“Healing from Bitterness, One Step at a Time.”

My father was absent due to addiction, the street life. His mother—my grandmother—raised me. She became the steady hands that held me when my parents could not. My father was more of a distant shadow than a daily presence. I saw him seldomly, but when I did, my face would glow.

Maybe it was because children naturally long for their parents, no matter how broken the circumstances. Maybe it was because he came bearing gifts—small tokens that felt like love to a child trying to make sense of absence. Or maybe it was because, despite everything, he was the only parent who showed up at all… even if only for moments.

Those moments taught me something complicated: how to celebrate crumbs when your soul is starving for a meal.

I learned how to confuse presence with love, gifts with affection, and moments with commitment. I became grateful for “just enough” because I didn’t know I deserved more. I smiled through the inconsistency because a child will cling to whatever pieces of love they can get.

But beneath that glowing face was a little girl silently asking, “Why am I not enough for you to stay?”

That question followed me into adulthood. It shaped my relationships, my expectations, and even my understanding of my own worth. It planted seeds of bitterness—not always loud, but buried deep enough to grow roots.

And bitterness is deceptive. It tells you it’s protecting you, when really it’s poisoning you. It hardens the places that were meant to stay tender. It rots the hand that holds it.

Healing began when I stopped pretending my father’s absence didn’t hurt. Healing began when I allowed myself to grieve the parent I deserved but did not have. Healing began when I understood that his inability to show up had nothing to do with my worth and everything to do with his own brokenness.

I can honor the little girl who lit up when she saw her father—and still tell her the truth:

You deserved more than occasional appearances.

You deserved consistency.

You deserved protection.

You deserved love that stayed.

Next: Part Three: Becoming What Hurt Me