Daddy Issues Made Me a Hustler. Healing Made Me Soft.

…and softness is non-negotiable.

I learned how to make things happen because I didn’t have people showing up for me.

Not the way I needed. Not consistently.

So I became the provider, the protector, and the plan.

But it cost me softness I didn’t even know I was allowed to have.

My dad sold me dreams—and then he left me.

See, Richard wasn’t there when I was growing up.

I knew of him. I knew he had a job because my mom got her child support checks weekly like clockwork.

But I didn’t know his face until I was in my teens.

He came into my life with promises—said he loved me, said he’d never leave me again.

And for a moment, I believed him. I wanted to believe him. He was my dad.

But the truth is, in his world, I wasn’t a daughter.

Just a legal responsibility—the only one under 18 and still impressionable.

(For context: I’m 37, my siblings are in their 50s+.)

I was an outsider to his family. An intruder with similar DNA.

I felt like an afterthought in rooms I was biologically tied to but emotionally exiled from.

I didn’t belong. And what’s worse? I could feel it.

It’s a special kind of loneliness—being present but never chosen.

It was something I knew all too well, from both sides of my family.

The last time I remember seeing Richard was September 7th, 2012—my son’s first birthday and the funeral of a grandmother I never knew.

I was asked to come grieve. To cry. To sit with a sorrow that wasn’t mine, for a woman I didn’t even know—just so he could feel comfort.

Imagine that. Being required to mourn a stranger for the sake of a father who was one to you.

That’s the last time I remember seeing him.

The silence since? That was the real goodbye.

Father wounds don’t just leave us abandoned.

They leave us doubting our worth in every room where love should feel secure.

They teach us to perform for connection, to suppress pain, and to be grateful for crumbs.

But I’m not performing or starving anymore.

I built my table, and it’s properly stocked—for me, and for those who will come.

Healing showed me I don’t need to prove I’m worthy of love.

I am love.

Softness? That’s my inheritance—not a reward I have to earn.

As we step into June to pour into the father figures of our lives, I’m here for the ones who wanted to be daddy’s girls to men who were clearly allergic to us.

You are not crazy for craving protection.

You were never meant to do it all alone.

This week, we’re confronting the father wound—and reclaiming the parts of us that still need care.

→ Wednesday I’m dropping a new podcast episode: When the Person Who Was Supposed to Love You, Didn’t.

→ Friday I’ll be sharing: Fatherless, Not Faithless in The Feminine Rebirth.

Want to connect and reflect daily with me? Join The Bloomerang Hub on GroupMe.