How do I find the father within?

Dear Cary,

I didn’t know who my father was until I was 44. The “father” I had was a man who married my mother when I was 2, and adopted me when I was 6. I found out at 14 that he wasn’t my father, but my mom still didn’t tell me about the real one. She made up yet another story, and that was all I had until age 44.

The man I now refer to as my stepfather (although legally he was my father) was a cruel, abusive man who made all our lives hellish. I last saw him when I was 20; I went to the houseboat he had built with his new wife (he’d been married five times), to tell him about Jesus. I never saw him again, and have spent years in therapy trying to get my mind free of the things he said and did.

My mother and sisters say my actual father drank too much and could be abusive; he later told a friend of 30 years that he had “messed up” with my mother, and that he wished he’d had a relationship with me. His friend’s wife said she thought he was ashamed, so he never reached out and I grew up not knowing about him. My mom cooked up an elaborate series of lies about who my father was, and when this came out, all she said was, “I didn’t want him to be your father.” 

In the years since, I’ve done lots of genealogical research on him and found out some interesting and sad stories that helped me understand some of who he seemed to be. He married my mother after she got pregnant with me, but neither of them wanted to be married and it only lasted 6 months.

So I’m 55 and I still want a father. I joke that my mother-needs are filled by my therapist, and that I just need a male therapist to take care of my father longing, but my question is, how do I find a father? Not an actual one, I don’t think; but how can I learn to function as a good father to myself? What would that even mean? What do I do with this long absence of a father? I think I look for one in every man I’ve dated or been close friends with. 

I looked back and realized I’ve sent you different parts of this story before, years back. I’m still trying to make sense of it all, I suppose.

Thank you,

Hanna

Dear Hanna,

You don’t get to pick your father, of course.

But what if you did? Whom would you pick? What characteristics would he have? What would you want or need from a father, if you could pick one? What would he do? Would you feel pride and admiration standing next to him? How would he introduce you to others? How would he be seen by others? Would he be admired for his manner, his kindness and strength, his competence, reliability, openness, sense of humor?

I suggest you perform some guided imaginings of this ideal father. Set a timer for maybe 15 minutes and just meditate on it.

Here are some suggestions for that meditation: Revisit incidents in your life in which your father was absent and imagine them with your ideal father present. How would that feel? Let symbols of fatherhood arise in your mind and sink into the unconscious like rainwater filtering down to the aquifer.

Do you have a male friend who is himself a father with daughters? Talk to him about his experiences as a father.

You mention your therapist in jest, but consulting a male therapist might actually help.

The simple truth is, you don’t get to pick your father, but you can fashion within yourself a father figure who can guide you and protect you. Can you “father” yourself? I think so. There is a part of you capable of the care and wisdom that you need and did not receive as a child. There is a way to get there. It won’t happen overnight. But there are ways to inch toward it.

The overall aim of these suggested techniques is to make your unconscious feelings more conscious. This may be hard and it may involve emotional pain. That is why I suggest you limit these sessions in time. Also, please note: I am not any kind of psychological professional so if I’m overstepping, somebody please let me know! I’m not pretending to be a therapist, I’m just a writer interested in these problems!

I do have some relevant personal experience exploring painful memories and it has led me to the belief that the human unconscious is like a beast that cannot be tamed or controlled. But we can learn from it. Feelings lodged in the unconscious are hard to find and understand. They hide. They form a field of distortion around themselves, so that we cannot even see them clearly, and to even look at them is painful, so it is tempting to look away. You will have to work through this. Not only must you face the pain, but you must face the fact that old hurts disguise themselves, cloak themselves in other emotions, emotions that we think are ours. They do this for your own protection but in the end it doesn’t help. The old pain must be unmasked and felt.

It would be important to identify and become sensitive to the initial signals of the fixation. When does it arise, and how? How does it show up?

This will take time. But it will be worth it. This is a major theme of your life, a big force that drives you. It is helpful to know the forces that are driving you because they can become your allies, sources of strength and wisdom.

If you can learn how the absent or ineffective father has affected your adult life, if you can go through the pain yourself, you can attain the wisdom that is cloaked behind the pain. Then with the practical knowledge you will receive, you can help others. I don’t mean as a therapist or anything. I just mean as a person in the world, in the sphere of your own family, friends, acquaintances. You can be a person who knows about this, to whom others will turn. Helping others is an end in itself, as satisfaction in itself. It is also an enactment of the essential father function: To help, instruct, protect, and guide. In doing so, you are in essence “fathering” yourself.

But to do that, the pain and loss you feel is a forest you must go through. Once you go through this forest and return, you can then guide others through it to safety. What is the purpose of attaining personal growth and knowledge, if not to help others? I mean attaining a degree of wisdom about your own painful experiences so that you are ready for the moment when someone else needs help and seeks you out. If you help just one person, if you offer just one piece of relevant advice, you become that sage on the road, that wise beggar or stranger who provides a vital direction to someone at the moment it is needed.

That makes your quest for self-knowledge worth the pain and fear. Your growth transforms your pain and fear into something of value to others, and thus confers upon you the value and esteem you deserve, and were never given, but can attain, can reach, can find, can fall into.