breaking up with my dad was hard, but necessary to end the cycle of abuse

I broke up with my dad two weeks ago.

Walking out of his house, on the street with my luggage, backpack, purse, cell phone, sweater, all askew from hastily grabbing my belongings to a soundtrack of incoherent, belligerent shouting. I had done it again. Set him off. This time, only 24 hours into a five-day trip. My inquiry into why he was starting our day together working himself up over football didn’t go over well.

My dad doesn’t like to be told what to do.

So here I was, crying in a cul-de-sac a mile away from my childhood home, locked out of the home my dad shares with my stepmom (for all intents and purposes) and her niece, disassociating from my body which was now in a full-fledged anxiety attack.

Walking out of that house broke my heart and it made me a stronger woman. I don’t mean tougher or less emotional. I mean more able to trust my instincts enough to follow them and put my emotional well-being and mental health first when they are compromised.

When someone else was trying gaslit me and invalid my feelings. “Bette Davis”, my Dad calls me when I cry. An attempt to invalidate my feelings and insinuate that I’m acting to manipulate him since I, his child, couldn’t possibly have real feelings and even if I did, those feelings can never be affected by his treatment of me.

It was then that I realized I had been “Bette” for most of my life. And that my dad has always felt entitled to his tantrums and “verbal spankings” in a way that was less than reasonable.

Why am I putting up with this?

And for the first time, my answer was: “I shouldn’t”.

How can treat myself with love and respect by actively choosing to put myself in situations where I know I will be emotional and verbally abused? Is my relationship with someone else more important than my relationship with myself? And would I let another man scream at me for being emotional or use personal information against me to hurt me? Not a chance in hell.

So I removed myself from a situation that required me to learn how to cope with abuse as part of my interactions with someone I love. And, frankly, I shouldn’t have to do that.

It’s not your job to learn how to cope with someone else’s abusive tendencies. Not even the ones that are harder to detect. Ans true as that might be, I do want to acknowledge that, for some, coping with abuse is a survival mechanism that might stand between life and death. Safe getaways from abusive situations are the best case scenario.

Being able to leave is a luxury and a privilege. Being able to pay $600 to get back home to Atlanta was a luxury and a privilege. But knowing that you don’t deserve the abuse you’re receiving and that you deserve so much more can empower you to find courage in face of the unknown when you least expect it.

Especially when violence isn’t a factor, as it was not with me, breaking free can begin and end with the sincere realization that verbal cruelty, manipulation, invalidation, yelling, and so on are undeserved.

Regaining that courage helped me to validate myself in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do. And while it hurt me not being able to spend time with my dad, who I love deeply, my defiance was evidence to myself of the self-love I have struggled so hard to identify in recent years and the self-respect that tells me I deserve better. I stood up to abuse once and, now, I know how to stand up to it again.