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My heartbeat has quickened. My body has started to tremble a little. I am having to remind myself, right now, to breathe.

I just deleted five paragraphs of truth I had typed because I was too scared to let them stand. I have not done that before.

I don’t know why this is so hard for me. Why I am experiencing so much fear, judgment and shame, but I am.

I have been trying, for about the past 20 minutes, to write what has been in the back of my mind for the last couple days. It’s about my dad.

I am having the hardest time allowing myself to have my voice.

I love my dad. My dad adores me. He always has. And, my dad has not always been a very good dad. I deserved better than what he was capable of giving me. His love wasn’t enough for me. I needed his attention. I needed his patience. I needed his time. I needed him to see me and to try to understand me. I needed his effort. These were things I very rarely–if ever–got from him. They just weren’t things he was able to give.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life chasing after people who have very little to give me because I’m playing out some old story about me and my dad. I deserve better than that. I always did.

I have this pattern of getting very attached to unavailable people, of wanting to get from them the very things they are incapable of giving. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to spend the remainder of my life fighting for something I’ll never actually get, something that I shouldn’t have to fight for to begin with.

I love my dad. And my dad was not a very good dad. I’d like to say he tried, but I don’t know how true that is. He did the best he could. It wasn’t good enough. He should have done more.

I have been sitting here for a while now feeling shame, and for the first time ever, I just found myself wondering if the shame is really mine to hold.