Tag Archive for: Fatherhood

Reflections on Father’s Day: 2021 Edition

January 2017 I had a mental breakdown at 3am in my car.

I was dropping a friend off so she witnessed my meltdown.

I proceeded to list reasons why I was sobbing and couldn’t string together a sentence.

I won’t bore you with the list. Plus a lot of that shit isn’t mine to share.

My friend called bullshit on it all.

“You’re not loved,” she said.

I asked her what she meant.

“Your home life, it isn’t right.”

I had a moment of clarity.

I was in a terrible marriage.

I tried to avoid eye contact with my friend. She didn’t let me hide.

I was in an unloving marriage. That shit will kill your spirit.

It was choking mine. That became apparent to me in that moment.

But, I was hesitant to let the truth wash over me like a baptism.

My friend asked me what was holding me back. There was clearly a block. I wasn’t convinced I could be a father unless I lived under the same roof as my daughter.

I’m so glad my friend challenged me on this.

I’m of Pakistani origin and was raised in a very patriarchal family. I grew up believing that there was only one way I could be a father. And that was to live with my daughter.

I had to shift that thinking in order to file for a divorce and start my life over.

In my culture the belief is that you sacrifice yourself for your children. I am the by produce of this thinking.

May I be frank?

I grew up in a miserable home. Money wasn’t an issue, but it was miserable.

Breaking the cycle. That’s all I could fixate on.

I approached things differently. If I could become the best version of myself, I could become a better father.

If I can set a better example, then my daughter will benefit.

Mindset wise, this was a major adjustment for me.

I’m writing this 11 months since I saw my daughter off at Heathrow Airport. She moved to Dubai with her mother and a global pandemic has gotten in the way of us travelling to see each other.

But, I couldn’t ask for a relationship with my daughter. She’s felt comfortable coming out of the closet to me. I called her on Father’s Day and she greeted me with:

“My guy, how are you?”

I cracked up.

Last year she made me an animation for my birthday. This year for Father’s Day she made me two Star Wars themed hand drawn illustrated Father’s Day cards.




I love hearing her talk about her desire for racial justice and LGBTQ rights.

I love witnessing her passion for saving the environment.

I love giving her space to be herself.

I love letting her explore her thoughts in conversation with me.

I love her.

I Struggle With Adult Life

Quick note: This was written and drafted on July 30th, 2020. It’s taken me this long to let go and just share this piece. Here it is:

I’m lying in bed right now and I’m unable to sleep. In the morning I’ll wake up and it’ll be the last complete day I spend with my daughter Zaynub before she moves to Dubai with her mother. 

I wrote a blog post last year called “Love Is An Act of Sacrifice” and was meant to write a follow up not too long after…actually I was meant to write a follow up post almost immediately. It outlined what happened when I met my ex-wife to discuss Zaynub’s future and how I felt, the thoughts that I had to process. 

I started writing the post, but I just couldn’t bring myself to publish it, because that would mean really sitting down with the piece, editing it and having to think about it more. I didn’t know this at the time…I just know that I avoided the task of completing that blog post. Then I got busy writing other posts.

On March 8th I had dinner with my friend’s Sofia and Ty and we chopped it up over dinner, discussed my daughter’s impending move to Dubai that year. Expressing my feelings  with my big brother and big sister really helped me attain some peace.

During the pandemic, I had time to think. That wasn’t all I did. The pandemic was full of anxiety and grief and mourning too. I came close to losing my big sis and friend Sofia to the virus. I’ve documented Ty’s death in these posts Cosmic Dust, Tomorrow, Saying Goodbye, and Repressing Grief. I had a couple of friends in China were ill with Covid too. 

During the pandemic, I had time to think. I realised dealing with Zaynub moving away would be a two stage process. 

Stage One: Processing and accepting the idea of Zaynub leaving.

This took weeks, initially I would talk to others about this, but very quickly I decided to just keep this to myself. Dinner with Ty and Sofia helped me consolidate my thoughts and feelings after I’d done the important work of sitting with them myself. Free from anyone else’s influence and suggestions. 

