Releasing My Enmeshment with My Dad

I once wore a pair of jeans for years. Each fall I pulled them out, they got a little harder to button, making it difficult to breathe. However, I kept adjusting, taking smaller breaths until one day, I broke down and bought a bigger pair. My lungs filled with air, and my mind cleared. I didn’t even realize I had been slowly suffocating myself.

I had the same feeling as I emerged from the fog of grief following my father’s death in 2022.

I grew up with my mom and dad, but my dad became my best friend when I came out as a late-in-life lesbian, and my mom didn’t accept me. Eventually they divorced, and my dad remarried. Following his wife’s death, my dad moved closer to me and my wife in 2018.

This is when I began to realize that my dad and I were, as numerous websites and therapists would proclaim, enmeshed. He expected me to cater to him since he had cancer and didn’t have anyone else, creating an island of two. As a retired Marine and a member of the Silent Generation, he had exacting standards of timeliness and discipline. He came over for dinner every night (“SIX PM SHARP!”), and our evenings revolved around his moods and needs.

I relied on him, too. When my son lost his father, my dad stepped up as a father figure for him. I was so grateful that I catered endlessly to his happiness and consulted him on every financial and parenting decision, much to my wife’s chagrin. He just wanted to help and feel useful, but he sometimes crossed the line, like when he checked my location, drove to the car dealership where my wife and I were seeking a loan, and told us to stop.

Losing my dad to cancer within six months of his diagnosis set me adrift. I didn’t know how to make decisions without him because he had never pushed me to do so. I didn’t know how to save myself because he was always the parachute, swooping in before I even thought of a plan.

Suddenly, that parachute was gone. I woke up many nights in a blind panic, feeling like everything was crashing around me. I had to figure out what my future looked like with myself as the driving force.

I don’t know how I survived that time, but my life looks vastly different today. My family hardly ever eats at six, which is still difficult for me. I took on professional responsibilities that enhanced my career, which I couldn’t have done before when I was my dad’s caretaker. I now sit on the board of my local LGBTQ+ organization, which requires evening and weekend commitments that I would not have felt comfortable committing to for fear of abandoning my dad. My wife and I make our own financial decisions, knowing that there’s no one to bail us out, but also knowing we don’t have to justify our decisions. I value this freedom.

Still, just like when I had to buy that bigger pair of jeans, I struggle with guilt. While I may breathe a bit easier today, there’s still the hitch of grief that grabs me by the throat. How can I be glad that I have this time if it means my dad, my best friend, is gone?

My dad was an incredible man, and he thought that by giving me a constant safe place to land, he was setting me up for success. Instead, the struggle came after he was gone, without having incremental steps toward independence. I recognize that having a dad who wanted to solve my problems is a privilege not granted to everyone. But now, I have to learn how to let myself breathe, one shaky inhale at a time.