daddy issues
TW: On Abuse. Wishes. And Disney Movies.
Okay. I want to say that I started the recent wave of using Disney movies as a way to explore some pretty heavy emotions. It all started with my essay on Luisa from Encanto, where I delved into the themes of pressure and codependency. Then, Robert wrote one about Bruno, and the tables we set for ourselves behind family walls. And then Johnathan wrote a piece about the movie Wish. In it, he discusses the depth of love present in father daughter relationships, and the legacy of intergenerational wishes.
His piece made me cry (so did the movie), because …. I have daddy issues.
I want to reiterate the trigger warning I placed at the top of this post: we’re about to talk about violence, abuse, and trauma. Yes, I’m using a Disney movie as an entry point and a through-line for this discussion. And yes, that might change the vibe from my previous writings. But this is something I need to unpack. I thought about putting this behind a paywall, but… it doesn’t quite feel right. I also whipped this up in like .. an hour. Thank you in advance for your gentleness.
Love y’all. Mean it. If you love me back, buy me a book!
-B
i.
I’ve been trying to write about this for ages. But every time I try to, I am caught up with so much PRESSURE. I feel pressure in my throat, like a suppressed sob, every time the cursor blinks at the top of an empty document I intend to fill with words about my father.
I feel pressure to protect his image. To not have you think too harshly of him. My father. My daddy. We have the same gap toothed smile. The same love of music and literature. He taught me to read. He taught me to sing. He taught me to try. If you hate him, you might hate me too. I am my father’s daughter after all.
I feel pressure to do the telling justice. To tell it right. to tell it whole. completely. But I also feel the weight of needing to tell it at all.
I think back to Johnathan’s essay on stars, wishes, and father-daughter dynamics, and it pulls me back to another Disney movie that I was obsessed with as a child: Pooh’s Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin. I watched it over and over again, eventually convincing my family to buy the VHS so I could watch it whenever I wanted.
Quick Plot Backstory: Christopher Robin is finally old enough to start school, which means he’ll be unable to spend all day frolicking with Pooh in the Hundred Acre Wood. He tries to explain this to Pooh the night before his first day, but Pooh isn’t really listening. The next morning, Christopher Robin leaves a note for Pooh to find on top of a jar of honey explaining where he has gone, but Pooh can’t really read (and Chris can’t really spell to be fair), and he spills honey all over the note. Misunderstanding the situation entirely, Pooh and the gang set off to rescue Christopher Robin from the mysterious clutches of the insidious typo “Skull” that they think has him trapped.
After a day full of searching and misadventures, Pooh finds himself alone and defeated. Night has fallen, he hasn’t found Christopher, there aren’t any new clues, and it’s not looking good for a reunion. Pooh looks up at the starry sky, much like the one he last saw his friend under, and sings a song called “Wherever You Are.” That song wrecked me as a child. And now, thinking about it in the context of fathers, daughters, wishes, and stars, it makes me want to cry all over again.
Come out moon, come out wishing star Come out, come out... Wherever you are. I'm out here in the dark, Alone and wide awake, Come and find me. I'm empty and I'm cold, And my heart's about to break Come and find me.
ii.
I love my father deeply, and I know he loves me, too. But as bell hooks wrote, love isn’t always what we think it is.1
“When we feel deeply drawn to someone, we cathect them; that is, we invest feelings or emotion in them. That process of investment wherein a loved one becomes important to us is called "cathexis". In his book Peck rightly emphasizes that most of us "confuse cathecting with loving." We all know how often individuals of cathecting insist that they love the other person even if they are hurting of neglecting them. Since their feiling is that of cathexis, they insist that what they feel is love.
When we understand love as the will to nurture our own and another's spiritual growth, it becomes clear that we cannot claim to love if we are hurtful and abusive.”
This perfectly describes my relationship with my father. But “my daddy cathects me” doesn’t hit the same in casual conversation.
My therapist says my relationship with my father is unhealthy and has historically lacked boundaries. She also says that my father displays textbook traits of a narcissist, and that I have absolutely been abused by him physically, emotionally and financially.
My mom says a lot of shit I won’t repeat here.
But what do I say?
I say it’s complicated.