Stage Two: Accepting and Adapting to the Reality of Zaynub leaving.

This is where I’m at now. At the time of me writing and drafting this, she will fly out to Dubai in a little over 24 hours from now. 

I’m teary and utterly overwhelmed with emotions. 

I knew that this day was coming and I knew a fresh wave of emotions would be visiting me. I just wasn’t aware it’d be more of a tsunami. 

The past few months have been a mixed bag, bittersweet:
I dealt with the loss of income due to the pandemic, just when I’d acquired a new skill that I think could completely change my life and finally enable me to pursue my dreams. 

I stressed over 4 friends who were hospitalised with Covid-19. I lost one of them to the virus, came close to losing 2 of them and 2 of them are still vulnerable and I still worry about them both.

My mental health has been tested to the limits and yet my understanding and self awareness around my mental health grows with each day. This enhanced understanding of my mental health is something I hope can benefit my friends whose patience, love and support I want to reciprocate. 

Part of this understanding has been facilitated by therapeutic counselling and as a result I’ve been referred and have started submitting paperwork to potentially explore diagnosis of ADHD and Autism. That’s a longer story and I’ll be exploring that in many more dedicated blog posts. 

The recent weeks have been the most trying of my life as I struggle to process grief, but they have a also been filled with pure joy as Zaynub and I have spent time together. 

We’ve laughed, joked, watched Rick and Morty. I read her some of my poetry and she genuinely loved it. We discussed my divorce with her mother. We discussed my own fractured and dysfunctional relationship with my family. 

Zaynub talked to me about my dreams and the importance of me following my dreams. 

We had a heart to heart about Ty’s death after Shortee Blitz delivered his instalment of “Pass the Torch” (an event held to remember Ty) and Zaynub held space for me to cry and let me hug her as I communicated my pain over Ty’s loss.

Zaynub has confided in me, I’ve confided in her. We’ve expressed how much we’re going to miss each other. 

I’ve acted as a chauffeur and chaperone with her and her friends as Zaynub has tried to squeeze in as much time with her close friends as possible before she has to say goodbye to them. 

I’ve felt love and pure joy. I’ve felt unconditional love. I’ve expressed unconditional love. 

Zaynub has been my anchor for the past (almost) 11 years. But children are not supposed to be tethered to their parents, not physically, nor emotionally.

It’s time to truly uphold the ideals of Kahlil Gibran’s poem “On Children”

On Children 

Your children are not your children 
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself 
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you

You may give them your love but not your thoughts
For they have their own thoughts
You may house their bodies but not their souls
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 

You are the bows from which your children 
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, 
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far. 
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; 
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, 
So He loves also the bow that is stable

Kahlil Gibran

Let this be my North Star as Zaynub’s father. 

Repressing Grief

I’m finally waking up.

This past week has been full of tears.

I’ve received knock backs. This isn’t new. I’ve heard “no” far more often than I’ve heard “yes”.

Despite this, I’ve been unusually teary.

I’ve become accustomed to shutting down my emotions this past year.

My close friend and favourite artist Ty passed away from Coronavirus last year.

On top of that, my ex-wife landed a great job abroad last year and wanted to move with to Dubai with my daughter to pursue this opportunity. I signed the consent forms for my daughter to move to Dubai.

It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do. Anyways….

I’ve repressed my feelings about both of these seismic changes in my life.

I’ve done it as a survival mechanism.

However, this past week, that’s been changing.

I’ve felt more. Albeit painful shit, tears and even anger.

Last week was May 7th, the one year anniversary of Ty’s transition.

The night before the anniversary I felt anger and rage at some negative developments in my personal life. This particular problem has been ongoing. My partner has felt rage on my behalf, yet up until earlier last week I’ve been repressing my feelings under the guise of stoicism.

But the night of May 6th, the night before Ty’s anniversary, I finally felt rage, hurt, pain, loss and tears.

The next morning before I went out to Lambeth Cemetery and Brixton to celebrate Ty’s life I took a phone call from a friend. For 2 hours we hatted and I let myself cry about losing Ty.

