I Believed My Dad Didn’t Love Me—The Shocking Truth Emerged Years Later
One of my earliest recollections of my father involves him not being present at all.
I notice just myself, a young girl around 5 or 6 years old, carefully walking down a dimly lit corridor towards an enclosed doorway, feeling my stomach tightly knotted. Usually, I am the type of child who causes quite a ruckus—boisterous and wild—the sort kids might describe as troublesome. a lot , but at this moment, I feel small. There’s something I require from my father, yet I hesitate to disturb him. A short time before, I shared these sentiments with my mother, who responded, "Oh sweetheart, don't be afraid. Simply approach and ask him."
I resided in a modest Phoenix neighborhood with my folks, in a compact tract house designed like a matchbox with three bedrooms. A closed doorway opened into an extra room that served as my dad’s art studio. Though memories fade just before opening this door, I can vividly picture the person standing beyond it: a man around 30 years old, whose eyes conveyed a sense of sadness and who had styled his hair like a teenage idol from the 1970s. He appeared mesmerized by the artwork he was engrossing himself in, almost entranced by what lay before him.
My dad worked as a high school art teacher, yet he possessed an extraordinary talent. He had a remarkable ability.
Extract elegance from squeezable cylinders of pigment. He might vanish right as you look at him. He came across as an unopened portal, brooding and remote. It felt like a vehicle leaving the garage, agitated and eager. There was a leaky tap that would surge to boiling with even the slightest touch. I wasn’t sure how to change his behavior, so I attempted changing my own approach. I made efforts not to disturb him.
If my father were still around, it would break his heart to see these words. He cared deeply for me. He never wanted me to think of myself as an inconvenience. Yet, why did I frequently have this feeling?
It took me many years—decades even—to arrive at this answer. Primarily because, up until quite recently, key details were absent. It's impossible to complete a jigsaw when not all the pieces are available. However, before I reveal what I've discovered regarding my connection with my father, there's an important point you ought to be aware of:
The students at school weren't very fond of me as well. Unlike my dad, their dislike was genuine. It wasn't difficult to see this — kids tend not to hide their feelings — but I had no clue why, which made it impossible for me to correct whatever issue existed with me. After all, how do you solve a problem when you're unaware of what it actually is?
Although I excelled academically, my levels of self-awareness and self-discipline were consistently lower than those of my contemporaries during high school and early adulthood. I paid insufficient heed to others but was overly hasty in expressing myself, often arriving tardily. Emotionally fragile, I would break down readily and frequently indulged excessively in alcohol, engaging promiscuously as well. My actions were riddled with errors, each one fueling my deep-seated disdain towards myself. Similarly, I harbored resentment toward my parents—though the reasons eluded me then—for not preventing these missteps. Despite acting provocatively to seek notice, their responses remained inadequate; they failed to recognize my desperate craving for support. Consequently, every ounce of anger directed at what seemed like their incompetence manifested through relentless antagonism against my mother.
She was the dependable one — truly the resilient one. My father frequently appeared worn down by life, as though he plodded through each day purely from willpower. He was incredibly sensitive; "defensive" wouldn't be an exaggeration—easily wounded and cautious with others. This applied to both of us, making open and honest communication, particularly about my frustrations, extremely difficult. The dread of causing him anguish or experiencing his disapproval kept me mute. Thus, I shielded his emotions while concealing my own.
Afterward, I departed. At 18, my existence turned into an ongoing journey marked by yearning that lasted almost two decades—moving between cities, transitioning from one person to another, chasing each fresh and exciting aspiration, constantly driven by the belief in the fairy tale. this time things would be different.
During the early '90s, as I pursued journalism studies at the University of South Florida, I decided to try therapy for the first time. Even though I tackled this reasonable step with the fervent hope typical of someone who thinks magically, believing wholeheartedly that it would turn me into an entirely new individual—the "confident, dependable, skilled, charismatic, and altogether amazing person" I had always wished to become—I wrote in my diary back then.
Quite astonishing — although not as astounding as what's absent from the diaries of my twenties: my father! I attribute this to what seems to be a highly incompetent therapist. I do not recall discussing him with her at all. It’s not that I requested to uncover the deeply buried anguish of a 6-year-old who felt unloved by her father, but the therapist ought to have been more aware.
A number of years and several moves between states passed before I began exploring my connection with my father. This introspection started during my return to therapy in the latter part of the '90s, following my relocation to New York City. By then in my early thirties, I gained deeper insights into my dad’s complex bond with his own father and the impact of intergenerational trauma—insights that didn't originate from Dad himself but rather were shared by Mom. She was the one who initially disclosed just how distant and harsh her father-in-law could be toward my father as a child.
