My husband has, historically, always worked on Father’s Day (and Mother’s Day). This is the first year he is home for Father’s Day. I asked him a few days ago what he wanted to do, and he said nothing. He quickly followed up with “No you can’t go to yoga!” I was crushed. I wanted to at least make one class. 

Yesterday I told him if I could just go to one class, he could do whatever he wanted for the day. He said I could go to my 9:30 gentle class this morning if he could spend the afternoon at Hooters watching the race 🙄 Fine. Whatever. I know that I’ll never look like those girls. 

I think it’s shit that I do the majority of care taking for our daughter, yet because it’s Father’s Day, he gets to do whatever he wants. For Mother’s Day, he spent 3 hours doing what he wanted to do and I ended up making French Toast for my daughter and I for dinner because he wasn’t around to eat with us, let alone cook. 

Perhaps I have negative feelings towards this “holiday” because of my own issues with my father. Because for my entire childhood, I was sexually abused at my dad’s house while he worked or drank. I’ve seen my dad beat the absolute shit out of women. I’ve seen him lose everything he owns due to a drug addiction. I don’t like this holiday because it’s another day where I am reminded of the shitty situation of my childhood. It’s another day where I’m supposed to buy some generic “You’re the best dad ever” card, put a smile on my face, and act like I give a shit. But in reality, I’m just waiting for this day to be over. 

I will say that I love my stepdad more than any parental figure in my life. He is always there for me. And, he chose to be my dad and treat me like I’m his biological child. I don’t need a holiday to tell him that though. I regularly tell him how grateful I am to have him as my dad. 

In my opinion, Father’s Day is just one of those days that makes me feel bad about myself for wanting to do what I want to do. It’s another day where we bow down to men who really don’t deserve it. And it’s a reminder that no matter how big of a fake smile I put on, the pain is still very much present.

Fuck you, Father’s Day. 

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