I’ve spent a year fearful of my emotions. It’s stunted me. People would asking how I’m doing. People would ask how I’m coping with my daughter living in another country. I’d like to people.

“I’m ok…..It is what it is….I’m just getting on with it….”

May 7th, I felt a shift. I cried on the phone to my friend about losing Ty.

Then I attended a celebration on Ty’s life and finally expressed my grief in front of other people. I cried without any self restraint. It was cathartic.

I was asked about my daughter and I finally gave an honest answer.

“I’m struggling….I miss her….I don’t know when I’ll see her next.”

I’ve given into my feelings. I’m not trying to resist my sadness and my grief.

This is my 2nd blog post since January. Both posts were written within days of each other over the past week.

My block is lifting. It’s not a coincidence. I’m not hiding from my grief anymore.

I’m lying to other people a little less.

Importantly, I’m lying to myself a little less.

More honesty and less self deception going forward.

Building a New Life

I’m currently re-reading “The Illusion of Money” by Kyle Cease

I highly recommend it to anyone who is trying to build a creative career in the 21st century. It’s full of wisdom and insight.

While re-reading it earlier this evening I came across a passage where he says:

“An architect can’t build a brand-new hotel right on top of an existing old one – he needs to demolish the old one, clear it out of the way, and prepare ground for the new one……”

He’s not wrong. At all. 

I’ve made difficult decisions in the past 4 years. 

I walked away from my marriage. I no longer live with my daughter who I love more than anyone else in the world. 

I’ve struggled and continue to struggle as I navigate changes and build the life I want to. 

A new life, one that is better would result in a different story. One very different to the story of my past life.

Thing is, I’m not sure if I’ve managed to kick my addiction to the old story I’ve become attached to about my old life. 

Sure, a tonne of bad shit has happened to me in my past. Hell, I’m writing a long form fictional story based on my past and I routinely find myself upset and triggered when revisiting past memories and events as I mine them for artistic gold. 

There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging the past and the bad things that happened there.

But that past is full of very negative and unhelpful stories and narratives I accepted about myself. Those self limiting beliefs resulted in low self esteem, constantly putting myself in incredibly harmful and abusive situations, whether that was jobs, bosses, friendships etc. 

It’s hard though, and I don’t think I’m alone on this. When hearing negative and abusive shit about yourself becomes so common from the people around you who are supposed to love and support you, you’ll internalise those toxic and destructive beliefs. 

But those beliefs are out of sync with who I want to be. 

I’m currently experiencing blocks, obstacles in the way of me becoming who I want to be and building the kind of life I want. A life full of creativity, joy and love. 

I need to work on eroding those beliefs, consigning them to the dust bin. A new house is eager to be built. I need to resume demolishing the old one first. I thought I was done, but I’m not. 

I need to work harder at demolishing the old building. 

I need to work harder at laying the old stories I tell myself and believe to rest. 

Only then will the obstacles I currently face in my artistic and creative journey melt away. 

It’s Ok to Not Be OK…

I’ve been grappling with what to write lately. Part of me has wanted to write a review of the year so far. Part of me wants to tackle my mental health challenges and where I’m at currently with it. Or maybe I write about both?
 
I’m just going to write until I’ve emptied myself, then I’ll figure out if everything I’ve written in this particular writing session will be in one epic blog post or if I’ll create several blog posts.

I just need to get back to writing and doing so without judging myself and without getting so hung up on the end product. 

Process > Outcome.

I keep reminding other people of this, yet I’ve completely forgotten to internalise this truth. Just write. See what takes shape and then take it from there. 

I’ve promised myself and my readers recently that I’ll get back to writing this blog. It’s not happened and I’ve struggled to make it happen. 

One of the best creative decisions I made this year was to start writing this blog. It tapped into latent aspects of my creativity and it has resonated with people strongly. 

I loved doing it and I still want to do it. But I’m struggling. 

I’m struggling to get started. 

I’m struggling to finish what I start. 

I’m struggling to trust myself and my creativity.

