What It's Like to Have Daddy Issues

I’ve got them, and it’s no fun

I’ve got daddy issues, but they might not be the ones you’re thinking of.

That’s because not everyone’s daddy issues are the same.

When I look up daddy issues, I see all sorts of things that don’t really apply to me.

I don’t have a hard time with boundaries — if anything, I respect other people’s boundaries to a fault.

I’m not attracted to men my dad’s age or who look like my dad.

I don’t put up with guys who are rude, mean, or domineering.

I don’t struggle with jealousy, even when the checkout ladies at the grocery store flirt with my husband.

But that’s because not everyone has daddy issues for the same reasons. Our dads might have fucked us up, but they all fucked us up differently.

Some feel abandoned by a father who left. Some had a father who was way too overprotective. Some had a father who loved them too much or loved them the wrong way.

For me, the problem was having a father who didn’t love me, and expressed it in his own special way.

Even though he didn’t really love me, he was still very involved in my life. He was controlling, overbearing, and liked to micromanage as much of my life as he could.

There were a lot of tiny little fucked up things about growing up under his roof. Quite a few big fucked up things, too. But the one that stands out the most is the belittling.

My father is cocky as hell, with an ego so inflated it’s a wonder he doesn’t float. In any family, there’s only room for one ego that size, and he made sure it stayed that way.

My father had an extremely strong aversion to any displays of arrogance on my part. But to him, everything looked like arrogance. Any display of confidence, self-esteem, or even self-respect would rile him up. If I didn’t make myself extremely small, he made it his mission to shrink me down to size.

That meant minimizing every accomplishment I had. That meant insulting me if I expressed pride in anything. That meant reminding me regularly that I was too awkward, too chubby, or too stupid to have anything to even be proud of.

Being on the receiving end of that kind of shit isn’t easy, but you sort of get numb to it after a while. It seeps into your pores and sits deep in your veins.

It sort of feels normal (you’re a kid, so it’s all you’ve ever known). And on some level, you believe it’s true.

I mean, if your dad doesn’t love you, you really must be pretty fucking worthless. Why else would he go out of his way to remind you that you are?

Yeah, I got numb to it, but being numb sucks. I moved out as soon as I could. Years later, I gathered up enough courage to completely cut contact with him. He knows my address (he sends the kids presents for birthdays and Christmas), he has my phone number, but he has shown no interest in getting in touch with me. And it is completely mutual.

But getting away from him was just half the battle. In a lot of ways, it’s like he’s still with me, like a venom you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you suck on the wound.

My Self-Esteem Is Permanently Bruised

So, yeah, I’ve got daddy issues. And they affect my life on a daily basis.

It affected my self-esteem the most. My father’s belittling is ingrained in me, so it’s hard for me to think positive thoughts about myself without feeling guilty for it. Like I’m some sort of vain asshole for even entertaining the thought that I might be okay at something or somewhat likeable.

Because of that, I have a really hard time taking compliments. I appreciate them big time. But it’s hard for me to be gracious about it. Because when I’m gracious, I feel like I’m being cocky. Accepting a compliment feels like I’m endorsing it, and endorsing it makes me feel like a smug asshole.

I’m working on accepting compliments politely. I think I’m making some progress there. But believing them is hard. I haven’t got a hold on that one at all yet.

Because I can’t believe compliments, I tend to think there’s an ulterior motive behind them. At the very least, I assume that people don’t mean what they’re saying and they’re just throwing me a bone (“let’s say something nice to the frumpy weirdo, maybe it’ll make her day”).

I Need to Be Pursued

My default assumption when I meet someone is that they don’t like me. I always figure they’d rather be doing something else, or doing it with someone else.

Because of that, I can’t initiate anything with anyone. I can’t ask someone on a date, try to initiate sex, or even make a move for some physical affection like a hug or a cuddle.

Initiating anything makes me uncomfortable and it’s not just because I’m shy or nervous. It’s because I’m pretty sure no one wants to get involved with me. Putting the moves on someone or even asking them for a date feels like I’m forcing myself on them.

For anything to happen, I need to be pursued (though only after we’ve formed a connection because I’m demisexual — yeah, it’s complicated). I need someone to show a lot of interest before I can accept that maybe, just maybe, they kind of like me.

I’m Only Mostly Certain My Husband Loves Me

I live with a lot of cognitive dissonance, because I think everyone is deserving of love, while also believing that I’m not.

I’ve been married to Mr. Austin for ten years. I’ve been with him another five. I’m pretty sure he loves me. I mean, he tells me he does regularly. He shows me he does regularly. He hasn’t left yet even though he’s had fifteen years to run the other way.

And still…

There’s a little part of me that can’t understand why he would love me. And that makes it hard for me to feel completely certain that he does.

Normally, I don’t think about it too much. But when I do, I can only imagine that on some subconscious level he’s just with me because he thinks he has to be, or because we have kids together, or maybe because he’s just managed to convince himself that he loves me despite the way he really feels.

I’m pretty sure he loves me more than anyone else does, though. That’s something I can believe. I hang on to that when I get in a bit of a negative spiral.

I’m Attracted to Fatherly Men (Who Are Nothing Like My Father)

Mr. Austin likes to say that if he hadn’t felt a calling to write for a living, he would have preferred being a stay-at-home father or a househusband. I believe him. It fits his character. It also explains why I found myself so drawn to him.

Unlike some women with daddy issues, I don’t find myself attracted to people like my father. Quite the opposite, in fact. If anyone reminds me of my father at all, it’s an instant turn-off.

That counts men who are old enough to be my dad and who look like him. But mostly it’s a personality thing. Anyone who is too cocky, forward, loud, overbearing, or domineering is not my type at all. (Sorry daddy doms.)

No, my daddy issues makes me fall for guys who are the opposite of my dad. I’m attracted to guys who have the characteristics of a good father.

They need to be nurturing and caring, emotionally supportive, and highly empathetic. They need to be responsible, loyal, and selfless.

Those are all qualities that anyone can appreciate in a partner. But I need to see them before I even develop a crush. And I can’t stay interested in someone who doesn’t display them.

(That’s probably a bit of a tall order. Thankfully, I already found someone who has those qualities and has proven himself to be an actual good father to boot.)

Having Daddy Issues Isn’t a Punchline

Lots of jokes are made at the expense of women with daddy issues.

And I get it on some level. It’s not always easy to understand us, to pursue us, or to deal with the secondhand bullshit that comes with being in a relationship with us. But our daddy issues aren’t easy for us, either. For me, it’s a daily nightmare.

I’m not saying you have to date us or give us a chance. But I’m glad someone gave me one.

Meeting my husband was like starting therapy. After living with a father who constantly reminded me I wasn’t worthy of love and then ending up with a series of guys who more or less confirmed that for me, I found someone who genuinely cared for me.

He didn’t just love me. He made me feel worthy of it, even if I had a hard time accepting and believing those feelings.

He didn’t run when he saw all the baggage I was carrying. He helped me unpack it.

Most of all, he understood what I wish everyone else would understand about women with daddy issues. We’re more than just a punchline — we’re women who’ve been through some shit, and we could use a little bit of sympathy.