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The man who first broke my heart

Hello ...

Welcome back!

Thank you for finding yourself in this space again, holding space for me, I feel the love as I release and its just amazing!

I've just finished a beautiful womb healing session with Katy Baynes (you can find her at ) I cannot recommend her more! The layers of trauma released today was just magical ... I may write about this experience later or I may not but for now I just want to let that sink in for a little while longer.

Before my session with Katy I had thought about the words I was going to write about my Father, the stories I may tell and let me tell you there is many but I have felt a shift and I feel less pain so I'm not sure where we will end up today but as usual I'll keep it unedited so only the words that need to come do and are heard exactly how they are meant to be.

This blog may contain potential triggers surrounding drugs, self - harm and sexual abuse so please tread carefully.

To give a wee background my Dad has 13 children that are known and accounted for ... some of them are younger than my own children. We are all disconnected from each other. My Mum had 3 children to my Dad. Me, my brother Jesse who passed away when he was a baby, and my little brother Damon.

When I speak of siblings I usually only mention Damon because I grew up with him, we share the same Mum, and are so close. I hope one day in the future I'm able to connect with my other living siblings and have a relationship ... I dream of them so often, they are always on my heart, I carry them always.

For any of my siblings who may read this now or in the future, Dad wasn't all bad and I hope I do the story justice ... this may not be the story you heard but this is MY truth.

So I suppose the only place to start is the beginning ...

My parents separated when I was a toddler. I have no memories of my parents being together, and very few memories of my Dad in my super young years, but my Mum did tell me I loved him lots. Apparently I used to follow him around, suppose she's talking about the odd occasions when he was home and not off at the pub drunk or beating her blue.

My Dad spent majority of my early childhood in and out of jail, or in different cities. Sometimes he would pop in for a visit maybe every few months but he wasn't really around. I remember hating my Mum thinking this was her fault, choosing to have all these other men around, why couldn't she just let my Dad be around. I missed him, or at least I think I missed him ... but can you miss someone you didn't really know?

Maybe around 8ish my Dad settled back in to Christchurch, and we began to stay at his on the weekends, me, my brother and my older half sister. I used to look forward to going to my Dads it was a nice change from Mum's house, who was currently in party stage and our house seem to be the go too ... Dad had this amazing blue Valiant wagon and I was obsessed! He used to pick all us kids up and we'd cruise straight to the supermarket where my Dad would let us buy whatever we wanted ... and I mean anything! Hundreds of dollars on any junk, the sky was the limit, you see my Dad was a drug dealer, he had money.

When I think back to these times it actually fills me up with so much joy, not the money, but the memories with my Dad. He was sober, he spent the weekends either smoking pot or working on cars and he was so gentle natured. He never rushed us kids at the park or the beach and I could just tell he loved us. My Dad never yelled or put me down which is quite ironic because I seen him beat his partner on multiple occasions, to almost death (but well maybe cover this later.). I never felt fear to go to my Dad's he was always a safe place to me. I used to have amazing chats with my Dad, I was a Daddy's girl, I loved him so much, in my eyes he could do no wrong. I could never understand why my Mum or others were so afraid of him. He had this beautiful smile that reached from ear to ear and he was always laughing. I can still picture and feel that laugh in my heart now and it fills me with so much joy.

Although my Dad was a drug dealer, he kept it pretty hidden from us, he kept all his dodgy associates away from us kids and never really intertwined this life ... when he was sober.

My Dad was an animal lover, I swear this is where I get it from. He always had pets, I don't ever remember him without one, he used to joke that the dog was his number one child.

My Mum went through phases of letting us see my Dad, now as a Mother I know this was for our protection, but as a child I hated her, I used to ring my Dad and he would say that he missed us and that its all Mum's fault, she's keeping us from him, but he never made any effort to fight for us. I remember always just wishing he would come and take us away, away from my Mum I thought it was all her fault.

My Mum kept us in pretty good contact with my half sister, we used to see her quite often. My Mum and her Mum got on so well, there'd always be a coffee and a bitch and moan about how shit Dad was, I always remember sitting back hating them, how could they talk about this man I loved so much, he wasn't these things they said he was. I loved him, he was my Dad.

Everything changed when I was 9, around the same time that I had experienced sexual abuse from a man I classed as my Step Dad, I wasn't having visits with Dad around this time and I remember I used to lay in bed visualizing him coming to my rescue and beating him up, saving the day and off I would go to live happily ever after in my safe place with my Daddy.

That fantasy was destroyed one afternoon when dropping my sister back to her Nana's house. As soon as we walked in my sisters Nana goes did you hear what he did ... he bloody raped her ... I died. How could this man I love be so disgusting, how could he do that to her? I remember never doubting her, I knew what this pain felt like and I knew I would stand by her side, although we were always in competition, she was my sister, I must be strong. I rung my Dad at just 9 years old and left him a message yelling at him, I will never see you again.