I’m struggling to be honest with myself.

I’m running around telling people I’m ok. I’m not. I’m not trying to alarm anyone. I am the strongest and the most resilient I’ve ever been in my life. I’m proud of how much I’ve grown since 2017 and how much I continue to develop my self awareness. 

But in spite of all the positives, I have to really start being honest with myself. 

This has not been an easy year at all. Not even close. Yet I walk around acting like the year wasn’t that bad or that it’s not reasonable for me to be hurting and struggling to function.

I’ve had to process a lot of emotions, thoughts and grief. I’ve had to make some really important decisions around how I look after myself and how I’m going to pursue my dreams.  

My divorce came through in January, it took 3 years and I welcomed it. I felt much lighter as a result of it. But it was quickly followed by unexpected conversations with my ex wife about where she and our daughter would live going forward.

After 3 years of me playing musical chairs around different parts of South London, I’d finally decided to move to Morden to be closer to my daughter in Worcester Park.

The initial plan my ex wife had was to sell up and move to Kingston upon Thames. That was a slight adjustment, nothing I couldn’t handle. An extra 15-30 mins on travel time each way depending on traffic. 

But we had to discuss issues around money, quality of life and yes, Brexit. Brexit is not fun and the UK has become a much more toxic place as a result. My ex said she would stay close to me geographically so that I could see more of my daughter.

But I’ve never wanted my daughter to feel beholden to me. I want her to have the best chance in life. So I told my ex I was open to her exploring her options outside of London.

Within a week, my ex called me up to talk. This was the catalyst for the post “Love Is An Act of Sacrifice”.

She had landed a job offer as a head of maths department at a top private school in Dubai. 

I meant to write a follow up post to that, but I just couldn’t. The same way I’ve struggled to write and complete any blog posts over lockdown.

I’m scared to write because writing is a clarified form of thinking. And quite frankly, I don’t want to think about all the factors that went into me ultimately giving my ex the green light to take the job offer and move to Dubai at the end of July this year. 

I don’t want to write about and ultimately think about a lot of things this year because it has been exhausting. I’m fucking tired. Yet, I know I can’t give up. I can’t give up on life. I can’t give up on my gifts. So I’m trying to navigate the balance between being “kind to myself”, but also holding myself accountable and trying to “get shit done”. 

I’ll likely write a more in detail blog post, or even a series of posts around my daughter and  how I’ve been processing and navigating her move Dubai. 

Needless to say, it’s been challenging and I had to navigate all kinds of opinions and advice from friends and acquaintances on my decision. Most of it has been supportive. Some of it well meaning but really not helpful. I had dinner with my friends Ty and Sofia back on March 8th to process all of this. 

It was an emotional dinner at the time, even more so now as Ty has since passed due to complications from Covid-19 and I almost lost Sofia to Covid-19 too. 

I’ve not allowed myself to acknowledge how hard that was. Two close friends, both struck down with Covid-19. It’s stressful waking up every day wondering if your friends will still be here. 

It’s stressful when you lose a friend. 

I’m grateful that Sofia survived. 

I had to not only lose a friend, but attend his funeral and help lay him to rest.

Prior to all of that, at the beginning of lockdown, my ex wife got ill with Covid-19 symptoms. I had to figure out what life may look like if she had passed away and my daughter came to live with me. My daughter was shook during this whole time. She loves her mother dearly and it knocked her off balance to see her mum so ill and to entertain the thought that maybe just maybe something bad might happen to her. This took so much out of me in a brief period of time. My ex wife recovered quickly, but I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from this incident.

I’ve literally packed this whole event in a box and sealed it shut with metaphorical rolls of brown tape. 

As this year has progressed my daughter’s departure to Dubai drew ever closer. I focused all of my time almost exclusively on my relationship with her. 

We watched Rick and Morty together, she held space for me and held me when I cried after Shortee Blitz’ edition of “Pass The Torch”, an online celebration of Ty’s life. We joked, laughed and took the piss out of each other. My daughter Zaynub asked me to perform poems I wrote and she complimented me on how much she loves my writing. She told me she acknowledges supports my pursuit of my dreams.

