Sometimes the hardest goodbyes are the ones needed the most

My name is Megan and I am a child of an alcoholic.

For as long as I can remember my dad was a heavy drinker.

Every night he’d crack a beer can open, every weekend was spent in the pub, and I became your average “pub kid”.

When I was younger, I saw it as normal, social media highlighted the good parts of being a “pub kid” and I thought to myself “so every dad is like this”.

But that was wrong

Not every dad got aggressive after a drink, not every dad had to drink every night, not every dad only cared about his daughter after a drink.

When I reached 15, I approached my dad.

I told him how I didn’t appreciate how he only cared about me when he’d had a drink, unbeknownst to me at the time, he had, had a drink that night.

He turned angry, he called me every name under the sun, said that I’d never amount to nothing and that I was stupid and I would go nowhere in life.

For years, I chased to prove him wrong

I got a qualification, I still didn’t think I was good enough.

I passed my driving test first time, still didn’t think I was good enough.

Got another qualification, still didn’t think I was good enough.

Bought a Mercedes at 18, still didn’t think I was good enough.

I was constantly chasing approval off a man who’d rather pick the bottle.

The last conversation me and my dad had

He was asking me to meet for a coffee and telling me he loves me, but once again, he’d been on the drink.

I told him, I don’t want to meet for a coffee and believe his empty promises once again because he’ll just pretend I’m a stranger again, once he’s sobered up.

His response “I have one daughter, and she’s not born yet, f*** you”.

I haven’t spoken to him since; I won’t speak to him again.

That last conversation was the realisation I needed, that no amount of love can make somebody be sober.

I miss my dad, I always will.

But sometimes the hardest goodbyes, are the ones needed the most.

Megan

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