How to Not Worry What Dad Thinks
Many people suffer from trying to please their parents, for many it’s the father. I reveal how to overcome worrying what dad thinks.
I’m 43.
My dad is 74.
He will always have more experience than me.
Maybe, that’s what threatened me.
Or, it was me trying all these years to be the exact opposite of him.
I tried being a bum when he was a successful businessman.
I tried doing drugs while he was straight.
I tried drinking myself to death while he was sober.
I was always broke when he would buy my meals. . .
The list goes on and on.
It seems my whole life was trying to be a contradiction to my father.
Why was I obsessed with his opinion of me ever since I was a baby?
We were both bull-headed.
And stubborn. . .
This came to a head when I broke into a house when I was 14.
Our “Leave it to Beaver” household was shattered.
Our black and white American dream fairytale family turned into a dead color I can’t explain.
I was escorted to and from school from then on.
Until I dropped out of school completely.
No matter how mad my dad got, I would cut off the things he wanted from me.
From 16 to 18, I never talked to my dad. It was a two year silent treatment which left him crying silently while he watched TV and had my mom begging for me to stop the silence.
The silence unofficially stopped when my dad kicked me out of the house when I was officially 18.
Since I didn’t graduate high school, my full ride to the music institute in Hollywood would not materialize.
My family’s helping hand wouldn’t fund the deadbeat lifestyle I would soon be entering. . .
I couchsurfed at friend’s houses and dropped LSD.
After a few months on my own, I freaked out and went back home.
I tried acting confident when my dad and I sat down to have a chat.
I mumbled under my breath that I wanted to move back home.
He kind of chuckled and said: “I don’t support Bums.”
That word “Bum” burned into my brain as I walked away from their house and went back to basements and drugs.
After a few more months of psychedelics and seeing alternate realities, I knew for sure my dad didn’t understand.
I felt I had “one up” on him.
I knew he had barely tried Marijuana and here I was having 8 to 10 hour experiences that took me to different worlds.
Surely, I could use this against my father, but how?
He already thought I was a bum and bums did drugs, so I couldn’t really brag about my experiences, but they were special to me in a lost world kind of way.
A few years later, I was back at my parent’s house visiting for dinner when I had a strong feeling I was adopted.
I had spent the night and in the morning I freaked out, told my parents off and disappeared back onto the streets.
This time, I was living with a woman twice my age.
Surely, having a girlfriend twice my age would make me feel like a man, like a real man like my dad.
This idea backfired when I always argued with this girlfriend, seemingly from a lack of self-worth.
I guess subconsciously, I didn’t know if who I was dating was an older girlfriend or a surrogate replacement for my missing mom in my life.
This confusion led me to lash out and drink more.
Eventually, Job Corps saved me when I went to go train on Tugboats on the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon in a Merchant Seaman program.
Working on Tugs gave me my first taste of manhood.
My parents came down to visit and were proud of me.
I still didn’t feel proud of myself, at least I didn’t let a “feel good” emotion play around in my head.
Eventually, I talked myself out of this Merchant Seamanship program because I didn’t want to “turn wrenches for a living.”
I was an artist, damn it.
So, as an artist, I talked myself back into drinking and drugs.
This time I lived in a 15 foot trailer my parents supplied, because they didn’t want me homeless.
I was very broke, lived on tea and toast and wrote my memoir on a typewriter from the late 19th century.
I dug a giant pond by hand with a shovel in my backyard because I had no job and all the time in the world.
Eventually, I befriended some crazy neighbors and they introduced me into a world like “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
Since, I was now a “writer” I validated living a crazy, drug-fuelled lifestyle with these neighbors by calling it “research.”
This research led me to near insanity and a new low I had never experienced.
It seemed this research was unravelling me and took me further away from bonding with my dad.
He stood by though, and could only watch with concern.
A few years later, I got sober and was writing music and ebooks.
I visited my parents every Sunday for dinner now and felt I had to report good news for my dad to be proud of me.
My music and ebook sales were pitiful and it was a challenge coming up with success stories for the dinner table.
One day, I was speaking at the table, trying hard to look impressive with my dad when suddenly the room got super quiet.