She opened up to me about so many things that will remain private here. She’s getting older and I want her to feel safe and unconditionally loved in ways I didn’t when I was growing up.

I’ve been often critiqued for my parenting skills and my parenting style. I’ve learnt to respect people’s opinions and input, but to follow my intuition as a father. 

Very little of how I conduct myself and live my life adheres to sensible conventions. Why on earth would my parenting and my relationship with my daughter be any different?

Anyways, we’ve become closer than ever. A beautiful double edged sword. My relationship with my daughter is in a place I’ve longed for since she was first born. But it’s bittersweet as it comes at a time when she is now leaving to go live in another country. 

Saying goodbye at the airport was fucking hard. Zaynub’s best friend and her mother also came to see her off and they were both very emotional. I did my best not to show any emotion and neither did Zaynub. Zaynub’s best friend revealed to me that Zaynub had been in tears the night before as she will miss me. It should hurt, maybe it does on a subconscious level, but I was reassured to hear this information given to me by Zaynub’s best friend. 

I’ve struggled to feel secure about my relationship with Zaynub, both for the first 7 years of her life when I lived with her and her mother and then for the tumultuous 3 years her mother and I tried to negotiate our divorce. 

This information and a handful of other moments during lockdown really allowed me to feel closer to my daughter and give us opportunities to clearly express our love to each other. 

This year, I also made some tough choices around how I intend to earn a living going forward. 

I want to earn a living as an artist, I know I can and I will. But I have to bridge that gap for now. Between where I am and where I want to be, where I know I can be. I’ll get there. Insh’Allah. 
But in the meantime I have to find a way to do “bread and butter” work. Stuff that’ll pay rent, groceries etc. 

For the past 3 years as I’ve leaned more into my creativity I’ve grappled with what I do for a living. I’ve alternated between working for startups and during extreme bouts of depression and anxiety, I’ve worked for below living wage delivering pizzas. 

Regardless of what I was paid, the challenges were the same. Giving too much energy to things that don’t contribute to my dreams and then having to find a way to switch gears when I get home and “create”.

I decided to retrain as a copywriter. Again, like so many things I’m touching upon in this post, I’ll go into more detail around why I chose to be a freelance copywriter. This decision to retrain is partly driven by my autism (I’ve been diagnosed) and my ADHD (I’m awaiting a diagnosis). Some of it is driven by the need to have greater flexibility and to earn better money while freeing up more time to work on artistic projects.

I came so close to landing some great clients back around March/April this year. But Covid-19 saw that work disappear. I’m on Universal Credit. This is the first time I’m on benefits. 

Again, I’ve yet to fully allow myself to acknowledge what I feel. I’m frustrated, hurt and angry at my loss of income at a time when I have retrained in a new skill and wanted to make major changes to my lifestyle. 

Let me cut through the noise I’ve just typed above. My self esteem has taken a massive hit. My entire life I’ve struggled to hold down work and earn money, whether it’s when I wasn’t pursuing my dreams and even now while I’m pursuing my dreams.

Basically, those contracts would have been the first time in my adult life I’d be getting paid consistently for something I want to do and enjoy. It was going to be on my terms. It would be to fund my dreams. To keep me going. I’ve taken this set back personally and as a reflection on me and my own abilities. So much so that I’ve not been able to regain any kind of momentum.

I try. I start. I stop. 

I need to forgive myself and remind myself of how hard it’s been for so many people to find work, keep work and earn money this year. I’m not alone. 

I got diagnosed with autism last month. That was huge. For most of my life I’ve known something isn’t quite “normal” or “right” with me. I’ve struggled to hold down jobs, form or maintain friendships and relationships. 

Being diagnosed with autism is a huge win as it allows me to begin to understand myself. But it was a lot to process. Overlapping this with all of the other emotions I’ve struggling with this year. It’s a lot. 
I’ve yet to forgive myself for all the things I did “wrong” related to my autism or that people judged me for related to my autism over four decades of my life. 

