Toxic Dad

Field Notes from the Battle

They f*ck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you. Phillip Larkin

I’m weird and a lot of the reason for that comes from my Dad. I’m weird in myself and even weirder about my dad. I remember a friend saying to me at the back-end of school days, ‘you’re weird about you dad, man.’

He was right. But then, my Dad’s weird. In many ways that I’m not going to go into right now.

Some general things about me and Dad:

1. I worshipped him and his influence on me was (is?) massive.
2. He adored my brother and thought I was a pale comparison at best.
3. He’s autistic (undiagnosed — this was the 1950’s!) and finds it difficult/impossible to engage with other people’s ideas/thoughts/feelings

1 and 2 combined, as you can imagine, don’t make for good self-esteem. It’s like a mirror that constantly takes the piss out of you and tells you that you are a source of amusement sent out into the world to be laughed at and abused. And when you revere the mirror, you follow the instructions to the letter and go boldly out with a victim’s idiot-grin on your chops. Then, years later, you get to wondering about all the pain and frustration …!

‘You won’t get married and have kids.’ he said, one day.

‘Why can’t you be more like your brother — he’s so charming and talented’ he said, most days.

Nicknames for me included ‘The Parasitic Growth’ (about how I used his money and stuff), ‘Howlin Rob’ (about my attempts to sing) ‘Vermin’ just general I think?!). These were kind of running ‘jokes’ through my youth.

Ha-ha.

So, in many ways, getting my Dad out of my head has been the basis of sorting myself out and earning some self-respect.

but…

“There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you.” J.K.Rowling

My Dad didn’t come to the Christmas party this year. He’s ill and depressed. It’s been a tough few years for him since his cancer diagnosis. The chemotherapy, skin grafts, a big fall which broke some bones and shocked him. His confidence is gone most of the time. Mortality is facing him at every turn and he struggles to keep it at bay. He can’t sleep well and that messes up his mental health still more.

It’s difficult to help him. His mind is full of negative thoughts about everything and everyone. He said he didn’t want to go to the party because no one would talk to him, he didn’t like being with my mum (though they live together) and he hated the ‘Christmas bullshit.’ It’s hard to say how much these negative statements are a cover for really frail health and how much they’re the cause of it.

‘It is Christmas, there’s a lot of crap, for sure, but they’ll be some bright moments, you should come-’ I said in his darkened room on Christmas afternoon.

‘It’s my choice. I’m sick of people telling me what I should do. I want to stay here.’

Can’t argue with that. Especially with your Dad. It’s just wrong to be telling your Dad what to do though I suppose the time comes for everyone — if you’re lucky — when you have to start trying. He resents any sign of my taking control. It goes against nature. He needs it but he resents it. Driving him to the hospital over the last few years, he’s been the world’s worst passenger seat driver. ‘You made a mistake.’ ‘Too fast!’ ‘Slow down.’ ‘You never could drive.’

All of that.

If this was a normal relationship, it would be insanely toxic: you give everything you can, give him power and judgment over you, tolerate his belittling, let boundaries be crossed and your deepest hopes be casually written off as a waste of time — just to help him — and at the end of the visit, you feel depleted.

But this isn’t a normal relationship. This is your Dad, We’re weird about our Dad’s and if we’re not, then we’re really weird.

Now there’s past-Dad and present-Dad. You need to stop Past-Dad wrecking your peace of mind with his toxic behavior but Present-Dad needs your help. So the relationship becomes a bit more like looking after a petulant child except that this child is perceptive, knows exactly how to upset you, and has a detailed knowledge of life and your life in particular.

So begins the dance. You treat him like a child which he can’t stand and he treats you like a child which you can’t stand. It’s a tricky situation but I’ve found some of these things work pretty well:

1. Follow his lead — whenever you can, revert to a reenactment of old roles in which he is dominant and you are listening and learning. Respect past-Dad.
2. Don’t let him dim your light. Avoid the quicksand of his moods. If he’s depressed and making bad choices redirect the conversation or activity or end it. Manage present Dad.
3. The Combined approach. Create the structure of your conversation or activity by planning it beforehand and then whilst doing it, give him dominance (within a set of parameters). For example, I set up a picnic in the woods with my brothers, our kids, and Dad, and though he didn’t want to do it, he enjoyed it once we were there.

A short, planned event that he is comfortable with — something during which he can take the lead — but which needs to be planned and led by you.

We’re always looking at our Dad’s through a range of lenses: firstly we see what type of man he is, what we can learn; secondly, we see what he thinks about us, how far he recognizes and loves us; thirdly we see him as the us-of-the-future, struggling with all the things we’re going to struggle with; fourthly, he the provider, the man who can give us practical help and support, — there are more lenses too and they set up this kind of kaleidoscopic picture of the man who, especially in frail old age, struggles to carry the intensity of the gaze.

You never leave your relationship with the Dad behind, so it’s no good just to cry toxic and run away. There may have been mistakes in the past and pitfalls in the present, but responsibility lies with you now — just don’t tell him that!