I used to be the poster child for “daddy’s girl.”
We were inseparable. He was the peanut butter to my jelly, the one who made childhood magical with surprise ice cream trips, piggyback rides, and birthday gifts that somehow read my mind. I adored my father. He was my best friend. My safe space. The person I could always count on.
But as I got older, reality started peeling back the layers of my family dynamic, and I saw things I couldn’t unsee.
The cracks in my parents’ marriage, the complicated truth of who my father was beyond the pedestal I placed him on, and his own struggles with mental health changed everything. I began to carry around resentment. I didn’t even recognize at the time, but it was sitting heavy on my heart.
For years, Father’s Day felt off. I’d post the obligatory photo or maybe send a gift out of guilt, but deep down, I didn’t feel the love like I once did. Not because it wasn’t there, but because it was buried under years of hurt and emotional distance.
My dad tried, he really did. He apologized, he bought gifts, he tried to love me back into the girl I used to be. But healing isn’t transactional, and for a long time, I was too angry to let him back in.
That anger used to feel like armor. Now, it feels like baggage I no longer want to hold.
A Shift in My Mindset
It’s taken years, but something in me has softened. I think it’s the quiet realization that my father, now 65, has more years behind him than ahead. And I’ve asked myself: If he passed away before we made peace, could I live with that?
I haven’t fully rebuilt the bridge, but I’ve started gathering the materials to do so.
Which brings me to Father’s Day, the one Sunday in June that brings up all kinds of pressure and emotional gymnastics for daughters like me.
When you’re a former daddy’s girl trying to make peace with your past, Father’s Day can feel performative. Like you’re supposed to show up with big energy, post the glowing captions, or spend the whole day pretending everything’s cool, when it’s not.
Healing In Your Own Time
I want to say this clearly to any woman feeling the same: It’s okay if you’re not ready.
You don’t owe anyone the highlight reel. You don’t have to force closeness that isn’t there yet. You’re allowed to honor where you are, even if that means sending a card instead of showing up in person, or making a simple phone call instead of organizing a big dinner.
Healing isn’t linear, and holidays don’t get to dictate your pace.
For me, this year looks like a small gift, a short visit, and maybe a call. It’s not grand, but it’s real. And for now, that’s enough. I’m no longer operating from bitterness, but I’m also not pretending the past didn’t happen. I’m honoring the nuance, the fragility, the effort.
The truth is, I’m trying, and honestly, that’s more than I could say a few years ago.
If you’re also in this limbo between love and disappointment, between yearning and protection, know that you’re not alone. We’re not broken daughters, we’re healing women.
That counts for something.