I'll never forget this day, although the abuse wasn't felt by me physically let me tell you it fucked me up just the same. I loved my Dad and of all the horrible things he did they never took away from this love ... until this moment.

Then my sister retreated and said she lied, we all knew that she didn't, even at 9 my intuition told me but I suppose it was all easier for us to just pretend, and just like that we all went back to normal ... except I chose to hate my sister. It was easier for me to not see my Dad for what he had done, but keep this ideal of who I wanted him to be and just put the blame on my sister. Horrible I know, not something I am proud of but this is the truth.

Even though I had chosen the path to believe my Dad, a seed had been planted and I knew deep down. I remember when we would be alone in the car I would be panicking in my head, this is it, fuck what is gonna happen, omg where is he taking me, omg I'm so scared. Nothing ever happened but those thoughts always arose to the surface.

When I was 13 I was struggling and rebelling, I won't travel to far down this path as I always say in every blog I'll leave that for another blog LOL but yeah I was just a naughty kid, looking back I was hurting, fuck was I hurting and the only way I could express this was to put on a strong exterior and bully people, do drugs and sleep around. Anyway my Mum sent me to live with my Dad, by this stage his drug business was booming and it was at home, I was full blown just living full time in this lifestyle and you know what the transition was easy. My Mum wanted me to only be there for a couple of weeks to show me how good I had it at home but once my Dad told me this in true stubborn Mel style even though I so desperately wanted to go home, I didn't feel safe, I would stick it out, I was gonna prove Mum wrong.

And it wasn't all bad at the start guys, I had fun, Dad let me have literally anything I wanted, anything my heart desired. He was fun, I could party, I could have friends over, he listened to me, he never yelled and the only rule he had was no boys in my room. I put this down to the fact that my sister was a teen Mum and my Dad was protective of me, but deep down my intuition knew it was sinister but I chose to ignore her.

I went back and forth between Mums and Dads for awhile but mostly lived with Dad as me and Mum just clashed so much, I never argued with Dad, we were like Best Friends. Even just writing that god I miss these memories, I miss him sometimes, this version, these memories.

In some aspects I have my Dad to thank for a lot of who I am, the strengths I have a lot come from him. My Dad always taught me to work, by any means, money is important, don't apologize for wanting money but to always help others. My Dad was very caring in some aspects, he always was giving to people, I used to get mad because people would use him, take advantage of his generosity.

I also took anger from my Dad his not so good trait, my Dad was a very violent Man to everyone but his children, strangely but thankfully. But he would encourage us to stand up fight people, that was how we kept our name strong, don't let anyone talk down to you, and even if you couldn't win the fight you stayed in the fight until the very last punch. When I would fight at school my Dad would defend me and say I had every right to punch someone over if they called me a slut. The only other rule my Dad had was don't steal, we don't need to steal because we will always make money. The one time I stole shoes, I don't even know why like I said we were fucking rich, living the life, but maybe for the thrill to show I was a gangster, just like my Dad, cause I wanted to be him, I wanted to make him proud. He grounded me, this was the one rule, we were not thieves. Ironic huh anything goes but no stealing.

I am so grateful to not be violent or aggressive anymore, I can't even believe I used to be like that, I would even search out fights to make me feel good ... once again I'll save this for another blog to unpack further.

Anyway this all came to an end around 15, something changed, I think it was puberty, no ... I know it was puberty. I think I started to get more attractive my body changed. That's when I changed from his daughter to a piece of meat, I could feel the looks, I was so uncomfortable but I stayed in denial.

My Dad dropped me off at my friends house on his Harley, I used to feel like an absolute bad ass on this bike! Anyway we were going to the old C4 café to have Bagels and after my Dad dropped me off my Dad texted me and asked me to fuck him pretty much ... yap you read right I just dropped that straight on in here because that's exactly how it happened but I'm sure your intuition was also guiding you here, maybe you seen the red flags earlier than I did.

I told my Dad no and he told me to go pack my shit and move out. I had 4 hours. This wasn't the first txt I had received from my Dad, the months leading up he had sent a few and I had ignored them and deleted them, you know major denial, out of mind out of sight kind of buzz. Not that day though ... I broke down in the safety of my friend who was also only 15. So grateful that her and her Mum took me to my Dad's to pack my stuff as you can imagine I was so scared. You might be wondering why this wasn't Mum ... you see me and my Mum were still in such a bad place and she was so busy at work and all my behavior leading up to that moment ... she didn't believe me, this happened Friday and she didn't pick me up from my friends until Sunday. This was just another stab to my heart, to my self-worth that I had told myself.

