Today, it's been three years since I lost my father. 3 years of navigating oceans of laughter, doubts, tears, and anger. Three years of trying to understand the daughter I was, three years of trying to understand the daughter I have become.
When I was little, I often felt misunderstood. I had the impression that the world was turning upside down. That people didn't see what I saw. That they didn't feel what I felt. I often felt judged for being who I was. Too demanding. Too much of a perfectionist. Too sensitive. Too susceptible. Then I grew up and learned. Eventually I fit in the box too.
When I was 18, I wrote a letter to my parents entitled "your daughter's instructions" (or something like that). A letter I had completely forgotten about, until the evening of my father's 50th birthday two years later. I was having a friendly chat with my boyfriend outside until he said something like "You're not easy to live with, you know?" to which my dad replied instantly "If you'd taken the time to read and listen to the instructions, you'd know". I can still remember the stunned look on my face at his answer and the pride in his eyes as he taunted my boyfriend with pleasure, because my father knew.
When he died three years ago, I had the impression he had taken this instruction manual with him. As if he had modified and completed it since then, without ever sharing it with me again. As if during all this time, he had understood better than me who I was.
And then, last year, I discovered my "Highly Sensitive Person" trait. Suddenly, it was as if all the articles, books and podcasts I'd listened or read had come straight from my brain, which had been freshly peeled off with a spoon. The slap in the face.
And even though he had no idea about this concept, I'm sure deep down my father knew.
He knew how to manage the space and silence I needed when I'm angry. He knew that I need to distract myself from my emotions when they have taken control or my life becomes the subject of a cinematic drama in only one second. He knew that no words would calm me down when I was having struggle and that only those dad jokes would turn my frustration into laughter. He knew that I had a heightened sensitivity to the world and that I just had to learn to deal with it. He knew, because he had the manual...
So Dad, three years after you left, today I'm back at it. I have neglected this instruction manual for far too long. It was through my writing that you understood me. It is through my writings that perhaps I will understand myself. This blog is still far from perfect. But if I don't do it today for you, I'll never launch it. So, this time, the button is pushed, the blog is launched... Welcome to this new Page : Emotion.
PS : We miss you.
Love.
Co.
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