It would have been my Dad’s 68th birthday on May 16th, and as I reflected in an Instagram post last week, I’ve never felt his absence more.
My dad — who moved out of the house when I was 4 — was the elusive parent in my childhood. Like many men of his generation, he had so much unresolved trauma in his body, that he lived entirely in his head. As a result, you couldn’t feel him. He would say: “I love you, buddy. I’m so proud of you,” but it never resonated as anything more than empty words. Nothing to hold onto. Nothing to grip. So when he ended his life back in 2005, it took me many years to realize that his suicide was just the most final absence of a life chock full of absences. A life where I had never really felt him at all.
As a kid, I always fantasized about the moment I might finally feel that love and pride from my father. It drove everything I did. After his death, my life and identity became a tribute to him in ways that still seem eerie to me. Like him, I became laser-focused on upward mobility: I moved to New York City. I got involved in a glamorous industry—fashion. I befriended and dated the coolest and most beautiful people I could find, and spent more money than I had in an effort to live a glamorous life, a life I knew he would approve of. In fact, it took me until a decade after his death to realize that I was still chasing my Pops’ Kudos from beyond the grave.
I see this a lot in men’s work, and in my coaching: Because so many of us never felt seen by our fathers, we’re living lives that are designed (consciously or unconsciously) to garner that approving gaze we never really felt: We attempt careers and jobs that we know would make Dad satisfied (even as we loathe our day-to-days), we strive for dreams he had and even date and marry people like him (or like our mothers) in an effort to understand Dad’s intimate life. On some level, we long to know him. And as a result, we never get to truly know ourselves.
Inevitably, this craving to have Dad see us backfires. For example, my obsessive striving to create a life my father would be proud of, like clockwork, made me a magnet for friends, colleagues, and lovers who would hurt me in the same ways he did. Their love and approval, too, seemed empty, and always just beyond my reach, even as I tried everything to get more from them. In fact, the more I cared about getting someone’s approval or love, the less I seemed to get it. It was infuriating, and confusing, and painful, as those things tend to be.
The more healing work I did on myself, though, and the more unresolved emotions I integrated, the more distance I got from this pattern. And the more determined I became to release its grips. Last July, when I started working with my intimacy coach, Allana, I felt I was finally getting close to feeling and integrating the key core wounds that would allow me to let go of this Dad chasing pattern for good. I was feeling strong and stable within myself. But then in October, I met Katherine.
Katherine was like my father in many ways—both positive and not so positive. She was beautiful, fun, and hilarious. But completely emotionally unavailable after a recent breakup. Full of empty promises and overtures, she’d give me just enough to keep me hanging on. And even though I knew I shouldn’t fall for her, even though I knew that she wouldn’t be there when I did, I opened my heart wide, and fell flat on my face. It hurt like hell. I felt so betrayed. So unwanted. So un-prioritized. I was furious with her and with life. But even in the face of those emotions, it took me months to let go of the hope that I could get her to give me what I wanted — to feel seen, to feel chosen, to feel loved.
That romance was perfectly timed, as all relationships are. It teed me up to face the deepest grief over my father’s loss yet. And last week, on his birthday, I finally understood and knew in my bones that Katherine — or my father — would never be able to give me what I craved most from them.
The death of that dream hurt. Like hell. I grieved for days on end. Constant waterworks. Visiting my mother and stepfather (both counselors and healers) in Florida last week, I would sneak into the bathroom several times a day to sob, as the grief of a boy feeling the absence of his beloved, missing father moved through me.
But then a beautiful and serendipitous thing happened: I’d emerge from those bawling sessions grieving the parent who wasn’t there for me, only to be surrounded by the loving faces of the parents who ARE there for me. My mother especially has always been in my corner. After my parent’s divorce, Mom was the steady presence in my life. She was caring and attentive, and — though I occasionally felt overwhelmed by aspects of our relationship — she was a safe space for me. I knew I could rely on her. And because I knew I could rely on her, I took that love for granted.
My romantic life unfolded in similar fashion: I was so focused on chasing the love that wasn’t there, I missed the love that was right in front of me. Every time! I missed it for years, my eyes always on the horizon looking for the next ‘challenge,’ the next person I could convince or coerce or impress my way into loving me.
At this time last year, I was dating Emma, an emotionally available and solid, stable woman who could show up and meet me in every way I told my friends and coaches I wanted. Yet, because I still felt unresolved around my father and my pattern of chasing unavailable love, I couldn’t stay put. I remember going to a party with her here in Topanga for Memorial Day weekend, and spotting a sparkly, beautiful stranger across the room. Instantly, my body reacted to this new, exciting temptation, shutting down to my then-girlfriend, hurting her in the process as I again became fixated on the love I wasn’t getting. I broke things off with Emma the next day.
Part of taking a step back from dating this spring has been to become aware of these long-held patterns so that I don’t keep recreating them. And while I feel confident, after the heartbreak of last fall, that I’m near letting go of the appeal of a sparkly, emotionally unavailable, yet potentially ‘exciting’ woman, opening up to the idea of a stable, consistent, woman that IS available (physically, emotionally, spiritually) to me is a whole different story. Frankly, that feels like a truly terrifying adventure. So that’s a juicy piece of work indeed. And the next step in my journey.
My advice to any man? The best way to check in on where you are in your healing journey is to look at what’s happening in your relationships. Do you feel seen and heard and understood in your friendships? Your business partnerships? Your romantic relationships? Do you feel dismissed, or not prioritized? Do you chase people, or feel like people are chasing you?
As I’ve found, our relationships show us where our deepest wounds are, and point us in the direction of our healing. (Perfectly. Every time.) And if you’re getting results you’re not stoked on, I encourage taking a look at the origins of how you learned to relate to your closest family members. Whose love did you crave the most? Mom? Dad? A sibling’s? Whose love felt overwhelming? Who was there for you? Who wasn’t? Whose love felt out of reach for one reason or another? These questions are where our answers lie for how we orient in our lives and relationships today. And gaining the awareness of these patterns and feeling the emotions attached to them is the beginning to opening up doors to healing and change that will go the distance.
If there’s one thing I’ve come to trust it’s that the right people always pop up at the right time to teach us the right lesson. Even when we want to flip the universe the bird for putting ‘em there in the first place.
Happy hunting-
-Sean
Thank you for continuing to share your journey Sean. Well written and heart felt. So many of the things you write about are the same I have experienced and am working on. Keep up the great writing and contemplation.
As I was finishing reading this, "Old Man" by Neil Young played on my shuffle. Thought I'd share.