Daddy’s Girl No More

My dad adored me. I was “the apple of his eye” – a daddy’s girl. He had a quiet presence about him. He was a man of few words. So although he rarely expressed his love or pride aloud, I always had deep certainty that I was loved.

He passed this past April and as I have been mourning his departure, I’ve missed feeling that deep security that he brought to my life. I knew that no matter what, he was there to fall back on. He’d always support me. It was a wonderful gift to receive in this lifetime.

And yet there was so much of myself that I never felt comfortable showing him and so many of my choices that disappointed him. He would have loved for me to live close by, instead I moved throughout the country. He would have been delighted if I joined his accounting practice. Instead I ran around with shamans and created an unconventional shamanic coaching practice. He would have beamed if I had been married at the country club. Instead I was married on top of a pyramid by my spiritual teacher and then had another unusual ceremony on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific.

As I look back at my life as reflected through his eyes, I see that I believed that I had to live up to his adoration. I had to be perfect in order to continue to secure his love – get the good grades, buy the nice house, have the stellar family. There was a cage that existed around being a daddy’s girl. I was always subconsciously looking over my shoulder to see if he was looking and smiling his approval.

So I buried the parts of me that rage and howl and have hot tears running down my cheeks. When we spoke on the phone, life was always “fine” or “good.” I camouflaged who I was in all my glorious brilliant fullness so I didn’t dampen him. I minimized my successes as well as my inner exuberance. I skirted around talking about what truly mattered to me – what lives in my heart and soul and mind and instead stayed in the safe terrain of conversations about his favorite sports team and the weather and the grandchildren.

As I sit with the gaping void that he’s left within in me, I also can taste the freedom it offers. Instead of unconsciously looking to him – will he still love me if… is it okay of I… what would he think if… – I am now looking within to my own internal compass. I can let the wild woman out, without wondering if it would secretly embarrass him (since he would never say so aloud.) I am free to trip and fall and pick myself up. I’m free to love all bits and pieces and parts of me that used to be kept on the fringes of my love.

I’ve been watching as Téa lights up every time Jamie enters the room, how she basks in the glow of his kisses and love and tickles. As I watch their love grow, I pray that she too gets to be a daddy’s girl. And that her daddy makes room for all of her. That she feels his love and support when she’s angry or sad or confused, when she messes up, or when she makes choices that don’t agree with his. To be loved by your father is the most precious gift, especially when your father is willing to hold the space for all of you.

As Téa was entering the world, my dad passed. The two of them only met in spirit. But his legacy lives on – both within me and within her. A legacy, that gets to evolve, thankfully.

Thank you Bazer for thinking the world of me. For instilling the sensation of being utterly loved. And thank you for letting go and giving me the responsibility and freedom to love myself, to find security within myself, and to hold the energy of the masculine within me. I’m burying my daddy’s girl with you. It’s time to shine fully as I am – both the magnificent and the messy, the dark and the light, the little girl and the fully shining wild woman.