Father's Day | An Invite to Heal Daddy Issues
Father’s Day | An Invitation to Heal “Daddy Issues”
A reflection and exercise for those aching on a day that can feel complicated
Dear reader,
As a therapist, I see the ache that Father’s Day can bring to the surface. The stories clients carry—the ones they’ve hidden, minimized, or tried to silence—tend to rise louder around this time. And so I wrote this for you, if today feels tender or confusing or heavier than expected.
This isn't my story. But it's one I’ve heard in different forms—told through tears, defended with sarcasm, or folded into silence.
If you’ve ever said “Father’s Day doesn’t matter”... yet feel a lump in your throat or a pang in your chest—this letter is for you.
You might be someone who does a good job pretending it’s just another Sunday. That fathers aren’t that important. That your relationship with him didn’t really matter all that much.
But deep down, you know that’s not fully true.
Not being honest with yourself feels safer than the alternative:
A risk of deep, searing grief.
A risk of untamed anger.
A risk of relentless sadness.
A risk of tears that will not be contained.
A risk that you’ll fall apart—when all you’ve ever done is hold it all together, one bit at a time.
You’re grieving your father.
And it isn’t only on Father’s Day.
It’s every day you’ve felt the hole where care should’ve been.
Every day you wished for a warm glance, a secure voice, or arms that felt safe.
Your dad might’ve loved you—in the only ways he knew how.
And it was far from enough.
For years, maybe you called him on Father’s Day or sent a card. Maybe you said thank you for giving you life.
But eventually, the mask of “all is fine and dandy” began to slip.
You realized the happy-Father’s-Day energy had more to do with you trying to convince yourself that his absence, incapacity, or unwellness didn’t shape you.
You got tired of carrying the guilt of not being the perfect child.
Tired of wondering if you were asking for too much.
Tired of protecting his image, while your own heart sat in the shadows.
So here you are today: dazed, disoriented, empowered, grieving, healing… all at once.
To you—and the child part within you still aching—I want to offer a small space of comfort.
No more pretending.
No more soothing someone else’s ego.
You don’t need to erase the day. But maybe, this year, you get to reframe it.
Make it about your truth.
Make it about your experience.
You’re allowed to name what you needed—and didn’t get.
And if you’re ready to reflect, I’ve created a gentle exercise below to help you reconnect with your story.
"When we deny our stories, they define us. When we own our stories, we get to write the ending."
—Brené Brown
“The father’s voice is the first brushstroke of identity.”
—Sue Johnson
An Exercise to Connect With the Child Within
What if this Father’s Day became less about the world’s idea of what today should feel like…
And more about you?
About what your inner child still holds.
About what parts of you are still waiting to be heard.
You don’t need to force yourself into gratitude if you’re aching.
And you don’t need to pretend this day is easy if it’s not.
So here’s an invitation: take out a piece of paper, or grab a few crayons or markers.
Find a quiet moment and give your inner child a voice.
Start with you, as a person—separate from your father:
As a baby, I was _______
As a toddler, my personality was described as ______
In elementary/middle/high school, I felt like ______
As an adult, I describe myself as ______
Now gently explore your experience of your father (or what you longed for):
As a toddler, I remember Daddy as _______
As a school-aged child, my best memory with Daddy was _______
As a teen, I got attention from Dad by _______
As a young adult, I related to Dad like this: _______
I am similar to Dad in this way: _______
I am different from Dad in this way: _______
You might feel a wave of emotion.
You might feel… nothing.
Both are okay.
What matters is that you made space for the child part of you who rarely gets the mic.
That alone is healing.
What If This Year You Made Father’s Day Yours?
Maybe you choose to grieve.
Maybe you choose to celebrate another father figure who showed up for you.
Maybe you write a letter you’ll never send.
You get to decide what feels safe and meaningful this year.
Because the truth is: Fathers are meant to be pillars of safety and love.
And when that’s missing, misattuned, or harmful—it leaves a mark.
5 Common Father Wounds:
You may have never named your experience as a “father wound.”
But if any of these resonate, you’re not alone:
Abandonment or Betrayal – He left. He lied. He chose something or someone over your wellbeing.
Loss – He died too soon. Accident. Illness. Or he disappeared without goodbye.
Emotional Neglect – He was physically present, but emotionally absent. You had to earn his attention.
Abuse or Unwellness – His instability, rage, or addiction shaped your nervous system.
Identity Disruption – You never knew him. Or your connection was severed before it began.
These wounds are real. And they can shape:
How safe you feel in relationships
Whether you believe your needs matter
The kind of love you accept—or don’t trust
The Impact Often Shows Up Later
You expect people to hurt you… or disappear.
You feel guilty for asking for what you need.
You find yourself drawn to partners who are emotionally unavailable.
You crave closeness but also push it away.
And yet—healing is possible.
“The greatest gift a child can receive is a parent who’s willing to do their own work.”
—Dr. Thema Bryant
A Client Story (Composite, Shared With Permission)
One client once told me:
“I always end up attracted to people who ignore me. I want to be chosen… but I keep choosing people who don’t pick me back.”
She didn’t connect it to her father—at first.
But as we gently traced the threads, it became clear:
Her father was distant, unpredictable, and emotionally cold.
She had to work for his approval—by achieving, caretaking, never being “too much.”
And over time, that pattern followed her.
She began to believe that’s just what love was: something you chase.
Through therapy, grief work, and reconnecting with her younger self—she began to reclaim her worth.
She started setting boundaries.
Choosing emotionally safe partners.
Learning to be with people who made her feel seen—not small.
And it started, quietly, by naming the ache.
You Can Make Space for the Truth
You can make space for the humanity that lives within your father—without dismissing your pain.
You can own your story and your needs—without guilt.
Even if your father is no longer living.
Even if he’s never going to change.
Even if you feel numb or unsure.
You still deserve healing.
For Therapists Holding This Work
If you’re a therapist reading this, I invite you to hold this lens gently in the room:
How might this client’s father wounds shape their story?
What did they learn about safety, love, identity, or being “too much” from dad?
How can we hold both grief and growth at once?
Father wounds—whether acknowledged or not—often live in the body, the beliefs, the relationship templates.
And when we name them gently, the work often deepens.
The nervous system exhales.
The healing gets to begin.
Until Next Time,
Xx Esther & Integrative Team