However, childhood trauma does not account for every aspect. Mental health is incredibly intricate, involving a convoluted mix of genetics, brain chemistry, and life events that can prove challenging to disentangle. Nonetheless, despite our inability to precisely define where each strand starts and stops, understanding an individual requires us to identify the various strands present.
Throughout much of his life, my dad battled with depression. As a child, I could sense this burden he bore; later, as an adult, I began to grasp it vaguely based largely on stories relayed by my mom. However, I didn't get all the specifics until I found the bravery to speak directly with him about it. Over roughly twenty years—from our initial correspondence via letter in 2000 up until discussions shortly preceding his passing in 2018—we gradually pieced together his narrative bit by bit.
My dad's struggle with depression started when he was very young, even before he entered high school in the 1950s, and it became more severe as he matured into adulthood. Despite trying different therapies and multiple types of antidepressants throughout his life, these treatments didn’t offer significant relief. Many individuals who suffer from depression end up being labeled "treatment-resistant" due to having an additional undetected health issue—another ailment or disorder—that might be triggering their depression or intensifying its effects.
You cannot resolve an issue unless you understand what it entails.
When my father was young, hardly anyone recognized his concurrent condition. It would be many years before science could keep pace with this truth, years before he would read the July 1994 issue of Time magazine The cover posed the question: “Are You Distracted? Unruly? Flustered? Doctors State: You Might Have Adult Attention Deficit Disorder: This Isn’t A Condition Solely For Children.”
It was found that researchers uncovered the fact that children diagnosed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder—primarily boys at that point—did not "outgrow" the condition, contrary to popular belief back then. A significant number continued facing substantial challenges from their symptoms well into adulthood. While reading about how these issues manifested, my dad identified strongly with the described behavior and consequently joined the initial surge of grown men being diagnosed and receiving treatment for ADHD.
By his 50s, he came to realize that a neurodevelopmental disorder, rather than insufficient intellect, explained why reading had been challenging for him during childhood and why he required assistance from his mother to complete college. Think about what an emotional revelation this must have been. Consider discovering, after so many years, that you were never actually unintelligent.
ADHD is a multifaceted condition, primarily involving the brain's capacity for regulation across various critical areas—not only focus and impulses but also decision-making, working memory, drive, organization, prioritization, and emotion management. Consider this analogy: imagine a leaky tap where low pressure leads to distractions, lapses in memory, and lack of orderliness. Conversely, high pressure might result in heightened feelings and intense concentration on specific interests—perhaps an activity such as painting—which could come at the cost of neglecting other responsibilities or people around them. Additionally, individuals with ADHD may experience amplified sensitivity to sensory inputs; hence they might feel certain reactions—like being dismissed—with greater intensity.
People dealing with ADHD often encounter significant rejection. A major factor behind this is that numerous actions linked to the condition can be quite irritating and distressing for others. For instance, spacing out during conversations, frequently cutting off speakers, missing crucial appointments, perpetually being tardy, making promises but failing to keep them, suddenly getting irritable without provocation, or having tantrums similar to those of young children. Consider your reaction when such behavior occurs, particularly from adults—do they appear thoughtless, unreliable, impolite, or erratic?
Each one of us experiences ups and downs, right? But what about those times when a buddy or relative seems to struggle constantly, unable to sort out their life? Doesn't it make you feel somewhat drained? Even if your feelings for them remain strong, wouldn't you find yourself cutting back on the amount of time you dedicate to being around them?
Many individuals who have un-diagnosed ADHD recognize that they frequently let down and cause pain to those around them, but they remain puzzled about the reasons behind their actions. Often, instead of enduring continuous rejection, they follow in my father’s footsteps: They retreat from social interactions. They isolate themselves completely. Perhaps they stay silent to avoid saying something inappropriate. Or maybe they resort to self-medicating as a way to cope with these overwhelming feelings.
I'm not suggesting that being diagnosed with ADHD condemns someone to a miserable existence. Even serious cases can be addressed and controlled once identified. Numerous adults who have this condition manage to flourish, particularly as awareness grows. However, without proper management, ADHD can create significant disruptions in one’s life, leading to issues like strained relationships and diminished self-worth. chronic demoralization .
Numerous studies have found significantly higher rates of depression Among young people and adults with ADHD—an estimated 44% go through a depressive episode before turning 30, compared to 25% of those without ADHD. Researchers are still working to understand this phenomenon better. pinpoint why However, it appears more probable that both the psychological impact of coping with ADHD and biological factors contribute to this issue. ADHD and depression occur within families, and scientists who recently delved into heaps of genetic data concluded an shared genetic risk For these two conditions, they discovered that individuals with ADHD had a 30% higher likelihood of attempting suicide compared to those without ADHD. Additionally, people dealing with both ADHD and major depressive disorder showed a 42% increased risk of making such attempts.
