The Huntsman

I realized something important this morning.

I’ve had an emotional week; doing a lot of work around my dad. And in doing more exploration this morning, I found something new. Different.

On Wednesday, my therapist asked me what my vengeance needs to do to feel complete, better, satiated, heard. I paused, as it took a moment to see something; My vengeance wants for my dad to suffer as I did, to acknowledge and atone for his abusive and neglectful behavior. But, I saw just then, this is something my vengeance cannot have. It wants something it can’t have, and so, I said, what it needs, really, is to stop hunting.

It was a moment of clarity for me, to see that this thing that I’ve wanted so badly, have twisted myself and my relationship to the world, god, myself in order to bring to fruition, is a fool’s errand. It is of non-consquence. It is a quest that cannot be completed.

So, I have to help my vengeance to let go. Let go of the quest for punishment and retribution, and to accept. Accept that surrender.

This morning, I saw more than this. Behind and beyond my vengeance is something else. Because, what my vengeance wants is for my father to recognize his brutality, and to change it. It doesn’t and won’t stop at acknowledgement; I want change. I want him to heal.

I want to save my dad.

The fantasy follows as such: Because of my intervention, my father realizes his wrongs, deeply acknowledges them, atones by being remorseful and by taking actions to right himself, to heal his hurt places. Because of my actions, because of my anger, my father lives. My father is saved. Because of my indignation, he gets better.

I “like” this new uncovering. This deeper layer of meaning and intention behind my anger, because it fits with me, with who I am, and my motivations. With how I tried to behave with my mom, but that took a much different form. I wanted to do the same thing with my dad; the flip side of the coin – love/hate. Save her with love; save him with hate.

In both cases, I have been unsuccessful. Mostly because it is not my job, and I am not capable of saving or changing anyone. My mother changed because she decided to. My mother didn’t kill herself because she decided not to. It wasn’t me.

My father will or won’t change regardless of my actions. It’s time to stop hunting… but I realize only now that I have been like Snow White’s Huntsman: plotting to kill, but really intending to save.

It makes my heart grow a few sizes in my chest. It doesn’t change that I have to stop my quest and accept that my life is to be lived for me, and not in order to align with or rebel against my father’s ideologies. But it does change how I feel about myself. About my motivations. And, actually, it does make it a little easier to let go.

In the end, I love my father deeply; so much so that I have made a life’s work of being what he has wanted or not wanted me to be. I realized this love this morning.

My therapist said on Wednesday that it sounds like there are three versions of my father: the good dad (sports, camping, teaching me how to swim dad), the neglectful dad, and the angry shaming dad. The rub is that I can’t know who is on the other end of the phone when I call; I can’t direct dial the good dad.

But I can choose to let go of saving the others.