I recently moved to Lisbon. My dad had promised to visit a few weeks after I arrived. We had planned his trip back in November when I began to orchestrate the move. We had set dates; it was up to him to purchase his ticket. Around mid-January, his trip was coming up.
When I asked to get a confirmation on his arrival date and time, he told me he hadn’t purchased his ticket yet and was still trying to figure out when it might make sense to visit.
I thought he had purchased a flight weeks ago. I decided to let it go that day.
A few more days passed, and I asked about the trip again. My dad still hadn’t purchased his ticket. This time, he shared that he’d only be able to make it for four days – his work schedule wouldn’t permit more time away. I was disappointed but felt that any time with him would be better than no time.
Two weeks later, there was still no flight confirmation. Instead, I received a text asking if there was another time that he could visit—his suggestion: springtime.
His de-prioritization of the trip brought up feelings of frustration, hurt, and sadness. Did my dad not want to come see me? What else was so important that he couldn’t keep his promise?
I could sense the inner child wondering, Am I not important? Does he not care about me enough? Am I not worthy of his time?
I reassured her, that this was not the case.
I was frustrated that all these decades later, work was still taking a precedence.
In truth, I was mostly upset by my reaction to his behavior. I thought that I had felt, processed, and moved past these childhood feelings.
When I was a kid, I felt that my dad’s priorities were late nights at the office, soccer games, work and personal travel, and time with friends. Though I often didn’t feel chosen, I still knew that he loved me. He was always working to afford us with opportunities, would sit and explain math problems when my literature and arts brain couldn’t make sense of it, and offered support with big decisions like which college to go to or how to negotiate a car purchase.
He loved me in his own way. And yet, he was emotionally distant and often physically absent.
In the past few years, I’ve reframed my experience and have chosen to empathize with my dad (and from the experiences of others in his generation). Many of them came from a cohort of men who acted differently; they were taught differently. Our dads didn’t have the same tools and education around psychology, child behavior, and emotions as the men of today’s generations have.
My immigrant, Eastern European father was doing what he had seen mirrored to him as a kid, likely by my grandfather. There was little talk of emotions, everything was work-focused, ensuring survival, and being a good father meant providing for the family.
Feelings deeply held within our memory bank are like annual rings or growth rings within a tree trunk. The tree expands outwards and grows, but the initial rings are still present within the center of the tree. Yes, they’re further back, and therefore the challenging memories that have touched us likely don’t sting as much as they once did. But when they do surface, we must give ourselves space to sit with them, reflect, and see what else we can uncover and understand about ourselves.
I got curious about the feelings coming up, instead of judging the sadness and disappointment. I was being encouraged to feel this wound again. I needed to remember how much this experience shaped who I am and to recognize how much I’d grown. The universe wants me to evolve, and the way it does that is by prompting me to confront the things that are still lingering within me.
In the end, I called my dad and told him how important it was for him to come visit me. I shared that I wanted to spend time with him and gave him a clear timeframe of what would work. (Hello boundaries and speaking up for what we need! We’ll talk about those in another post.)
These last few weeks have surfaced some deep-rooted wounds that will continue to be nudged until I’ve squeezed every bit of wisdom and understanding out of them. As Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron says, “Nothing ever goes away, until it has taught us what we need to know.”
My dad finally booked his flight. He arrives this afternoon.
What’s coming up for you that was ingrained in the past? Are you being prompted to continue learning the same lesson?