My daughter, Holly* was just a baby when her dad and I split up. It was an amicable split, we both knew that we weren't each other's person. Besides, I was too busy with a baby to look after a man as well, particularly when that man wasn't knocking my socks off.
The pregnancy was a surprise that neither of us was expecting, nor were we particularly ready for it. But, as babies tend to do, Holly arrived bringing enough love with her to heal a million wounds and we were smitten.
We might not have been a great match for each other, but we were both determined to make sure that Holly didn't bear the brunt of that and we quickly fell into a cohesive co-parenting relationship that was the envy of many.
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I think the fact that it was never a great love in the first place helped. There were no hurt feelings or jealousies to contend with, so as we each met new partners – me, just the one and he, many – we'd all fit in together with the common goal of making sure that Holly was happy.
For the most part, it was great. I met my now husband pretty early on and we went on to have more children. Holly was with us throughout the week and she'd go to stay with her dad and his parents on the weekends. Wherever she went she was adored, but it quickly became apparent that weekends were when the fun happened.
At our home, throughout the week, it was school, homework, piano lessons, sports training, and chores. At the other house, it was all fun. Her dad never had to deal with school assessments or bedtimes or sharing his time with any other siblings. She became his mini-me, trailing alongside him as he enjoyed all of his favourite pastimes. She surfed, rockclimbed, skateboarded, just like her dad.
Again, all of this was fine. It worked for Holly so it worked for us. Until the teen years hit and she began to hate me with the kind of venomous passion that only a teenage girl can muster.
I was the parent in the home with rules and boundaries and a chore list that included emptying the dishwasher and bringing in the washing. THE TYRANT! If she wanted a big purchase item I'd suggest we wait until an upcoming birthday, or we try to save for it. I was the parent that never gave in to tantrums.
Her dad was the parent who outsourced chores to his mother. The parent that would buy Nintendos and iPhones and name-brand fashions on a whim. The parent who handed her his credit card at the first sign of a dropped lip.
The teen years were the first sign that the cohesive, co-parenting ecosystem we'd all been enjoying might not be so perfect after all, and it pissed me off.
There's already a heartache to parenting teens. The adoring child that wouldn't let you pee alone now can't even stand you looking at them. Every sass, every eye roll, every door slam cut me like a knife. And for me, that heartache was laced with a feeling of unjust that ate me alive.
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Any parenting that I did from Monday to Friday was being undone every weekend. Dad was still the fun guy and I was the ogre. In all fairness, I wasn't enjoying Holly's company that much either. I began to dread Sunday nights – the return of the devil.
But even more, I hated that her Dad was still so adored. He got to parent without the burdens of 'real parenting'. He had no rules, he spent more money, and they ate at whatever restaurant Holly felt like. He lived a pretty carefree life and Holly was along for the ride.
At the time, when were in it, I thought that our mother-daughter relationship was forever changed. Time proved me wrong on that, thankfully. As Holly emerged from the cocoon of teen angst, her light began to shine bright again. She was kind, funny, and nice… she loved me and I adored her more than any words could convey.
Holly went on to have huge successes at school and, in time, university. She became fiercely independent, working hard and socialising with a great group of friends before eventually moving out with a boyfriend.
Any chance I get to spend time with her these days I jump at it. I'm happy to tag along anywhere that she wants me to - errand hangs are our jam. But something else is happening in her life and it's to do with her "fun dad".
He's less willing to take part in the things that she enjoys. Not maliciously, by any means, but a lifetime of living carefree has made him selfish and self-centred. A Peter Pan that never grew up. Fun Dad is still into surfing, rock climbing and skateboarding, and if Holly were still into those things then it's likely that they'd still be spending time together. But she's not. So they don't. And he's not doing anything to change that.
Holly vents her frustrations to me. She's sad that he never calls her, that he never takes the initiative to spend time together. She's hurt that when she makes suggestions his response is: "Yeah, cool. Let me see what else is happening and I'll let you know."
As always, I am diplomatic when it comes to her dad. "Bub, don't take it personally. He's just a dope, he doesn't even realise. He really would not want to hurt you, he just has no idea! Keep trying."
Lately, it's escalated. She's testing him and he's failing. I've offered to talk to him for her but she wants him to come to her on his own and he isn't.
This Father's Day, she spent the day solely with her stepdad and still got no reaction from her father. He's oblivious.
Of course, I am sad for her. Nobody wants their child to be hurt. But I'd be lying if I did not admit that there is a shameful part of me that is secretly happy.
It's gross, I feel dirty for feeling this way, but there's an inner voice that won't be quiet and that voice is a b*tch. I feel a vindication. It's like all the questioning and doubts I had of myself as a person and as a parent in those teen years have been lifted. I was playing the long game and I didn't even know it!
I'm the winner in a competition that only exists in my ego. Ick.
For her sake, and for his, I hope that there's a shift soon. There's so much life ahead for us all and it has the potential to be amazing. If I can think of a way to let him know how she feels without betraying her trust I'll do it, and in the meantime, I'll try to keep those internal fist pumps to a minimum. But, man, right now they do feel good.
*Name has been changed for privacy.
The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.
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