An Open Letter to The Perpetrating Father

Dear Perpetrating Father,

Reducing you to a “Perpetrator” ranks amongst the most difficult things that I have ever done. It is painful. It is not how I remember you, it is not what I want you to be.

But it is what you are. 

It is what you continue to choose to be.

You are also the Father of my children. The person that I wanted to spend my life with. You are charismatic, strong, intuitive and determined, all qualities that I see in our children. 

Revealing what you have done to us, makes me feel ashamed and afraid. I often question myself, my decision making process and my ability to carry on.

Your refusal to move forward with me, amplifies my self-doubt. 

You disregard my pain, and you mock it. You suggest that I have ulterior motives, when nothing about our separation has benefited me, or our children. Our lives are fractured and we are suffering in your absence.

You mock my grief, and you belittle me.

You don’t feel the pain that I do, when our children look just like you. When they laugh like you did, or twirl their hair like you used to, when they watch TV. 

You don’t feel the loneliness that I do, when I lay in bed at night. Alone. Wondering how we ended up here, with strangers ruling over our lives. They claim to know what’s best for our children before we do. How could you allow this intrusion to engulf our lives?

I had no ability to exist outside of you, so I had to enlist help to contain this. It’s not what I wanted but there was no where else for me to go.

I had to contain your temper.

I had to contain the risk you posed to yourself, and others.

I had to contain our children and protect their lives. 

I underestimated the impact this would have on me, and on us. But you left me no choice.

You say that I’m angry with you. That I’m vengeful and bitter.

You disregard my grief.

I pleaded with you to get help. I fell to my knees and begged you to stop hurting us.

You only hurt us more.

I have forgiven you for what you did but you mock that forgiveness, when you continue to hurt us.

You never stop.

I always fear you.

I am left to wonder what you’ll do to us.

Can’t you see this?

You always told me that the children need you. Your family reminded me of the same.

But what version of you is it that they receive?

You’re angry, and bitter. Sour. You are short-tempered. Inconsistent. Unregulated and unreliable.

You are mean-spirited and you carry ill will. You have animosity towards me. Animosity that has just multiplied and deepened, since our children joined our family. You see me, in them and instead of that softening you, it angers you. It hardens you.

The more we have leaned into you, the more we have needed you, the more cruel you have become.

You resent us.

For our love.

For our youth.

For our naïveté. 

For our belief in you.

For our requirements and requests of you.

We can’t rely on you.

Your unreliability makes us less safe. 

Do you understand this?

I don’t trust the world, without you in it.

I don’t trust my self-perception, or in my ability to gauge risk, anymore.

I failed to identify your callousness, before it was too late.

Now I am left to fend for us by myself.

I’m left to carry the burden of your sins and your transgressions, all while you call me evil and an alienator. 

I give you opportunities to repair this but you never take them.

We are at a loss.

The difference between you and I, is that I recognize that loss, while you continue to amplify it.

To what end?

Reducing you to a Perpetrator is painful. It’s not how I remember you. But it is who you choose to be. Even now, as you read this, you will grow angry and cold towards me. You won’t draw inward, or mediate on my words. You’ll see this as an attack, instead of a plea; a plea for relief. A plea for a truce. A plea for mercy. For reprieve. For healing.

Dear Perpetrating Father,

I have to get back to our children now, they need me in your absence.

Signed,

The Protective Mother