10.17.25

I keep skirting away from the things I want to write about the most. 

My Pinterest boards are full of quotes like “write the thing you are the most afraid to write” 

And “don’t be a writer, be writing.” 

My writing lately feels surface level. 

Like I’m not reaching the depths I crave. 

My life isn’t that wild these days, and I usually write from experience. 

I like having a peaceful life. 

I don’t want to create chaos for the plot. 

But I have these wounds that keep getting touched. 

And I have to keep reminding myself that I’m safe now. 

I can settle into the lack of chaos and genuine safety that is in my life now.

The peace I worked so hard to create - doesn’t erase my past.  

I saw this tik Tok today of a girl who moved back home to live with her dad in his big house on the beach. 

In America, this is supposed to be shameful - moving back in with your parents. 

But she talks about how nice it is to spend time after work with him of being alone in a tiny apartment.

She shares how much she appreciates having a lawn, a garage, a view of the ocean. 

She even pays him half of rent so that she can help him retire someday. 

She says she has a built-in handy man and spider catcher. 

You can see in this video how much her dad loves having her at home with him. 

I see girls like this and I’m wracked with jealousy. 

These people who have these dads that love them. 

Sometimes I feel like I want that more than anything in the world. 

A memory has been hanging over my head all night:

When I first took a break from six months of traveling, I started to miss my family for the very first time in my life. 

I decided to go home and spend some time at my parent’s house in SLC.

I felt that they were genuinely happy to have me at home for the summer. 

At least - I kept telling myself that.

The first night that I was home, my dad came into my room and stood in the doorway. 

Let me be clear - it was not MY room. It was the guest room. I did not have a room.

I was a guest in their home. 

He said to me, “you can stay here at the house for one month and then you need to find your own place to go.” 

So - me being home for the summer wasn’t really me being home for the summer. 

This is the kind of shit that my dad used to do. 

Back when I tolerated having a relationship with him. 

All I wanted to do was come home for the summer and be with my family and my sisters. 

But I was allotted only one month to stay in their guest room. 

To this day, I don’t understand why he has never allowed me to just come home. 

When my boyfriend and I broke up and he kicked me out, my dad did not let me come home. 

I couch surfed for weeks until someone else’s parents let me move into their guest room. 

When my last ex and I broke up and I needed to get out of the house, he let me stay in the guest room for just two weeks. 

He told me I fucked up a good relationship and needed to go home and fix it.

I did not have his support.

I’ve never had that kind of paternal support that you would expect a dad to give you. 

The good news was, that first summer I came home, one of my good friends had already invited me to stay in her home in Park City. 
She happened to be the daughter of one of my dad’s very best friends. 

“So, I hear you’re going to stay up at Jim’s house for the rest of the summer - that’s going to be so nice!” 

“No Dad,” I corrected him, “Jim’s daughter has her own house I’m not staying with him I’m staying with her.” 

I was actually shocked that he would be okay with me crashing at one of his friend’s homes instead of his own house. 

I know there’s families out there who would be devastated if their child came home from six months of traveling and chose to not stay in the family home. 

Not mine. 

This was the beginning of an extremely traumatizing three months of returning home. 

I wrote a bit about it during that time - but I had to censor myself. 

My family watches my content like a hawk and I was constantly getting in trouble for even inferring that I have any struggles from my childhood or with my family. 

But now, it’s been three years since I’ve spoken to my dad. 

I think he’s fine with it. 

I think he prefers it that way. 

Chances are, he's reading this right now as an affirmation that I'm just a bad seed.

The problem child that needed to be cast out.

I’m not there to make his life difficult anymore. 

I’m not there to take up space in the guest room of his 12 million dollar home. 

And I no longer have thoughts of killing myself. So, it’s really a win win for all of us. 

Yesterday I ran into my old landlord, Rudy. 

I was having a vulnerable day and seeing him open his arms and give me a big kiss literally brought me to tears. 

This man was the first man to make me feel safe in Tulum when I moved here. 

He was just such a DAD. 

His presence made it so hard to move out of my old apartment because I just did not want to give up that safety that he effortlessly supplied for me. 

While he healed my father wounds - he simultaneously triggered them. 

His six year old daughter was his LIFE. 

She is his profile image on what’s app. Green flag of a good man. 

Every single Saturday morning at 9am like clockwork he was playing in the pool with her. 

PLAYING, like not just watching but PLAYING with her. 

And every Saturday morning I would drink my coffee and look out the window watching them, feeling an unshakeable jealousy towards this innocent 6 year old girl. 

She has no idea how lucky she is. 

How rich in love she is. 

I hated her.

( I joke I joke but not really jk lol )

I know that my dad wakes up every single day and thinks about me. 

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. 

Sailing. 

Running my business. 

Living by the ocean. 

This way of life that he showed me.

The problem is that the only thing on my mind every day is why he couldn’t just love me like most dads do. 

And why I had to simply cut him out of my life in order to protect myself. 

My girlfriend’s dad is just like him. 

She grew up on sailboats too. 

He was supposed to come and visit us this weekend. 

He canceled last minute with zero explanation. 

He lives about 35 minutes away. 

He has never comes to visit her here.

I can see how much it hurt her. 

I hate that we share in this pain. 

I hate that I can’t fix it for her by sharing my dad with her. 

I hate that I want her to protect her heart from him like I protect mine. 

But that’s the thing with these Mexicans. 

They value family above all else. 

Even when your family doesn’t value you in return. 

We all just want to be loved by our parents. 

Even when they are completely incapable of loving us. 

I know that I’m not the only one who feels this way. 

And it’s taken me these three years to start opening up about this. 

But there was one comment on that girl’s tik tok both comforted and inspired me. 

It said: “Girls like you are literally the only people in the world that I’m actually jealous of.” 

That comment had 6,452 likes. 

Turns out, we are not alone in this.