No, I'm Not Going to Text You Back

When I was born, I was already a disappointment in my father's eyes.

"It's a girl!" brought my mom to tears for two reasons.

One, I was a beautiful, little girl, forever linked to my mother by the same chromosomes and DNA that ran around our cellular structure like horses in the field that are now outside my window.

And two, I was a beautiful little girl, with all the parts, personality, expectations, and limits my father new a boy would never have. I wouldn't grow up playing soldier. I wouldn't try out for the baseball team. I wouldn't grow up idolizing the Air Force or guns or him. I wouldn't sexualize women. I wouldn't be a god fearing man that my father taught me to be. I wouldn't be drafted or go to boot camp, eventually completing basic training. I wouldn't be deployed or see a battle. I wouldn't come home and become a full time college student. I wouldn't complete my Masters degree in American security and defense. I wouldn't start a family and work on an Air Force Base. I wouldn't.

I wouldn't be a boy.

As parents of the late 1990s, my dad was eager to gender code everything. And since I wasn't what he was expecting, from day one he struggled with who I was, which as a kid I really didn't notice.

Some days he treated me like a boy. I got to run around and explore and get dirty. Some days I was expected to be silent and proper.

I grew up being forced to try out for baseball like he wanted and quit things I liked, like gymnastics. My life was a constant flip flop of expectations. What I was and wasn't allowed to like or do. And as I got older, it was easier for me to hide what I liked and just go with the tossing tide that was my life.

As I drew more into myself, the more my father came out of himself. The anger he had was something that to this day I can't fully explain. It started with the yelling, getting mad at the little things I did wrong. Even just making too much noise or being in the wrong room set him off.

The yelling would get worse, epecially if my mom made a mistake. Dinner wasn't on time. Or she spent money on a new pair of shorts or pencils for me. He would lecture for hours about how expensive we were and how we were only to spend money on the essentials.

Growing up with someone like that, you sort of become nimb to it. The normality of the almost scheduled behavior becomes routine. 8 AM, wake up. 11 AM, play. 1 PM, clean. 5 PM, hide from Dad. 7 PM, kiss goodnight.

When yelling wasn't enough, then it became shows of force. Throwing things. Slamming doors. Banging on objects. Anything to get a reaction. It got to the point where 16-year-old me was coaching my mom on how to divorce my dad.

It took me a while to realize this wasn't normal. How he behaved. How I was conditioned. If for once he would have stopped to look at the life he had, he would have seen how hard I tried to make him happy. He would have seen the effort I put into being a straight A student, how I worked hard I tried to do sports and be what he wanted me to be—because I did try.

If he would have just communicated in a normal way to us, I'm sure things would have been different. But he was toxic and abusive. That wouldn't change and hasn't.

Now, years after the divorce, I moved with my mom. I've started college despite my father stealing my college fund. And I'm happy. The only problem is, my father now, as I am 21 and trying to live my best life, wants a father-daughter relationship.

He texts me every single night, trying to get information about my life. My mother's life. My location. If I'm dating anyone. My interests. I would be more open to him if it wasn't for the fact that I know who he is. I know what he's done to me, what he continues to do to me.

Abuse like that, abuse of any kind, has so much long term damage, to the point where even the thought of the person associated with the abuse triggers a reaction.

I have been diagnosed with PTSD and a server social anxiety disorder just because of the 16 years spent with an abusive family member. I wasn't about to let that person back into my life.

But his demands to see me were constant. At first, I did allow us to have a public meeting, mostly going to a restaurant to talk. This was every few months. But it was the most stressing thing I've ever made myself do. I put a stop to it only a year ago.

Now I just get guilt-tripping messages from him, begging me to see him or tell him how my day was. It's so tempting to give in. Every day I get a new message from him. I just want to give up. But as much torture as this is, I know it used to be so much worse with him in my life.

So every time I'm tempted to let him back in, let my abuser back in. I remind myself that even though I was a disappointment to him, that at every turn in my life I had to be something I wasn't, hide myself physically and mentally, I survived.

You don't have to open the door you slammed in your abuser's face. You are strong enough to say no. Delete the messages. Move on. This person may be family, but they are the abuser first. Do not let them use their position to get back into your life.

You are strong and important and you are a survivor. You are you. Despite the abuse.

You and your sanity are worth more than a text back.

Remember that.