How A Son-In-Law Learned To Hate A Father-In-Law.
When a papa bear meets an alpha male
Unapologetically, That son-in-law is me and my father-in-law is a despicable person.
He’s a plague on humanity. A terrible entity bleeding with terrible flaws and terrible personality.
He’s prideful in the way Scar — Yes, The Lion King one — is controlling and manipulative; sans killing his brother and all. But in my movie, he might as well have.
He’s a gaslighting husband, an egotistical narcissist of a father, and, with deep regret, my daughters love him.
But hey they’re toddlers. They love anyone that will play with them. I’m not awarding any special points for this.
Jim Carry’s Grinch does a top-notch academic, truly professional, summarization of how I feel.
“Hate, hate. Double hate. Loathe entirely.”
He’s the kind of man who claims ownership of other’s personal journeys. Specifically, attributing his masterclass in fatherhood to the amazing person my wife worked tirelessly to become; because of how he raised her, because of how infallible he was as a father.
Of course, omitting her battered self-esteem, lack of voice, trust issues, eating disorders, and her parent’s complete emotional dependency on her. Truly, textbook co-dependence and parentification.
Did I mention the gaslighting and manipulation?
Yeah, I did. But it warrants mentioning twice.
Aside from that; yeah, totally great, nice job, pats on the back, and cheers all around.
I’ve been with my wife since we were high schoolers. We’ve been together for 15 years. I’ve walked through hell and back with her trying to work out the emotional mess that her childhood left her in, that her father left her in. When psychologists say that children emulate the relationships they see at home, they are 100% right.
They’re also right about how children learn to cope. Here’s a tip, it isn’t through osmosis.
I inherited a psychology textbook worth of problems. Problems I happily take on. I love my wife. I love her spirit. I love her brokenness and her passion. I love that she needs me and I love that I can show her a life beyond the walls of truly oppressive masculinity and egocentricity.
I’m not my wife’s father.
I am nothing like him.
I pride myself on being as far from his as I can. But, in the early stages of our relationship, she assumed I was like him. She anticipated my behavior; expectant that I would follow a pattern she was so accustomed to, reacting to conversations and criticisms like it was him. There always had to be a motive for my love, an angle that benefited me, that made me look good, that stroked my ego and affirmed my greatness.
But that’s not me.
It took a lot of late nights and puffy tear dried eyes to convince her that his behavior was not normal and that I was not him. And finally, she understood the truly toxic environment she was brought up in.
That was the moment when our marriage started to blossom.
As if her prison door was finally open; its hinges loosed along with her spirit, her heart, her guarding, to a field of wildflowers, tall grass, and deep endless dreaming.
It’s worth mentioning, I suppose, that my wife and I have an amazing relationship with my parents. I come from a household of respect, kindness, generosity, and love.
Most importantly, of self-sacrifice.
My parents have always welcomed my wife into their home. When we were married they cherished a new daughter and considered her no less than I. If we ever did split, I’m convinced they would send me packing for the hills and keep her instead. They love her unconditionally, as they do me. Probably more.
Just for artistic contrast — When my wife and I were married, at the same time my folks welcomed my wife as a daughter, my in-laws refused to consider me anything but a guest. Which is fine, not everyone is about that, I get it.
Side note — That’s total bullshit. Welcome your children’s spouses like they’re your own, or risk losing that relationship.
Anyway, what they continued to say thereafter was how they felt I had stolen her, that they had lost their best friend, that they felt dumped. These are their words, verbatim.
Around the time we were engaged, my father-in-law’s relationship with his daughter took a nosedive.
The growing relationship with my parents, the dedication and love of a partner, and the realization of what healthy relationships should look like caused a heavy rift between my wife and her parents.
We tried to address it, to mend it, to confront it many times. Too many to count. But to no avail. See the problem wasn’t her. They wanted her back, they wanted full unobstructed access to their daughter again. They wanted her undivided devotion. They wanted the 12-year-old who idolized them. No, the problem wasn’t her.
It was me.
It was my parents.
They blamed us for everything, for what I had done to their relationship, for what my parents had done to their relationship.
They blamed us for somehow poisoning their daughter’s mind, turning her against them.
They couldn’t see beyond their pools of reflection, nor their deep external biases which narrated this point of dissolution.
Reflection is key to understanding why what happens to you, happens to you. This is the Locus of Control.
I’m not sure what kind of mirror my in-laws look into, but it sounds an awful lot like the Mirror of Erised (reference for you Harry Potter nerds) which shows not the face, but the heart’s desire. I’m not so sure they were as contrite or humble as Mr. Potter when gazing upon this mirror.
They see what they want to see and there’s nothing I can do about that.
I’m not so callused a man. At least I never used to be. I desired a closeness with my wife’s parents for a long time. I labored, I conspired, I strategized ways that I could draw us closer.
But years of this can turn a man sour. And sour I did become.
From desire to sadness, and from sadness to bitterness. My understanding of how my father-in-law operated was slowly revealed to me. Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that this was not a man I wanted to have a relationship with. A man that joked about rape and suicide, that coerced and guilted his kids, that strangled his family with control and emotional abuse.
This was not a man I wanted in my life, around my marriage, or my children.
I spent years thinking about him. It’s the quiet moments that catch you off-guard. The shower, the car rides, the walks, the idle moments when hands are busy but minds are free.
It took a lot of practice and patience and good counsel to free my mind and my heart from the blackness that he created in me; that I had allowed to grow within me.
I am on the path of forgiveness and it is a journey I encourage everyone to make. Forgiveness is not an outward thing. No, it was never about that. Forgiveness is for you.
Forgiveness is freedom.
A tale, perhaps, for another day.
Cheers, folks.
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Tony