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A guest blog by: Sofia Zolotovskaya
January 12, 2020
I came across this post, and despite my dyslexia I felt that I had to take the time to read it.
It touched me deeply! So I contacted Sofia and asked her if I could share it. She hadn't realized that she had posted it publicly and needed a moment to feel and decide.
The positive reactions and gratitude messages kept poring in, so she felt that that was no way back :-) And so she decided to keep heading forward.
So, my dear reader, open your hearts and experience what this life story has to tell and teach you.
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35 years ago, on January 11 in 1985, my parents got married. I was 2.5 months old in my mother’s womb then. She had a wild morning sickness, and the wedding passed, as if in a fog.
They had been seeing each other for a couple of years before pregnancy: drama, separating, getting back together, and it would have been better for everyone if this toxic relationship hadn't been developed into my mom's morning sickness, but apparently another 5 pregnancies had to happen, as a result of which two more boys had to be born.
From the age of 14 I asked my mom to divorce my dad.
Why do you live together? What are we all suffering for? Why is that?
It was not possible to change this sad, difficult family situation. She was afraid to stay alone with three children. "I'm weak, I can't live without him," she said. But it was unbearable with him too.
At some point, they stopped talking to each other. No, it's not that every day routine swallowed them. They just spoke different languages. They did not understand each other, did not feel, did not get to know each other closer, did not go in depth. He focused on the financial support of the family, she did on raising children. He lived for his achievements in military flights and obtaining ranks, she lived the life of the children. They met at dinner when dad came home from work. Somehow it happened that we almost never had dinner together. Laughter, communication at the table, stories about how one spent their day - no, this is not about us.
We spent time playing cards and lotto when there were electricity cuts. Then I felt like we were a family.
We went for picnics, to the bay, on vacation back to Ukraine to see relatives once a year, to pick mushrooms and berries, to the shops in neighboring towns. Everything looked just like what other people had. But I remember the constant feeling of tension between dad and all of us, understatement. We were all afraid of him, and he played the role of a successful father of a large family, but did not know how old his children were and who they were, basically.
He still does not know it.
Now we are 34, 29 and 18. After their breakup on January 31, 16 years ago, in general, nothing has changed in our communication. There is our mother and us, three children, and there is one who gave us life and indifference.
I understand that he did not know what he was doing. He did everything possible, everything that was in his power at that moment. He really tried to be a good husband and father, he just did not see that there were no feelings behind these efforts, the feelings were dead, just like him. And now there is many fathers and mothers like this. Most parents these days live in their childhood trauma. And right now it is the time when we can do something about it, heal, if we want.
I’ve been looking for and waiting for my father’s love all my life. I haven't found it, I have stopped waiting. It's not there. We, dad and his daughter, have never existed. Will we ever?
Every year from January 11 to the beginning of March I feel sad and heavy. In this period they got married and separated. In February 2004, the most traumatic event in our family happened, after which we will never be the same again. It took me 5 years to start living more or less happily after that.
Yesterday I called dad and asked him to send a few of their wedding photos. It turned out that he burned the wedding album, after mom nevertheless managed to regain herself, tear her freedom, her soul out of the prison which they both lived in. He was hurt. They still cannot talk to each other.
Ever since I gave birth to David, my main goal has been not to become like him, not to make his mistakes. Motherhood is my personal space for healing my little inner rejected girl. David’s absence of a father is my exploration of my inner man; it is the experience of recognizing the father in myself and for David.
Today I am sad, but I thank life that it shows me love through such tools. After all, if not that pain, there wouldn’t be us, who we are now....
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