Emotionally Ghosted

What I didn't say (Part 2)

This is a continuation of What I Didn’t Say: On silence under the influence of men

The beat picks up and a few women move towards the stage.

“I’m gonna to have to go dance,” I tell you. You mistake this as an invitation and follow behind me. I move towards the group of women who are into it. Bobbing and swaying and singing along under the glow of the stage lights. I just want to vibe with them.

Maybe you sense what I’m feeling… you keep some distance and I’m grateful.

But why am I still hanging out with you if I’d prefer you stay on the other side of the dance floor?

Part of me is curious, maybe interested in getting to know you… but with some space, with some time. You’ve been coming in pretty close, pretty fast, and I’m struggling to slow you down.

Slow me down.

Slow this down.

Because there are these old parts of me that are so afraid to hurt your feelings. That want you to want me even if I’m not sure if I want you.

When the band finishes, there’s an hour until the closer, who we both want to see even though we’re exhausted. Maybe if we keep hanging out the time will pass faster. I’m ravenous, so we walk along a wooded trail to get snacks from my car.

… well, my dad’s car.

As I told you earlier, I came to the music festival with him. It’s his birthday gift, delayed a few years because of the pandemic and a friend’s wedding. The timing finally worked out and the lineup was solid, stacked with bands I hadn’t seen since the last time I was at this festival with my dad 10 years ago. It would be a magical father-daughter throwback.

We watched the sunrise as we drove in that morning, saw a few sets together… but since then, I’ve been sort of avoiding him.

I’m still struggling with what came up in the weeks before the festival.

Path to Lake Michigan at Sleeping Bear Dunes

The resentment had been building since my dad picked me up from a sun-scorched campsite at Sleeping Bear Dunes shortly after I’d arrived in Michigan. We hadn’t seen each other in months and shortly into our drive north, he began unloading. The waves of grief over his relationship with my mom were fresh — about six months after their divorce was final, she’d told him she was now seeing someone else.

I went into sympathetic listening mode, nodding and mmhmm-ing with concern, even as part of me started to crumple. I wanted to be there for him, but my emotional supports were pretty weak at the moment… these waves could pummel me entirely.

Go find someone else to talk to, part of me desperately wanted to say.

When my brother and his family arrived, the resentment intensified. We were staying together at my dad’s house… except I kept finding reasons to leave. Going for long walks, lingering at my mom’s nearby. I felt exhausted, confused, grumpy, almost hostile… and it wasn’t clear why.

One morning I was laying in the maples’ dappled shade on the deck with my baby nephew. My dad came and laid down next to us, started cooing, being all sweet and adoring.

My whole body tensed, flooded with something bordering on contempt. I had to get up and walk away.

It’s the opposite reaction I would have liked to have, watching my dad bonding with his first grandson, but I couldn’t control it. And it kept happening; when I saw them together the bitterness surged. I felt like some ice-cold witch.

This side of my dad was just so foreign. It seemed like he was learning on the spot with this child how to be tender and playful. I realized I hadn’t seen him be this way — vulnerable and openly expressing love — not with other kids, animals, nor even my mom.

The night this started to dawn on me, I lay awake in bed, weary and distraught. I finally cried. It was nothing compared to the breakdown that would happen the next day, but these tears told me there was something deep here, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what yet.

I’m listening, I said to my tears, thank you.

When I finally drifted off, I dreamed about a man who had disappeared from my life a few years ago. I’d fallen hard and fast but after about a month hot & heavy, he ghosted and blocked me out of the blue. One day we were texting about the next time we’d see each other and the next day — and forever after — nada. It took me a long time to recover (more on this story later).

In the dream, I ran into him and his friend out at a bar. I was shocked and beyond excited. The three of us went to dinner.

Dream scene shift and we were at his place, cuddling in bed. I was nearly falling asleep, but I knew this man was hungry and I felt responsible for feeding him.

“Come on, S, get up, you need to eat.” I opened his fridge and scavenged through Chinese takeout boxes full of random ingredients; rice, sliced scallions and mushrooms. Not a scrap of protein in sight.

“I’ll go get eggs,” I told him. I went to a fridge I shared with my mom (one my dreaming-self invented). A home that resembled my childhood home appeared around the fridge. All the sudden it was daytime and a few friends, my grandma and my cats were hanging out at this house.

I didn’t want anyone to know what I was up to so I stayed focused on the many cartons of eggs I found in the fridge, trying to find ones that weren’t misshapen. As I packed up a half dozen, hesitation crept in.

Do I really want to bring him my eggs?

And just as I started to leave, it all came back to me, everything that had happened with S.

Hooooldd up. THIS GUY?? The one who Ghosted and Blocked me?!?!?

What about aaallllll the things I planned to say to him if I ever saw him again?

The letters I wrote (and burned) about how much he hurt me.
How betrayed I felt.
How fucked up it is to do a person like that.

Here I was about to go make his ass dinner.

No no no no no. I have shit to SAY!

Then I woke up.

I hadn’t thought (nor dreamt) about this guy in a long time; for him to appear… I knew it carried an important message. Lying in bed, I opened my voice notes app and recorded the dream. I pondered the story my subconscious had crafted, wondered what she was trying to tell me.

What she was showing me that I felt I’d been emotionally ghosted by my dad for most of my childhood? And even though he had started showing up — being more open and vulnerable — I wasn’t quite as far along in this process of forgiveness as I thought?

What if too much had been left unfelt, unsaid?

What if I still needed to deeply grieve what I didn’t get?

What if I had shit to SAY?

« Stay tuned for part three »

Clockwise from top left: Cherry blossoms in Philly; stinging nettles; semillas de yautia lila & pepino angolo; el rio Mamayes <3