I was born from an affair - I was kept secret, even on Father's Day

"Everything about the day is a reminder of how desperately I wasn't wanted."

As it is for many, Father's Day for me is a trigger for, dare I say it, trauma.  Because like lots of other adults out there, I still very much feel the pain caused by the actions of my father- those from decades ago and those more recently.

While these are experienced regularly, it becomes a bit more intense when the first Sunday of September is nearly here.

Because, despite the emails sent by well-meaning brands about opting out of Father’s Day emails, the reality is, you can't escape it. 

Going to the supermarket, walking in a shopping centre, school app messages, even your own partner, the father of your child/ren who has done nothing wrong, can be a reminder of all the wrong your own dad has done.

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"I remained a secret from his wife"

For me, this pain is caused by secrets, lies, rejection and ghosting- all actions my dad did specifically and purposefully to me. 

I was born from an extramarital affair- a relationship which I am very aware was undertaken by two consenting adults who both share responsibility or at least should. In my case though, while my mum has, my father has failed to ever do so.

Despite their nearly decade-long relationship, it remained a secret from his wife, as did I. 

The selfish desire to keep this a secret and me a secret has meant that for my whole life, outside of birthday and Christmas cards and phone calls, I have remained, intentionally cut off from him. 

Even these communications were under the control of my father - we did not know his home phone number, we weren't permitted to send him letters and we could never see him in person in case his secret, in case, we, were exposed.

Image: iStock

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"My dad disappeared"

While this arrangement was far from ideal, let alone conducive to growing up with a strong sense of trust and security, it was his actions when I turned 18 that did the most damage.

Simply put, my dad disappeared. He no longer called, he no longer sent cards, and without warning he vanished like a ghost. 

My mum thought perhaps this was exactly the case, that he was dead. Why else would he do such a thing? Over two decades of being involved with a woman he cared for so deeply he tried for a baby with her and had one. Why would he just vanish without a trace?

20 years on, I still don’t know the answer to this. I do know though that he is very much alive, living his life in Tasmania alongside his wife, who remains oblivious to his actions.

"I am proud she's my daughter"

When I located him and contacted him discreetly via email, he told me that he would do what he could to keep his secret, that the pain it would cause would be too much for “his family” (his wife and son) to bear.

There was no concern about the pain he had caused me and continues to cause. How his actions, his words, and his disappearance could affect a person as they grew up, as they had their own children, as they questioned who they were.

Instead, it was about him, protecting his secret and “his family.”

For me, each time Father’s Day rolls around and I see my own husband with our children, I see the ads or gifts marketed for the day, the cards they make him at school, and while I am glad that my own kids have a dad that can be celebrated on this day, it is still hard to squash the other emotions I have in respect to my father.

Because the truth is it’s complicated. He has hurt me immeasurably, something which I have worked actively on for years trying to properly deal with; it has made me angry, it has at times been too much to deal with and then, frustratingly, it has also made long for him to come to his senses, reach out to me and apologise, to get to know me properly after nearly 40 years and to say, “Hi, I am her dad. I love her. I am proud that she is my daughter.”

And it is probably this last fact that is the hardest to deal with because I know it will never happen. 

Originally published as I was born from an affair - I was kept secret, even on Father's Day