My daddy and I used to bond over movies. Him and my sister and I were a movie watching trio. Every weekend we were either at the local multiplex, or we were in Blockbuster. We actually rented Pooh’s Grand Adventure from Blockbuster one weekend, and watched it together. All of us piled in the basement with pillows and snacks and covers and noise. I remember watching it with him. I remember when he held me as I cried about how the song made me feel. He said
”You have a star. Mommy and Daddy got you a star when you were born. It will always be there for you to make special wishes on. And you know Pooh will be reunited with Christopher Robin in the end. You know his wish will come true. And so will all of yours, Puddin’”
Yes, I do know that buying stars was the NFTs of its time. Yes ,I do know that there is no star anywhere w my name on it for real. But the intention was cute. The moment was sweet. The information made me feel better. Feel loved.
Some time later, I would be 3 minutes late getting off of the house phone (I had a 8pm phone curfew at the time) and in his ire, my father would chase me through the house with his belt. When I hid in my bedroom closet, he would yank the door open, a menace silhouetted in the doorway, etching the visual on my soul forever, and he would yell
”Come out of that closet or I will beat your fucking FACE!!”.
I opted for a “normal” spanking instead.
iii.
I am not in a relationship with my father now. He broke my heart for the last time last year. This wasn’t a sudden break but the culmination of many years of unresolved pain and unmet expectations. It’s a difficult reality to accept, but one that has brought me to a place of necessary distance.
Recently Kirk Franklin did an interview w Cam Newton where he describes his final falling out with his mother.
My situation was not exactly the same, but it is similar in that I felt my dad chose his comfort over healthy relationship with me. We have reached a stage in our relationship where we both agree that he is beyond changing his behavior. and his behavior hurt my feelings too much to bear constant witness to.
I want to make the point that my father loves me in his own mind. “My daddy cathects me”, remember? He has plenty of good feelings, and positive sentiment. He can point to plenty of "effort" he has put in, and demonstrations of the love he feels. So can I. But none of it has manifested in a relationship where I feel safe. None of it has resulted in a relationship where I had his help healing his hurts.
The complexity of my relationship with my father feels like a tangled web of love and pain, joy and sorrow. It’s a paradox that’s hard to untangle but essential for understanding who I am today.
Reflecting on my healing journey, I find myself resonating deeply with Pooh’s sense of longing and resignation. In Pooh’s Grand Adventure, when Pooh looks up at the night sky and sings “Wherever You Are,” there’s a profound sense of acceptance that the situation is beyond his control. The night has fallen, and Pooh’s wishes are now out of his hands.
I’ve hung a wish on every star It hasn't done much good so far I don't know what else to do I can only dream of you, Wherever you are
I, too, feel like I’ve run out of stars to hold the dad related wishes of my heart. There’s a resignedness in accepting that some things are beyond our control, and all that remains is to release the pain.
In therapy, I’ve been learning to navigate this complex emotional terrain. While the love my father showed me—through shared interests, comforting words, and fleeting moments of connection—doesn’t erase the pain, it does help me see our relationship in its entirety. Wherever my dad is on his journey, I hope he’s finding peace. Now, the choice to move forward and find closure lies with me.
Disney movies, with their idealized portrayals of familial bonds and moral lessons, have always been a refuge for me. They offer simplified, often magical resolutions that starkly contrast with real-life complexities. Yet, in their own way, these stories have provided solace and a framework for understanding my experiences. Pooh’s search for Christopher Robin, despite its fantastical elements, mirrors my quest for resolution and understanding. It’s not about finding a perfect ending but about navigating the journey with empathy and hope.
Cultural narratives like those found in Disney movies can profoundly shape our expectations of relationships and personal struggles. They offer an escape, but also a reflection of our own desires for connection and resolution. While these narratives can sometimes set unrealistic standards, they also provide a space to explore our feelings and gain insights into our experiences.
Through this reflective process, I’ve gained a deeper understanding of myself and my father. I’ve learned that it’s possible to hold onto cherished memories while also confronting painful truths. Healing isn’t about erasing the past but integrating it into a story that allows for growth and self-acceptance.
I don’t feel like I got my wish. Not by Disney standards anyway. But I do feel my father’s love/cathexis/intentions. Johnathan ended his essay saying “As a father, I can only hope that when I'm no longer here to protect them, my love, my words, and the lessons I've taught will help my children find their star. Just like Asha's father, even in his absence, guided her to hers.”
I don't know what else to do... Except to try to dream of you, And wonder... if you're dreaming too, Wherever you are. ...wherever you are...
My daddy’s wishes for me still count. The intention behind the star he bought still guides my soul. Even in absentia.
All About Love is pivotal reading.
I applaud your courage.
I really support your journey to find the multiple truths of your relationship with your father. It's hard work but very freeing. Beautiful piece. Keep going.