As a fatherless woman, don’t pity me on Father’s Day

“I’m the person that I am because of the women who raised me, not because of the failings of a man I never knew.”

Raised by a single woman of a single woman, Father’s Day was the F-word in my household growing up. I’ve never celebrated the September holiday; I consider myself to be a strong woman and I’m grateful for being raised this way. But I’m always taken aback by the deep shame I feel when Father’s Day comes around.

Every year it’s like a rotten wound that’s never healed properly. A scab I picked, that bled and got infected again. Flashbacks of school Father’s Day stalls would flood my mind and I’d be reminded once more of being made to sit with the other fatherless kids as everyone looked on in pity. The experience was painful, but not for the reasons you think. It was painful because I felt ashamed.

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What’s worse, the shame I felt seemed like my own to carry. I felt as if I was made to wear the blame for the failings of a man. I was painted with the same brush I’d seen many other women painted with – ‘daddy issues’ – the idea almost feels fetishised in our society. It’s like a scarlet letter flashing on your chest.

As I got older I’d try to embrace it. I’d listen to The Neighbourhood and watch movies like Wild Things, The Crush and American Beauty to try and convince myself this lack of a father figure somehow made me fierce. But these were movies and songs written by men, from the male perspective, telling my story for me. The countless articles on how daughters with absent fathers were somehow more promiscuous than others also felt like a judgment passed on me, one I always felt determined to prove wrong.

This made me afraid to embrace my sexuality as my own, out of fear people would think it was for the approval of a man and look at me with the same dehumanising pity I’d seen them bestow other women. This made dating difficult. I felt like as soon as a man would find out I was raised without a father, they’d wear creased, worried eyebrows and sympathetic frowns. I could recognise it instantly, that I had become something to ‘fix’. A female trope in another Freudian, male fantasy. But I’m not some fragile, broken thing.

The ‘father wound’ is scar tissue, hardened and long-forgotten for 364 days of the year. But that one, dreaded day, when I see the Instagram dedications, father-daughter photos and the well-meaning but patronising “Happy Father’s Day for everyone without a father” posts, I can’t help but feel ashamed once more.

I wish I could tell those who look at me with pity that I’m so proud of the woman I’ve become. Despite outdated, societal beliefs, being raised by strong, single women has taught me what it means to stand tall on my own. I didn’t need a father and I don’t need a man, I date because I want to, and my choices are my own. I’m the person that I am because of the women who raised me, not because of the failings of a man I never knew.

For tips on how to cope with difficult feelings this Father’s Day, head here.