For a long time, my biological father was a touchy subject. He was either not spoken of or spoken ill of. I distinctly remember being told I’d be stupid if I opted to have anything to do with him because he was a waste. But God had other plans. Plans that were incredibly difficult for me to get on board with. But I did, dragging my feet in the process when my spirit began convicting me to forgive him.
It wasn’t that I wouldn’t forgive him, but I felt I shouldn’t because he had wronged people who were too close to me. I thought I would betray them if I forgave him, often wondering how they would feel had they found out. I had also spent my entire life harboring hatred and, at some points, hate towards him; I couldn’t forgive him for the unforgivable things he had done.
I’ll meet him, but I won’t have a relationship with him. Imagine telling God what I will and won’t do when He’s called me to do something. I’ll talk to him, but I can never forgive him! The more my spirit convicted me regarding him, the more stipulations I had.
But, God.
Somewhat of a nomad finding my father can be rather tricky. Though he has a home, he prefers to be outdoors when the weather is nice. You will not find him in his house, sometimes for weeks on end, or even by phone. I used to joke that I had to put a call out into the universe to find him, and then, like clockwork, he would later resurface.
After no luck, we stopped for lunch, where I opted to have a few drinks. As we continued our mission, I began to feel an uneasiness in my stomach that I couldn’t explain. I started throwing up and being questioned about how drunk I was. I was no stranger to being drunk, and how I felt wasn’t that. For whatever reason, I felt my father was near, and I was experiencing a physical reaction to him. Naturally, I sounded crazy when I said it, and it was written off as drunk chatter.
Due to his questionable nature, I was never comfortable seeing him, so I always had someone with me for safety and moral support. The day I first went looking for him was no different. Along with my significant other, my cousin joined us on the search. The three of us drove around, stopping at the places he frequented. It was like a natural life rendition of where’s Waldo.
Convinced I was drunk and needed to go home, my significant other and I headed home while my cousin decided to stay just a little longer. Not long after we got on the highway, I received a call from my cousin, none other than my father. Who he found not far from where I had been throwing up, claiming he was near.
Scheduling a date to meet in the upcoming weeks, I was slightly weirded out by what had happened. From my standpoint, my father was no one but a stranger, so how could we be so connected that I’d know he was near? I had almost wished it was drunk chatter.
As the day approached, every part of me wanted to cancel; only I knew I couldn’t. I had nerves so bad that my hands were shaking. And that same uneasiness from before had returned, only I managed to keep the vomiting at bay this time.
I was not sure what to expect or what I expected from this meeting; I brought my significant other and brother with me; while my dad came with that identical cousin. It was tense and awkward; I was incredibly cold towards him. I didn’t know how to talk to him and didn’t want him near me, so without hesitation, I said no when he asked for a hug. We exchanged phone numbers, and I was sure we’d never speak again.
But that wasn’t it. Unbeknownst to me, this part of my healing journey was not only teaching me how to forgive but also working on warming my cold, bitter heart. You see, old me tended to make others feel as though they didn’t exist if I felt hurt by them in any way. I was so skilled that I could stand right before you and look right through you. God forbid if I didn’t agree with you or something done, I was particularly good at making you feel like the worst person on earth with the venom that spewed from my lips.
Meeting and getting to know my biological father allowed me to address the wounds that created that for me. Hurt people, hurt people. Healed people, healed people. It also allowed me to see myself as separate from him and in turn, allowed me to love myself to a depth that had been previously blocked. Had I continued to allow the feelings of others to dictate my direction, I would’ve never been able to experience the healing that came from it.
God often gives me direction that, in the end, leads towards healing if only I say yes to His will and the assignment He has for me. But to display yes, I have to say no to my own will, my wants, and the feelings that come with it, which is problematic, especially for someone who feels rather intensely.
However, I’ve never been disappointed by saying yes to God. The best change in my life and myself have been because of those yeses, despite how difficult or uncomfortable it may seem at first.
This, yes, was one of the more difficult. But God knows me, so when it came time for a simpler yes later, I was more options to do it. And doing so completely changed the trajectory of my mental health.