETCH
 
                The decision to break contact with my father was by no means an easy one, let alone ‘the easy way out’. I felt completely broken inside, torn between what needed to be done for my own wellbeing and what my parental loyalty and conditioned guilt were telling me to do. I knew that the hardest part was yet to come, both practically and emotionally, and it was tempting to just try to fix everything and run back into that false security of what I knew. But as much as I just wanted to crawl into a ball and hide, I knew that giving up or turning back was not an option. So, I had to push on and create a life and a support network that didn’t include my father, and I had to get started right away.
                Each day, I took some time off from being a tourist and took my laptop to a local coffeeshop while I prepared my resume and looked for job openings. After all, my father wouldn’t be paying out my last invoice with NLPro and he’d also blocked off my plans with John. There was nothing coming in, I’d poured the last of my savings into New Zealand and I knew that rent would be due by the time I got back. I had to find a job, and fast. So, my last week in New Zealand, I stayed in a tent at an old friends’ place and I sat in her back yard sending out job applications almost daily.
Just a few days before heading back home, I got a reply from an organic supermarket, inviting me for a job interview in the week after my return. So, I was feeling a little better about my prospects as the time came around that I pack up my gear and got ready for the long journey home.
                I remember my last morning in New Zealand like it was yesterday. Everything inside me was screaming not to go, as I didn’t know what would be waiting for me when I got home. My future was one giant void, and here I was forcing myself to dive into it.
                The plane took off and instantly, I was overcome by grief and terror. Tears were streaming over my face as I looked out the window, watching the trees and the familiar landscape grow smaller and smaller. People probably thought that I was afraid of flying, but in reality, I was terrified of going home. All I could think was that my life had fallen apart and I was about to leave this beautiful place far away from it all and return to ground-zero, not knowing what I would find, how I would make it through or where I was going to end up…
 
In the movies, this is usually where they end the story. There’s a shitty situation and some dramatic climax, the protagonist escapes and it’s all smiles and smooth sailing from there. Well, in reality, the hardest part doesn’t come until after all that. It’s out of the frying pan, and into the fire.
The entire framework of my life, my understanding of the world, people, myself…all of it had been flipped over, demolished, wiped out and scattered around. I’d have to rebuild this bitch from the ground up, and it wasn’t going to be easy. In fact, we’re over two years down the line and I’m still struggling with the aftermath. Quite frankly, it’s been hell, and in many ways, it still is. But I suppose that’s another story for another day…