Friday night I made a giant leap toward making life better for my daughter and I. My expectations for a specific relationship on our lives was set far too high. Not higher than they should be. Not even close. But higher than reality supported. Higher than they would meet, despite constant confirmation that they would. On top of that, I was carrying the relationship on my end as though it was what I wanted on both sides.
I got to the point where my failed expectations were resulting in frustration. Frustration that, by proximity, was being taken out, unfairly, on my daughter. I was not the father I wanted to be and I didn’t like it. Knowing there would be next to nothing left if I didn’t carry it, I threw every ounce of truth at it. I spilled my guts. I express my sadness, my disappointment, and my frustration with no reservation.
In the end it went better than expected. I got an apology and a promise to correct. I don’t have much faith that it will actually happen, but I’m hopeful. It would be nice, as my daughter and I both cherished this relationship when it was present and capable.
I’m sad to know that this might be the end. But I’m relieved and finally at peace without this thorn in my side. And, as always, I have hopes that the truth will be seen, the stubborness set aside, and the good, comforting, mutually respectful relationship can begin again.