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My father is a man of very few words. I am reminded of this during our quarterly phone calls. I am also reminded of the fact that we are very much alike…and I hate that. My father is a stoic, apathetic man who talks on the surface level and never once expressed any interest in me as a person, let alone as his daughter. He calls me once every three months and talks for five minutes and fulfills his fatherly duty of staying in touch. I have no idea who my father is and yet, I know exactly what he’s about because I’m his daughter. I have longed for that father/daughter relationship all my life. The one where he is protective and comforting and giving of himself because he would sacrifice anything to help me grow as a person. The one where we confide in one another and he imparts sage advice based on the many years of watching me develop into the woman I am today. The one where when I see his number pop up on my phone, I don’t cringe and let it go to voicemail. Yep, it’s pretty safe to say that I have daddy issues. 

This entry is supposed to be about the man who had the greatest impact on my life. That sounds like a positive thing, right?  Well, the man that has the greatest impact on my life has been my father, and it’s not been positive. This is so heavy to unpack and will more than likely require multiple entries to really understand but for now, it’s important to know that mine and my father’s relationship is strained and super awkward. When we talk, I never elaborate any further than, “yeah, work is going well” and “Taylor [my son] is fine”. That’s another thing. My son is 29 years old. He’s probably seen my father literally a handful of times. It’s very sad and yet, I don’t feel as though my son has missed out on much. I don’t see how having my dad in my son’s life would have been beneficial in any way. The tragic profundity of that statement is hard to wrap my head around. 

My father’s greatest impact on my life has been his literal absence – both physically and emotionally. Sure, he’s always been there, in some way, in the background, but the connection never felt genuine. The words, “you have always been there for me” would never come out of my mouth because they’re not true and they would be so hollow that I fear I would choke on them. In fact, the only thing I can honestly say that my father has taught me is that being his daughter is messy and, based on his actions, should be avoided.

I am leaving for Paris, France in 3 ½ weeks. This is my first international trip in over thirty-five years. The longing to visit Paris has been with me my whole life and this year, finally, is when I make that dream a reality. I don’t travel often, primarily because I work so much and despite having four weeks of vacation, I am subtly discouraged from taking it because we are so short staffed at work. But that’s a topic for another time. For now, I want to linger on the anticipation of having the time of my life in the City of Lights.

I am not going to Paris to run around the city and check off visiting a bunch of tourist attractions. Yes, there are touristy things I do want to see but my goal is to wander around the city, enjoy the culture, the people, the absolute Parisian-ness of it all and maybe make a new friend or two. Oh, and gorge myself on delicious food and wine, of course! But more than that, I want to prove to myself that I can travel to an international city alone, navigate the city with nothing more than a basic knowledge of the French language, and do it all looking fabulous! I want this experience to bear so many lovely and wonderful memories that will last a lifetime or, at least until I go back again and make more.

Yes, I’m going solo. This inherently scares me because it means I actually have to rely on my wits in order to get around. I can’t just turn to my traveling companion and ask “how do we get there?”. I have to figure it out. And I am completely capable but I typically like having things done for me (I mean, who doesn’t?). I think going solo is going to make this experience that much richer and more significant for me because everything I do, everyone I interact with will be my choice and by me making those choices they will be much more intentional and curated. I love this. I am normally super impulsive so making intentional choices is an unfamiliar concept for me. In fact, this whole trip was an impulsivity that, once started, I couldn’t stop. It’s how I experience life. Impulsive choice first, consequences later. But this year, this year I told myself that I am going to start intentionally living life, enjoying those things, places, people, connections I’ve only talked about and this trip to Paris is the first of many of those experiences. 

I’ve always been very sexually open minded. At least, I always thought I was. Until I met you. I had no idea what sexually open minded was until you taught me to question and explore and push boundaries that I didn’t even know existed. Yielding to this pleasure is addicting, frustrating, intoxicating, terrifying and so incredibly satisfying that I can’t imagine being without it…without this new me, the me that craves these experiences, the me that screams yes to sexual encounters without limits, the me that thinks differently about what it means to be a sexual being. Embracing and nurturing the kink. It’s more than just creating an act with my body, it’s the idea that pleasure comes from a psychological need and that separating myself from the emotional aspect of sex is so freeing, so liberating that I am slightly frightened by where it will take me. But that’s what’s so exciting about it…the uncertainty of what I’ll find when I turn the corner. What kind of extremeness I’ll find myself involved in; it’s thrilling and I can’t get enough of it.

Down and dirty truth: people use me for their own benefit and I’m left to wonder what the fuck happened. It’s been happening most of my life. It’s because I’m a people pleaser. Not because I want people to like me, mostly because I stink at confrontation and just want things to be harmonious. I know that. I own that. Well, fuck that. Life is too short to do shit that I don’t want to do just to make someone else happy. No one else does that for me. No one else has a problem telling me no. No one else has an issue making me feel uncomfortable when they want something from me. 

Please stop making people feel bad for saying no. There are a myriad of reasons why someone says no and…[surprise!]…THEY’RE ALL VALID. Please stop crossing people’s boundaries just to get your needs met. Doing so will only fester anger and resentment. And ultimately, make me not want to entertain any sort of connection with you. I’ve tried to spare feelings by using gentle excuses but those don’t seem to get the point across like a fast and hard “no thank you”. Just no. Don’t call me a bitch because I am protecting my boundaries. That’s your issue, not mine. 

For those that are struggling with saying no, how many events, favors, activities have you agreed to attend, do, participate in that you really didn’t want to and could have been avoided by simply saying no? Get comfortable saying it because it’s going to teach people how not to treat you. And get comfortable hearing it because, yeah, I’m going to be saying it a lot.