“What If?” Is a Scary Phrase

Recently, a close friend of mine lost his father. Naturally, it got me thinking about my relationship with mine.

The first thing that hit me—hard—was the reminder that life is fleeting. People come and go. Bad things happen, good things happen. There are moments of pure joy and relationships that shape us… and sometimes break us. Some of those memories have even led me into hours of therapy I’m still not sure how I paid for. But I digress.

My younger sister, dad, and me

I didn’t have a close relationship with my dad growing up. He just wasn’t around. That’s not to say he didn’t care—it’s just complicated. Military life comes with its own set of rules. For one, I never had a friend longer than two years. Not because I wasn’t a good friend, but because we all moved constantly. I still remember my best friend from elementary school moving to Alaska. (How were we supposed to keep in touch without the internet back then?)

My dad spent nights on base, weekends in training, and eventually re-enlisted after a short-lived retirement—this time in Panama. Needless to say, he missed some of the most awkward and formative years of my life: the teenage ones. And honestly, I’m still not sure about all the reasons why he wasn’t around more.

Then, when I was about 27, something shifted. Out of nowhere, my dad reappeared and started reaching out consistently. We don’t see each other all the time, but we email regularly. And through those conversations, I’ve started to see parts of myself in him. I finally understand where my personality came from.

Still, I can’t help but wonder about the future.

Even something as joyful as wedding planning has brought its challenges. Getting a response from him about anything is like pulling teeth. And while I want him involved, I feel caught between not wanting to try too hard and fearing the regret of never having tried enough.

I want him to be part of my life now. I want him to be part of my future kids’ lives. I want him to show up—not just for the big events, but the small moments too.

I don’t want to look back and ask, “What if I had tried harder to build that relationship?”
Because, honestly? That’s all I really want.
A better relationship—before it’s too late.

My dad back in the day on the bottom right corner

Daddy’s Little Girl… I Think

One of the biggest things I struggled with in my 20s was abandonment. I was talking to a friend recently about my relationship with my father and how things have shifted over the past few years.

Growing up, my dad and I were never especially close. He was in the Army most of my life, always working or traveling. When I was about 11, he went to Panama on business and, essentially, never moved back home. My parents divorced right before I turned 14. After that, he’d check in now and then or send money for school, but he wasn’t really there. And even though he had always been distant, I still felt this deep need to impress him. I worked hard in school, hoping for some kind of approval. But once he left, that drive started to fade. I did well in high school, but once I got to college, everything changed. I struggled in ways I hadn’t before—and not having my dad around definitely didn’t help.

When people think about “daddy issues,” they usually imagine two extremes: either someone who’s overly promiscuous and afraid of commitment, or someone who jumps from relationship to relationship trying to fill that void. I won’t say exactly where I fell on that spectrum, but I will say this: I was terrified of commitment for a long time. I self-sabotaged more than once with men who genuinely cared for me. It was like I was preparing myself for them to leave—because that’s what I knew.

At one point in my late 20s, I had completely resigned to the idea of being alone. It felt easier. No one could get close enough to hurt me, and I convinced myself that I was content.

Then I met someone who saw right through me. She made it her mission to figure me out, and in doing so, helped me recognize the patterns and fears I’d built around relationships. I’d had close friends in college who supported me through hard times, but this was different. She saw the deeper layers and called them out with compassion. Her friendship helped me get more comfortable with emotional closeness.

About three years ago, out of nowhere, my father came back into my life. He started emailing me almost daily, calling every week. It was surreal. After so much time apart, I had to learn how to let him back in. And as strange as it sounds, his presence started easing the weight I’d carried for so long. My abandonment issues didn’t just disappear, but they loosened their grip.

There were still moments where I’d fall into old feelings—but overall, having him back made a huge difference. Then, in February of this year, something shifted even deeper when I started going to church. I felt a conviction stirring in me. I knew I had to forgive my father—not just for his absence, but for the space he left in me that I didn’t know how to fill.

Since then, I’ve felt lighter. And I’m so grateful he’s in my life again. The more we talk, the more I see myself in him—his sarcasm, his outgoing nature. He tells me stories about how I was his little baby, and it melts me. It’s healing to know he loved me all along, even if he didn’t always show it in ways I needed.

At the end of the day, that’s what matters—not the past, not the uncertainty of the future, but this moment. Right now, my dad is present. He’s a part of my life in a way I never expected. And forgiving him—along with anyone else who’s hurt me—was the best gift I could give myself.

If you’re looking for change, sometimes all it takes is a prayer. God has a plan. And I know mine is unfolding in a beautiful way.