Mein Faja

As we get older those of us with insight understand more and more the adage “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover.” There are some individuals who are easy to read at base level, who are uncomplicated or even candid about their life. Then there are the ones who are protective of their personal history, people who are challenging to read, and individuals whose life span story would surprise you in regard to the way they present themselves. What I have learned thus far is that you can learn a lot about a person and understand their modus operandi if you can hear the story of their life. Everything within nature and nurture, birth order, family dynamic, parenting styles, home life, traumas, tribulations, genetics and an endless list of factors shape us in small and profound ways. Understanding how all of these things created the blueprint for my personality and habits has been a slow but incredibly fascinating journey. Being able to identify the roots of behaviors has been pivotal in undoing the problematic ones and being thankful for the ones that carried me through.

I was raised by my single father from 4 years old to 14. It was uncommon then as it still is for a father to be awarded full custody and I am thankful for it every single day. My faja was the baby of seven children, born to a first generation German father who raised that clan of seven on his own for many years. We lived with my grandfather for several years so I had two bachelors raising me during that time. They both taught me the meaning of “tough love” which yes can be tough but it still comes from a pure and sincere place. They ensured I broke gender stereotypes at a young age by teaching me skills I still thank my father for to this day. I take much pride in the ingenuity and tenacity passed down by my two role models (extra pride if I can leave someone confused and speechless with my ability to handle power tools, hard labor, DIYs or small car repair.)

Outside of the physical labor skills my faja taught me he also shaped my emotional insight and integrity. When things didn’t go right he taught me how to be a realist and say “Ok, that happened, now what?” and I felt supported in my failures knowing I had the power to try again. There were times I know he chose to let me learn the hard lessons without interfering or solving them and as a parent that is a priceless and painful gift. I thank him for that when I still can work through the hard shit and feel empowered through my mistakes. Because he is unlike many males who struggle with communicating emotion, my faja is unashamed of his own feelings and taught me that not only is it OK to cry for sadness and joy but it is also a beautiful thing. He taught me the real meaning of my humanity through empathy. Much like my father I am apt to speak my feelings directly and at times bluntly which some people do not appreciate, and on the other hand like him can be prone to holding my tongue and feelings in until an imminent break. Through his temperance and realist viewpoint I was able to navigate countless heartbreaks, tragedies and deep traumas in my life. Not all of them were handled with accuracy or grace but in the aftermath I was able to say, “Ok, that happened, now what?”

My mother was the critical one, the cold response, the controller, the always disappointed and irritated parent. She parented my three half siblings and I in a completely different way than I was at home. I remember at an early age the verbal and emotional abuse that made me afraid to be in my mother’s path at the wrong time. Her biting comments and slit eyed stares are still burned in my memory. It always felt foreign at her house, the chaos and anxiety made it hard to ever feel like I belonged, especially as I got older. My older brother and younger sisters suffered from the lack of quality investment. They weren’t taught life skills, they didn’t have someone emotionally available to confide in or teach them how to honor and regulate their feelings, there wasn’t a feeling of being supported in their mistakes, there was only the anxiety to perform by her standards and stay off her bad side. They weren’t able to confidently emotionally mature and my siblings display a wide range of reactions to stress and criticism including aggressive deflection, shutting down, projection, trying to get my mother to solve the issue, using alcohol to cope etc. My sisters married young and started families because they had not been told they could do the hard things, had not been encouraged to follow hobbies or pursue careers they were passionate about. It’s heartbreaking to see them struggle with a sense of self, depression, and poor coping skills without the self realization that if they follow the roots back far enough they will find there is still much room and time to grow.

Hardly a day goes by that I don’t think about the profound impact this has had on the projection of my own life. Who I am at my deepest core is my father’s daughter. Thinking about all the points in life I would have failed and stayed down had I not acquired my father’s tenacious spirit is equally humbling and empowering.

(Thank you faja, for making me one tough bitch.)