I’m anxious about my ADHD diagnosis. The final piece of my mental health puzzle I’ve been trying to solve since 2016. 

You see, even as I write this, I’m only just starting to realise how much I’ve been dealing with this year. 

I’ve succeeded in suppressing almost ALL of it. 

It’s not a shock that I’m currently not ok right now. 

I’m grappling with a very strong and stubborn depressive episode.

I’m in pain and I really want this pain to end. I’ve written about this in a previous blog post called “The Chemicals in my Brain Are Liars”. 

I’ve woken up recently and wished I’d never woken up again. It’s not new, I learn to deal with it. 

Taking stock of this year, I know where the problem lies. This year really hasn’t gone according to how I wanted it to. I have years, decades of unfulfilled potential and output as an artist to make up for. I am closer than ever to carving out MY life, not the one others thrust upon me. 

I’m close. So fucking close. But I’m treating the shortcomings of my achievements this year as an indictment of my own abilities. They’re not. 

I’ve not forgiven myself for how this year has gone. 

I’ve not forgiven myself for the past. For my marrying someone I probably shouldn’t have.

I’ve not forgiven myself for not following my dreams in my 20s and now trying to play catch up.

I’ve not forgiven myself for losing momentum creatively over lockdown. For losing momentum with this blog and my creative practice. 

This blog post is far from my best work. Sentences are not perfect. There’s likely too much repetition and it’ll be deemed “unfocused”.

I’m focusing on all things that this blog post “isn’t”. That’s what’s caused so much creative anxiety and procrastination. 

But what trumps (so sorry for using that word) all of that is what this post IS.

This post IS finished. 

Please stay with me. I have so much to share. I’ll be doing a 2nd write up of 2020 entitled “2020 – The Year So Far” where I focus on my wins and the positives. Things that should be celebrated.

I’ve written a lot of very sad, melancholy and dark work. My output from 2017 to 2018 was largely drenched in that tone and energy. It wasn’t my fault…maybe it was….but shit was hard and I couldn’t frame things in any other way than through pain, cynicism and sorrow.

But that’s been changing. Whether it’s my blog posts or my poetry, I’ll show you darkness, but my goal is to end on the light. 

Light > Darkness

I think that’s another reason why I’ve been reluctant to write and share work with you. I’ve been scared to show you the darkness, the hurt and the pain. There isn’t enough light in this post. But that’s ok. 
My follow up post will have plenty of that. 

I’m learning to trust myself, trust my process, trust my journey and trust my audience. 

Stay with me. Please.

The intermission is over. For now. 

I promise I’ll continue to lead with honesty and lead with love.

Always. 

Zaynub

So, I’m currently summoning up the energy to go through heaps of notes and drafts and ideas for drafts for the blog. There’s a lot I want to say, communicate and share. But this year’s events have thrown me massively off balance.

While I do that, to keep the flame burning, I’ve been performing and reading poetry on Zoom calls.

As I’ve run out of newer material that I wrote this year, I’ve gone through and found work from last year that I’m really proud of. Work that I hope to publish in my debut collection of poetry.

Until then I put things out on the blog as I’m a big believer in sharing creative work instead of hoarding it.

This poem is about and dedicated to my daughter Zaynub, someone who has and will continue to feature in my writing, my work, and my blog.

Here’s the poem:

Zaynub

Catalysed by opposable thumbs
Hips move
Hope is a groove
The future makes movement manifest in the present
This present was almost miscarried on the day of my birth
I can think of no greater tragedy.

Haroon (proud dad)

Written in Morden, South London

Surrender to Love

I’ve grappled with my relationship with my daughter. 

I love her unconditionally. 

However, the first 7 years of my relationship with her are a blur. 

Mental illness and an unhappy marriage with her mother made it impossible for me to be as mentally present as I wanted to be. 

Coupled with my own self-esteem issues rooted in a traumatic and unloving past, I struggled with fatherhood, despite an unlimited reservoir of love that was exclusively reserved for my daughter. 

