I thought my experience of having an absent father with narcissistic tendencies was just bad luck. Or something that happened to me because I was a “bad” daughter. It turned out it’s a fairly frequent occurrence that has nothing to do with whether I was good or bad.
I am once again reminded how common it is with the drama surrounding Dennis Padilla, Marjorie Barretto, and their daughter Claudia, who recently got married.
It may be a common occurrence in life, but each case is unique. As that famous quote from Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina goes: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
Growing up without a father present is not necessarily an unhappy thing, though. In fact, as a little girl, I was blissfully unaware that there was a social stigma attached to it. Not until I went to school and my classmates start asking me where my father was. I was sort of annoyed that it mattered to them when it was not an issue for me, so I came up with what I thought was a clever reply: “Nalunod sa sabaw.” (Drowned in soup.) Then we would all laugh and go back to playing.
I do not remember having a father. He left when I was one year old. My mother did not dwell on the reasons why he was not around, so I did not grow up feeling there was anything missing or wrong with my life.
The concept of a father has always been abstract to me. So relating to God as “father” was a bit challenging, too. Because I have no real life experience of what a father is. Which is probably a blessing in disguise because it helped me with my spiritual journey. One of the earliest things I remember my mother taught me was this—God is love.
That became the foundation of my faith. God is not a father but love. I have love. A father is not required to experience love.
Yes, my mother is a very wise woman.
I think the issue of absent fathers becomes complicated under a patriarchal system. Patriarchy is a social system where men hold primary power and control, dominating in roles of leadership, moral authority, social privilege, and control of property.
Within patriarchy, fatherhood is idealized, but often more in symbolic or disciplinary terms than in emotional and nurturing ways. Thus, we have terms like “padre de pamilya” (where “father of the bride” probably gets its exaggerated importance) and “haligi ng tahanan” (pillar of the home).
Masculinity, under the patriarchal system, is defined by provision and authority, not necessarily presence or emotional availability. A man’s worth is measured according to his availability to provide and protect, and exert control over everything in his life, including his family.
When I became an adult, reflecting on my experience, I now view it as being spared by the burdens of patriarchy in the home. Especially because my father was kind of a narcissist who had an inflated sense of who he was. Pretty much like how Dennis Padilla has been acting in public and dragging us all to watch him play the victim.
When I was 17 and in college, my father suddenly came home and shattered whatever illusions I had of who he was. He was what people would describe as a loser. He tried the “But I am your father, you should respect me” performance, and I just mocked him and kicked him out of my mother’s house.
Of course, he would not be a good narcissist if he did not blame everything on my mother. It did not work because, unfortunately for him, his daughter’s not an idiot. My mother has her faults, but she was present and did the work as a parent the best she could.
My father and I would have more memorable encounters later in life. He would show up at my workplace reincarnated as an influence peddler and bragging to people how influential I was and that he could get me to do whatever he asked. But I already enforced a lifetime ban against him so he could not get through. I believe in “you reap what you sow.” He did not invest in me so he could not profit off of me.
“Pero tatay mo pa rin yan” (but he’s still your father) argument did not work with me. Because father was an alien concept. And my father, even as a person, was not a good influence. It was not my job to teach him or fix him or redeem him in any way. It was his. Only his. Besides, pursuing a relationship with him as an adult would do me more harm than good. That’s not being a bad daughter; that’s being a responsible human being who practices self-care.
My father died years ago without having any kind of relationship with me. It is not bad or good, it is just what it is.
Julia Barretto was asked if she has forgiven her father (who’s still alive). She had a hard time giving an answer. Perhaps, because forgiveness is not what is needed but acceptance. Acceptance that your father is not a good person, and that is beyond your control and definitely not your fault nor your responsibility.
Yes, society would make you feel bad because, well, patriarchy. Too much idealization of fatherhood and manhood. And having an absent father somehow makes you inadequate or not good enough. Stop believing that because it is not true. You are not broken. Just probably wounded for carrying your parents’ bitterness that isn’t yours to carry.
In my father’s absence, my mother stepped up and rose to the challenge. She did not just carry the weight of our survival but the wisdom of healing. She never made me feel that my father’s absence was a reflection of me (or of her). She changed the narrative of neglect to love. We’re enough. I’m enough. We will make it, and we did.
In a world that often tells girls they need a man’s love to be whole, a single mother can offer a different story. Every time she chooses love over bitterness, truth over silence, presence over performance, she plants a seed of healing.
