As I put down the phone on Father’s Day, I am struck once again by my father’s response to the words: I love you.

Or I should really say non-response.

I take a few moments to drink it in again. The silence is unmistakeable, and like an echo through time. In the past, I was regularly crushed by this occurrence. I couldn’t tell you how many, from childhood to now. In a life that spans almost 50 years, suffice to say it’s quite a few.

What I understand now is that parent’s, and their responses to you, act as a mirror – reflecting back to you your basic sense of worth. When a child is naturally open and loving, and this is not reciprocated, the child experiences a number of things: confusion, hurt, anxiety….longer term they can experience feelings of insecurity, poor self-esteem, emotionally shutting down, constantly striving for approval, never feeling quite good enough, despair.

In the extreme, there may be feelings of not wanting to be here. As your family is your world for those early years, these are the mirrors that reflect back to you who you are. Sometimes it can leave you feeling like you are ‘wrong’; not that your opinions are wrong, but that YOU are wrong, right down to your bones. Or perhaps the experience leaves you feeling that you are nothing much at all. It’s complex, and our unique childhood experiences manifest differently and uniquely for everyone.

As an adult who has put a reasonable effort into reconciling feelings from the past, I’ve come a long way from that wounded place of hurt and nothingness. Despite operating from a fairly damaged place at times, I know for certain my Dad did the very best he could with what he had been given, and what he had cultivated within himself. He had 8 other siblings, 4 others who didn't make it, and a hard working mother who took in other people's washing to keep her large family fed. His father was an alcoholic, mostly absent and non-contributing on all levels. He died under a truck after being expelled from the family home by his young adult sons who were trying to deal with their own childhood wounds, a lack of love and security, and to protect their mother. He didn’t have the luxury of fulfilling his dreams; in fact conversations with him later in life reveal that he didn’t have the luxury of dreaming much at all.

The practicality of supporting a poor, large family without a father took precedence. He has told us that he wasn’t able to go to high school, because that required formal shoes, which were beyond the financial situation of his family. Goodbye elementary school, hello school of hard knocks – literally. I have a photo of him, at around 7 years old, where he is on a horse in the school yard. Apparently the photographer did this in local schools to try and drum up business. I can see my Dad’s smile in this photo. He is shy, but he is beaming. He found a way to have horses in his life at various times, and made that happen for us too. We had the exact same saddle that is on that pony. I know that little kid definitely had dreams once upon a time.

Playing as a child my Dad had his toes crushed on one foot by a boat docked on a jetty. In an era where you simply wouldn’t want to have a serious accident, he was in hospital, miles away from home, isolated by the distance and a mother who had to continue working to feed a big family, and a father who was drunk in a pub somewhere, never to visit. His guilt, even now, at his mother having to interrupt her work schedule to get across Melbourne to visit him is palpable. I’ve been in hospital as a kid – it’s scary, aside from the pain you’re in, and it’s usually the first time you’ve been away from home.

Through his own strength of spirit, and a life and era that did not allow for dwelling on one’s sorrows, he somehow mastered golf, squash and tennis. He had extraordinarily beautiful handwriting. He could work with numbers quicker than I could reach for a calculator. He could read people well. He had strong family values that were at times solid and beautiful and at other times warped, controlling and outrageously unreasonable with accusations of disloyalty. He was always there when people needed a hand, and gave freely and generously of what he had, despite being suspicious of anything or anyone who was different. He was at times gentle and compassionate and at others angry, frustrated and scary. He was kind, caring and understanding at times, yet could plummet easily into regular judgment, criticism and put downs in the harshest ways.

For an emotionally sensitive child, his angry and frustrated state reverberated a threat of violence, even though he was not a physically violent person. He was generous, especially in practical ways, even though he didn’t have a brass razoo to his name. He could be so charming, kind and warm hearted, and yet so cruel, negative and bitter. He complimented his children to all and sundry, but could not deliver those compliments directly, where they were most needed. He loved animals, even though he didn’t know how to show his love much beyond their physical needs. He helped birth me, with no medical knowledge, when I couldn’t wait for the ambulance. For a long time I saw him as angry, scary, controlling, to be obeyed – basically one dimensional. I know now he’s not.

His emotionally armoured non-response paved a long, hard road – both for me and for my siblings. It has been a road that gave me a few options: lie down, crawl, or start walking. Looking back, I’ve done all three.