I bring all of this baggage to my relationship with my daughter. It’s unfair and it acts as a barrier to intimacy.

I need to resolve my issues and I need to do so fast. My daughter is growing up fast and with each passing day, my sense of urgency grows. 

I want to find ways to get closer to her. I’ve had this desire for the entirety of my daughter’s life, and I’ve struggled to find more ways to bond with her. 

If you want a different result, then try something different innit?

My daughter loves gaming and I’ve tried to tap into this by buying her a SNES complete with games such as Super Mario Kart, Streetfighter 2 Turbo, Zelda, and all the classics from the 90s. It worked for a while, but she didn’t connect with it the way I’d wished. Not the plot twist I was expecting, but I decided to pivot. Over the following months, I noticed my daughter and my niece regularly play a game called Roblox on the Internet on their iPads. 

I decided that a good way to bond with my daughter was to ask her if she would let me play this game with her and my niece. Much to my delight, she was open to it. 

Once I downloaded the game, my daughter, my niece, and I logged online, booted up Roblox, and then connected on FaceTime and talked to each other for the duration of our gaming session.

I grew up with Super Mario Bros and Streetfighter 2 Turbo. I couldn’t wrap my head around the games my daughter enjoys and Roblox was no exception. I couldn’t play this game at all; I was rubbish at it. Inept. 

The whole experience of trying to play Roblox was humbling. My ego took a battering. 

But in a strange way, I loved this experience. I got to spend time in my daughter’s (online) world. She took the time to patiently help me navigate the controls of the game and figure out what I was doing. She loved every moment of it, and we engaged with each other. This Saturday afternoon was not what I expected, but the outcome far exceeded my expectations. My heart was full. 

Sometimes fatherhood is about just turning up. It’s also about surrender. You have to be willing to meet your daughter on her terms. 

I am learning to surrender to love.

It’s terrifying.

It’s also fucking beautiful.

Love Is An Act of Sacrifice

“Love is an act of sacrifice”

This is from my favourite poem I’ve written over the past 3 years.

It was inspired by the closing lecture given by Robert McKee when I attended his Story seminar in May 2019.

This line is poetic. Beautiful. 

But now I have to put it into practice.

I’m sitting in a cafe trying to arrange a coffee with my ex-wife. She’s received a lucrative job offer that will take her and our 10-year-old daughter out of London.

Where exactly? I don’t know yet. My ex-wife wants to discuss the details over a cup of coffee. It’s apt. I don’t think I want to have this conversation on the phone. 

But I’m feeling very emotional. I’m sat in a Pret a Manger just off Berwick Street in the West End and I’m crying. The pain is too intense for me to have any success in fighting off the tears. I let out my emotions but occasionally scan the room self-consciously. 

I need to hear my ex-wife out and carefully listen to her. Process what she says and then figure out what’s best for our daughter. 

It may mean that my ex-wife takes the new job and I’ll have to make the compromise of not living near our daughter. 

I feel like I’d just got my life back on track and now this development has knocked me off centre.

Over the past 3 years, while my ex-wife and I navigated our divorce, I hopped around from one dwelling to another. Eight times in total. Each place in which I lived was not suitable to bring my daughter back to when I had my weekends with her. 

Then in November 2019 I moved to Morden in South London to be closer to my daughter. Finally, I’d found a place that was suitable for her to come and spend time with me.

My daughter currently lives a short 15-minute drive away. I’d managed to engineer the perfect set up. However, several weeks into settling into Morden, my daughter and ex-wife told me they’d be moving to Kingston Upon Thames.

My daughter wants a shorter commute to her school. Her mother wants a shorter commute to the school she teaches in. I can’t knock that. 

This required minor adjustments and I wasn’t bothered. However, now, I’m sitting here, speculating over today’s development. This isn’t a slight move around South London, this move will mean I can’t just pop down the road to see my daughter.

How far away will my daughter and her mother move?

Can I put what’s best for my daughter above my own selfish desires?

Assuming I’m able to do that, how will I adjust to this new dynamic?

The only way to find out is by leaning into the change. I must learn to trust myself.