Now I've healed with my Mum surrounding this stuff but its still apart of the story. I know this is about Dad, but Mum really does also intertwine. I had been lying heaps around this time but it shocked me to my core that Mum thought I would lie about my Dad, my world but who could I blame I was literally now the same as my sister except he was polite enough to ask me and not just take like he did to my sister.

My Dad throughout that afternoon of kicking me out sent texts where he admitted to everything about my sister and among other things to other people. I remember them word for word because the were absolutely disgusting but I won't share them because I think even with what I've written is enough to paint the scene and I don't want anyone else having these words etched in their brain ... I know I'll take these words with me until I die. He also said things to me like good looks won't get you anywhere in life, that I was a tease and I think this really connected in with later insecurities around my looks and that my body was not sacred.

That weekend at my friends house while everyone slept, I cried into my pillow, I cried so much, I cried for the innocence I had just lost, for the betrayal to my sister but also for the death of my Dad and the man I thought I knew. Once everyone was defiantly asleep I crept out to her kitchen, careful not to wake anyone, I climbed onto her chair that was next to the bench and I got the green medical kit from the top cupboard, I sat there for about an hour staring at all the pills, I wanted to die, I was already kind of dead, I felt like an empty shell. I've overdosed before, I know how this goes except this time I won't regret it I'll take all the pills and just go to sleep and never wake up again. I honesty wanted too, I seen no other choice my life was so fucked up, neither of my parents loved me, that's how I felt, I just felt so alone. The only reason I didn't was out of respect for my friend, she saved me, her love for me saved me that night because I didn't want to give her trauma for the rest of her life. I am truly lucky to be here today but I almost wasn't.

There are many more chapters for my Dad believe it or not it didn't end here, but for now this is where I'll pause, lets just sit and think of her, my inner child and the pain she suffered. Maybe you knew me around this age, maybe now I make sense to you.

The abandonment by my Dad because I wouldn't have sex with him completely changed my course in life, this moment lead me to Meth, lead me to beds and lead me to attempted deaths. I think that although nothing physical ever took place for me this traumatized me more than any man who sexually abused me ... because it was my Dad he should have been my safe place. I loved my Dad, I absolutely loved him and I still do. I love the memories of everything before I hit puberty and for years I tried to force out those good memories but now I cherish them and I know none of this is my fault but it has taken many years to even slightly undo the damage he embedded in me.

When I became a Mother, this resurfaced trust issues that I thought weren't even relevant. See after that stuff with my Dad, I went cold, I was numb, I was independent, I was blunt, I was broken. Nothing could hurt me because I shut off, a protective armor went up but when I had Ryley man that armor came crashing the moment he took his first breath.

My inner child came out and said Mel how the fuck are we going to protect this human? What the fuck have we got ourselves into? We know how to protect us but who in their right mind gave us this mini amazing creature to look after ... were meant to nurture it? God do we know how to love?

Then we sat and we stared at Ryley together, and we knew love, we knew that unconditional I will die for you love ... but we also felt fear for the first time in years ... fear of someone hurting him, how could we trust our beautiful human with anyone when we couldn't even trust Dad? How will we know who is safe, when Dad wasn't even safe? What is safe?

Ryley awoke me, he honestly saved my life. I was feeling again! Just wow.

I knew from that moment, cycles needed to be broken, drugs needed to be stopped, my child, now children will never experience what I did.

So I leave us here today, I know this is heavy believe me I shed a few tears writing this one, its not fully healed and I would be lying if I said it was. Just like the others this is only the tip of the iceberg to this story ... next time we will dive deeper, bring more to the surface so I can heal even further.

Before I go I want to share a poem that I wrote recently, it demonstrates our fears of being a parent because we weren't role modeled how to be a good parent, when I say we I mean me and her, my inner child. She walks with me every step, because healing the adult me is healing her, telling these words is telling her story. She stays with me to remind me of the pain we don't want our children to feel but we also share the same doubts at times that we aren't cut out for this ... but we are.

Did I make a mistake?

Who am I to be a Mother.

A broken human weaved with trauma.

Am I capable of love I ask?

When I carry all the burdens of the past.

Who am I to be a Mother?

I wasn't even worthy of love from my Father.

Can I be trusted with these little beings?

I don't know if I'm capable of feeling.

Who am I to be a Mother?

Am I just creating more trauma?

Thank you so much for reading my life, my pain, my trauma, thank you for reading so I can heal. I know there's still so much more to unpack and I have a thing for leaving things unfinished but thank you for letting me be real and stopping where I need too, for letting me be vulnerable, letting me be authentic but most importantly hearing us ... we thank you.

Love Mel xx

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