I walked away and down this road, for self-preservation. A road that has led me at critical points in my life into various realms of therapeutic support, and a working life that is intricately connected to supporting others. The road however also paved the way of self-discovery. It has taught me immense lessons in this life. Of acceptance, most importantly of myself, but also of others.

This includes the powerful sense of freedom that arises, knowing that there’s a different truth beyond those early mirrors.

The journey of finding out who I am beyond those mirrors, has at times been fuelled with terror and excruciatingly painful. Acknowledging this pain has also been highly transformational - and for me it was pretty much the only way through it and out the other side. I can appreciate now what this experience being in relationship with my Dad has given me - my first, primary relationship with a man.

I’m a very gentle and compassionate person, who has strength in being emotionally sensitive. My anxiety and hyper vigilance has given way to a keen sense of observation and an ability to read people and situations very clearly, which has been channelled into therapeutic work. I have courage. To break free and live the way I need to, to be able to breathe and be true to myself. I still grapple with projections, but I have the capacity to own them, to understand how they manifest, and do the hard yards to resolve them. I can say sorry, but no longer continually apologise for being here or the space that I occupy, or modify myself beyond recognition in the face of someone’s disapproval.

I have learned to express anger, after growing up in a tense and controlled environment that did not allow it - and I mostly do it appropriately. I continue to practice non-judgment, even when I don’t get it quite right, and I appreciate difference. I recognise the voice of the inner critic and the saboteur - eventually. Thankfully, I also recognise the voice of the warrior, goddess and the emerging signs of a competent human being. The relief in feeling competent, as apposed to continually feeling a fraud, is still beyond words.

I feel joy, and gratitude. I have traded passive compliance and feelings of being ‘less than’, for an easy going nature with stronger boundaries and opinions, expressed when necessary. I try my hardest not to project resentment onto others when I feel frightened, or lose confidence and give my own power away. I no longer feel ‘wrong’ as a person all the time, or wish to exit this life stage left. I continue to navigate all of my relationships, including those with men, with immense awareness of this blueprint, and my growing sense of Self. It’s not foolproof, I am at times highly fallible, but I keep trying to understand, improve, and find the solid ground of self-awareness. More and more I understand my unique and fundamental nature – which is less and less reliant on the feedback or responses from others. I embrace my sensitive essential being, my loving essence, my unique spirit.

It's impossible for me to break down how I have achieved this. I describe it as intersections - life constantly present us with situations and people who trigger our unresolved pain. This is not psychological or esoteric mumbo jumbo - this is fact. We are faced with a left or right turn; as in: bury the pain and face the growing consequences of ill-health across mind-body-emotions-spirit, or tune into the questions that are arising and find the appropriate support to delve in. I know my internal questioning started early, albeit in the softest whisper. I have followed my personal line of inquiry as old and new pain has arisen. I have studied areas of Psychology, Counseling and Chinese Medicine, with in an undying quest to understand. I've worked alongside the most amazing professionals in western medicine, and experienced the most extraordinary insights from alternative medicine healers. I've gravitated towards mentors who have overcome their own pain and who I can therefore trust to hold mine as I face what's behind it. It's messy, no doubt about it. It's also the greatest gift that we can give ourselves. So far, it's my greatest achievement in this lifetime.

My process is just that - uniquely mine. Everyone has to find their own unique way, their unique combination of support that helps them translate this early language conveyed to them in childhood, this early imprint - and to discover their own truth about who they are.

This story is not about blame. It's about the precious gift my parents have given me, especially my father. This is why I ring him to say thankyou for various things and sign off with I love you – even in the face of no response. I hear and sense his awkwardness as my words clink against his armour. It’s ok. I know now it’s not about me, and that it doesn’t define my existence. I say a little blessing for him, another precious child who grew into a man, not knowing how to fully receive or express his love – who was given his own set of mirrors to deal with. I stand strongly now in the face of his silence and provide a different mirror. At the same time, I reinforce my intention in life: that I continue to deal with any residual fears arising from my family blueprint, and that I live a full, joyful, expressive and loving life. As an adult, I’m responsible for myself, my feelings, my actions and the way I live. As the special people in my life will attest, my heart is strong, and there is no absence of ‘I love you’.

To my siblings, who are dealing with this in their own ways, traveling down their own roads: I’m sorry for our fragmented relationships, and our challenges. To my sister specifically, your efforts on behalf of both of our parents in their twilight years is nothing short of profound.

I love you.

Thank you Dad. I love you too.