My mom was listening to me from over by the sink, washing dishes, when I heard every lie I spoke loud and clear.
My dad sat across from me and his face grew concerned as I felt a few beads of sweat roll down my face. Then it seemed like a little waterfall ran over my face.
My words stopped as they were blocked in my throat by sheer terror.
My heart pounded as every muscle in my body ceased.
He asked, “Are you okay?”
I blurted out “No. I need to lay down.”
My father gave me a pill and I came back to life within a half hour, but why did the pill work so well?
I realized something gave me relief before the pill actually took effect.
From the years of drinking and using it as a crutch for social situations, I realized the pill symbolized “security” just like the alcohol did.
But, this is just the lie of addiction.
The true strength and courage came from my “belief” that the pill or drink was working.
If I could get this sense of courage and confidence without drugs, that would be a miracle.
So, I chased after “accomplishments” to see if I could gain back this confidence, but that led me back to trying to impress my dad at the dinner table.
Because the bottomline was: My dad had always been proud of me. He was just proud I was alive (ever since I had a heart-attack at the age of 32, and maybe sooner.)
My wife mentioned to me one day that my father was proud of me no matter what.
It finally clicked, but why was I still so insecure around him?
I decided to dive deep into my subconscious.
I had a lot of mental blocks down there and a very low self-worth.
No matter what I accomplished it didn’t matter because I didn’t love myself.
We need to first love ourselves before we can love others.
That panic attack at the dinner table was so crippling, I never wanted to be at a dinner table with my parents again.
So, when my parents came down to visit me in Austin, I took some natural supplements, like Kava, to ease the anxiety.
I made it all four days with them and only lost it a little towards the very end when we sat at the picnic table in my backyard.
Sitting that close to my dad, eye to eye, made me very nervous, and I had forgotten to take Kava.
Even though I live a pretty amazing life now, I still felt anxious around my dad.
I realized no accomplishment would give me confidence around my dad.
I had to forgive myself from the past and love myself again.
I don’t even know if I ever had loved myself.
I just wanted to get back to that unconditional happiness that my childhood brought me.
Is there anyway an adult can live that happy?
Yes.
Once I sat still and got rid of some bad habits that kept me in a negative self-image, I first went back and rebuilt some childhood memories.
Rebuilding a childhood memory is simple.
Close your eyes and focus on your breathing, like meditating.
Go back to the first bad memory you had as a child.
Now, go back as the adult you and hold that child.
Tell them that everything is okay and you are loved.
My father sometimes spanked me a little too hard and I went back and loved myself.
I also rebuilt my first memory of being extremely embarrassed around a girl.
We were watching a marching band together when the drum section walked by and scared me.
I cried and was so embarrassed, because the girl and I were smiling at each other before the band approached.
I went back as the adult me and sat with the child me and soothed him and made him laugh.
I then walked down the street, smiling to myself that I had rebuilt that memory and left the “child me” loved.
The next thing I did was removed “trapped emotions” by using a magnet.
Magnets are very powerful healing tools.
I learned about magnet healing by reading the book, The Emotion Code.
95% of us have created a “heart wall.”
This heart wall is built to protect us from harm, but these walls are huge and have lots of trapped emotions inside them.
I removed several trapped emotions with my wife and am still processing the power of it.
Lastly, I needed to finally love myself.
I read another book, “Love yourself as if your Life depends on it,” which taught me to say the mantra: “I love myself” for a solid month. No breaks. Literally 24/7 whenever you have a free moment.
It’s been about two weeks into this mantra and I do feel better about myself. I feel like I’m walking taller.
Not worrying what your dad thinks goes for not caring what anyone thinks, and that is solved by truly loving yourself.
It won’t happen overnight, but it can surprise you how fast it works once you start working on yourself and uncovering those old layers.
Here’s 5 more “too personal” articles I wrote:
How to Reconnect with Your Dad using Ayahuasca
How to Overcome your Dad’s Abuse
How Introverts can be Confident Around Family
How Masturbating Over 40 Destroys Your Life and Your Business
3 Biggest Absurd Lies Drunks Tell Themselves
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