It wouldn't have astonished my father. He mentioned in an email from 2008 that he frequently wished he hadn’t survived.
I am feeling incredibly frustrated because I believe that without [depression and ADHD], I would be performing approximately 50% better across all aspects of my life," he stated. "I could have been a more effective father, spouse, artist, art instructor, author, among others. However, recently, I've noticed some progress which motivates me to keep going.
That’s why it’s crucial to treat ADHD with seriousness. Even when there’s a genetic tendency for it, our upbringing surroundings significantly play a role. makes a huge difference Regarding gene expression, with an earlier ADHD diagnosis and support from knowledgeable and understanding adults, like his father, his life might have taken a different path. This change would have likely influenced his daughter’s life as well.
The first time I saw that email, I still hadn't grasped what ADHD truly entailed. However, I knew exactly how it felt to yearn for death. There were times when I frequently imagined passing away and returning as another person—a more capable one. During those darkest hours, if a genie had offered me that wish with assurance that I'd come back as the individual I aspired to be, I might have ended my life without hesitation. Yet, deep down, I wasn't seeking death; I merely desired happiness.
With maturity and extensive therapy over time, some areas of my life improved significantly. I formed enduring friendships, wedded the man who has stood beside me for two decades, and embraced my role as a mother to our lovely daughter. However, numerous challenges persisted—unmanageable emotions and a mind prone to frequent lapses in memory and focus—and I kept blaming myself for these "flaws" until I ultimately decided to seek assistance once more.
In 2017, I visited a neuropsychologist, and shortly after, I joined the ranks of middle-aged adults—typically around 30, 40, or even 50 years old—who were just beginning to recognize they had ADHD. Many among us were women who had lived with this undiagnosed condition for decades. Our symptoms frequently manifested differently than those seen in males, leading people to overlook the possibility that we could be dealing with the same neurodevelopmental disorder affecting those energetic young boys.
At 51 years old, just a few years younger than my father when he received his diagnosis, I have finally found the missing piece of the puzzle that clarifies so much about myself—and our family dynamics. Now I grasp how a parent with poor emotional regulation and high sensitivity could be readily frustrated and worn out by a child who’s a lot And consider how a child could misunderstand the actions of a parent who is frequently preoccupied, short-tempered, and easily annoyed.
Now, as I read through that email again, I can grasp the frustration and remorse my father was conveying. It makes me ponder how things could be different between us in a world where issues get resolved simply because we're aware of their existence.
Maybe if it had happened slightly more frequently, it would seem like just another distant memory from when I was about 5 or 6 years old. In this recollection, my father and I are in the living room together. He has been assisting me in getting into a pair of red tights that match the polka-dotted jumper I am wearing. However, as I stand up, the crotch area sags in that bothersome manner characteristic of tights that aren’t fitted correctly. The sensation annoys me greatly. "They're not on right!" I exclaim to him.
I'm feeling exhausted and irritable, yet he simply gives an amused grin, grabs the tights at the waistband, and pulls them up, slightly lifting me off the ground as they settle in place. This causes me to laugh, which prompts him to grip me around the middle and lift me high over his head. Then he starts spinning round and round; I am soaring through the air, laughing hysterically, with a wide smile from him too. As soon as my feet touch down once more, I feel lightheaded and euphoric, so my words come pouring out loudly and wildly: "One more time!" Please, do it again!”
In this instant, I am not an annoyance. At this very moment, he raises me up into the sky once more, and I feel like I'm soaring, as if we've become magical beings.
CJ Clouse’s parents crossed paths during their time in group therapy—a hindsight clue suggesting that crafting narratives centered around familial issues and psychological well-being might be her authentic vocation. Even though those beginnings hinted at such themes, much of her professional journey has been rooted in journalism; more recently, she worked independently concentrating on environmental topics and sustainable practices. Her articles have surfaced in publications like The Guardian, GudangMovies21, GreenBiz, Mongabay, Barron’s, National Geographic, The Forge, Southeast Review, among numerous others. At present, she is engrossed in penning a memoir that delves into uncovering truths regarding her maternal grandmother, whose life took a challenging turn when she received a diagnosis of schizophrenia and entered an institution at twenty-seven years old. CJ resides in Brooklyn alongside her spouse and child.
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If you or anyone you know requires assistance, please call or send a text to 988 or initiate a chat. 988lifeline.org For assistance with mental health. Furthermore, you can locate nearby mental health and emergency resources at dontcallthepolice.com Outside the U.S., please go to International Association for Suicide Prevention .
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