Incest Survivors, Spirituality and Ceremonies of Justice – the story of a woman living a rich, fulfilling life while waiting to dance on her sociopath father's grave.
This is a rant about Father’s day. I know most of you reading are survivors, so you probably get where I’m coming from. I’m ranting here so I don’t do it on facebook, where many of my friends and in-laws are gushing about their good fathers living or dead.
Yes, I know a lot of people had nice fathers, intellectually. Mine was a sociopath who raped me, and it’s all I can do not to spout off when people go on about wishing everyone a happy fathers day, like they are assuming (and of course they are) that everyone had a father who had at least some good qualities and people could just suck it up and be nice on Father’s day.
My father raped me. He’s a sociopath. Rather than pretend otherwise, I’m going to politely shut up about him when the topic of father’s day comes up. If your friends do too, notice and change the topic, will you? Some fathers are like him, too many, frankly. The word ‘father’ itself doesn’t have the same associations for me that it must have for other people. In many of the incest survivor groups I was in, ‘father’ was so synonymous with ‘abuser’ so the words could be used interchangeably. This is literally our truth. Deal with it.
I’m not going to be such a killjoy as to squash all the nice incredibly privileged people who had good fathers, but hearing them gush on about it is a pain. I really wish they would have some tact and not assume that everyone celebrates Father’s day, and actually to stay the hell away from me about it.
End of rant.