Walking the dogs last Friday, Dad collapsed on the street. The ER doc called it a heart attack. Several scary days and a hospital transfer later, his diagnosis was less dire, but the incident put all five of his kids on high alert.
Dad and I haven’t been particularly close—he doesn’t really do that. But as he gets older and his health declines, I feel an urgency to get beyond what we have been to each other. We humans are programmed to love our parents, no matter what. I am definitely feeling that primal need to show up for him before I no longer have the chance.
My younger brother and I decided to fly out to see him. Except that I had already planned a visit to my daughter at college over the holiday weekend. With all the Covid restrictions and weirdness on campus, she has been homesick. My mom instinct told me to go. On Facetime, I explained that I would have to cut my trip short. Her roommate Lisa, my other UCLA daughter, stepped into the screen.
“I’ve always thought that if someone was a jerk to you, you aren’t obligated to rush to their side just because something bad happens.” True enough. But I have come to feel differently about my dad over these last years.
Was he selfish and uncaring when I needed him? I definitely thought so as a kid. But I have learned to take care of myself and, I have a better understanding of how selfishness works. Martha Beck recently explained it on Episode #67 of Glennon Doyle’s podcast We Can Do Hard Things.
What does it mean to be selfish? When someone has been starved of self, they can be really toxic. That person’s sense of self has been stifled to the point where they cannot even think about anyone else. They have been robbed of being their true selves and have nothing to offer other people until they restore what has been lost. Some never do. But if the person begins to prioritize themselves, takes the time to understand who they really are and what it takes to make them happy, they recover. If they do it consistently, they naturally begin to see other people for the first time.
I wouldn’t say my dad has undergone this transformation, but I have. Writing my truth has done that for me. My own growth has made space for his limitations, which he comes by honestly. From the sound of it, Dad grew up being ‘starved of self.’ Abuse, threats of military school, and running away from home were just a few features of his life as an only child. He didn’t leave home with any sense of what it meant to be loved, nor how to be a present father. All he wanted from his parents was to be left alone and that’s what he gave us. It was the best he could do.
But, in his way, my dad showed up for me. When Mom announced she was leaving, he stepped up and took care of us. He could have left too. Instead, he kept a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Sometimes he even did the usual things like pick me up from pom pon practice. As a teen, he told me that if I ever drank too much at a party, that he would come get me, no questions asked. I called him one late, chilly Chicago night and he did just that. When I became a mother, he flew to Miami and held my baby girl in his arms. Each one of those things would have been enough—we Jews call this concept Dayenu. At pivotal moments, I could count on him.
He doesn’t call on my birthday, but the day after my last one, I called him. In good humor, I asked what he might have forgotten about October 1st. He was supposed to go in for cataract surgery, he said, but it had to be rescheduled. Then, it hit him. “Oh sh!t,” he said. “You deserve to have someone remember your birthday.” He knows. If he had more to give, he would. And I was proud of myself for calling.
Last weekend, I admitted to a friend that her negative reaction to a vulnerable truth I shared had hurt my feelings. She didn’t take it well. It’s hard to hear you have hurt someone. Instead of apologizing, she dug in and said she’d choose the same words over again. I knew at that moment that I had done my work, the rest was hers. My old self would have owned her narrative and felt guilty for saying anything. I no longer make myself small for other people’s comfort. And now I understand her limitations.
I am getting better about showing up for myself. For not “going deaf to my own pain.” When you step into your own truth, it makes space inside to accept others for exactly who they are, not who you wish they would be. This creates a sense of freedom for everyone.
Be free, my friends.
Love,
Elizabeth
WRITING PROMPT: How do you show up for yourself? How does this affect the energy you bring to caring for others?
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