Page 300 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I don’t know if I like the way he’s probing. I’m not used to it. It doesn’t feel…normal.

He places a hand on my shoulder that makes me feel choked up just from the stupid little gesture.

“You know,” he continues, filling the awkward silence. “You being away at college has…really made me see how fast time goes by. You’re my only child, my baby girl. I know I haven’t always been the best at showing you…affection; your mom is always telling me that I need to push more with you and have conversations I don’t really know how to have.”

I look up at him, my heart feeling heavy and confused.

“I just always felt like I knew I was around, and that was enough, and if you needed me, you’d come to me,” he says with a wobbly smile. “But I’m starting to understand that’s my job. To check on you. To know how you’re doing. To make you comfortable enough to come to me when you need to.”

My throat feels so tight that I can’t reply. If I do, I’ll cry. I’m just as bad as him, not knowing how to express how I feel here.

But I know I have to get it out. I might not ever get another chance to if I shut this down now. So I swallow back the emotions.

“I grew up feeling…really distant from you,” I say quietly.

He looks pained by that, and I don’t want to make him feel bad.

“I know you were here,” I rush to add, because I’m scared of hurting his feelings. “I know you provided. I know you worked really hard for us. I know you did what you thought was right. I’m not saying you weren’t a good dad or anything.”

He doesn’t interrupt, just lets me get it out.

“But…I never felt like I really knew you,” I whisper. “I didn’t feel like you knew me either. And I think it affected me more than I realized until recently.”

He looks back out at the yard, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold in his own emotions. Something I’ve never witnessed.

“It affected how I…let men treat me,” I tell him. “It affected what I look for. Or what I don’t look for. It affected what I accept.”

“Because I wasn’t affectionate enough?” he asks quietly.

I swallow, searching for a better explanation. “Because I didn’t feel chosen or….wanted without having to ask for it.”

My dad’s shoulders sink a little.

“I love you,” he says immediately. Too quickly. Like, he needs to make sure I know that.

“I know,” I whisper. “But I didn’t feel it.” My voice breaks a little. “Not the way I needed.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. And I’m afraid I’ve just shattered this fake illusion we’ve lived with for years.

Then he exhales. “I’m sorry, Simone.”

I blink, and continue to blink, tapping the side of my chair, and biting the inside of my cheek, willing back the emotions.

He turns toward me fully now, eyes glassy.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I…I let my mental health control most of my life.”

I don’t know what to do with that sentence. My dad doesn’t talk like this. He never has.

He swallows hard and looks away so he can continue. “Emotions have always been hard for me to show. It’s not because I didn’t feel them. It’s because I didn’t know how to…let them out. It makes me so uncomfortable sometimes.”

My chest tightens. Sad for him, sad for myself. Sad for the little girl who didn’t get to feel loved by her dad, and sad for the man who didn’t know how to show little me that he did actually love her.

“And somewhere along the way, especially once you came along,” he continues, “I convinced myself that if I provided, if I kept everything stable, if I stayed consistent…that would be enough. That would be just as good. That would make up for what I couldn’t do.” He looks at me. “But…you needed more.”

I nod, tears sliding down my cheeks before I can stop them.

“I did,” I whisper.