My Awakening

So turn back the clock to my early 30s I was in my ‘prime’, editor of a magazine, hair and makeup done professionally, French tipped nails, little black dress, and stilettos. I had arrived early for my birthday party in a nice bar, because I was a control freak I had to check the layout, the catering and the sound while the band warmed up. I got myself a Redbull vodka while I waited for my friends, cue friends on time as I requested and cue the “wooos” as we did our first tequila shots.

I gathered my closest around me and told them, "Don’t look now but I am fucking the lead singer of the band". "Focus, I need all of your help, I have invited another guy that I am interested in, and I need to strategically try and make out with him to test the chemistry to see which one I want to go home with tonight, ok?"

They all laughed and cheered and we took another shot. As the drinks flowed and the dancing began I looked at my options, oh shit the singer is playing John Mayer daaamn, I looked at the other guy but god he’s got such a good beard and he's dark and handsome. With the help of friends, the plan was a success and I managed to make out with both within the hour when they were both in the same bar….I was pretty stoked I got away with it.

The lucky guy left early in the morning, well, I kicked him out because he had disco armpits and he was stinking out my room. And all I could think of was this will make a chapter in my book 'Daddy Issues’. Daddy Issues was a comedy I had spent months writing, and years gathering scandals for. I made humour out of all my bad experiences with men, it was full of hilarious stuff like what I did to my boyfriend while he was in jail, seduction, betrayal, manipulation and even judging cock sizes, ya know real hilarious shit.

The title was apt because you see I hadn’t talked to my father for many years. I had cut him out of my life after realising it was easier than coming to terms with me hating him and his life choices. I had enough after my teens were full of trying to talk him out of killing himself for the guilt he felt as an abusive father and partner. 

So there I sat, hungover in bed writing. Something within told me to pause writing for a second and read back through some of the pages I thought I was proud of. 

But was I? Was I actually proud?

A deep spiritual awareness came over me as I read the pages back to myself. Was I blaming my father for all my poor choices with men? 

Wait… Have I been hating all men? 

Wait… was this one of those being touched by Jesus moments that everyone talks about?

But I thought those moments were supposed to feel good?! Shit, do I now have to take responsibility for my own poor choices? Responsibility for my own life?! I felt so uncomfortable and started to contemplate ringing the other guy to have sex with so I could feel better. 

Oh God, it’s too late… the emotions… first came shame, then guilt, then rage (what the fuck is that here for and how do I express that one), then deep grief.  I’m talking waves and waves of everything I had suppressed behind my humour. After the tears stopped I realised I had to forgive my father and all the men that ever treated me poorly. And maybe if I try hard enough I can forgive myself.

With all my anger, I hit delete on all the chapters I had written… Then I hit delete from the recycle bin. As I did, it felt like my heart opened wider and the heavy burden of resentment slipped off my shoulders. I could forgive! I was claiming control of my own life.

A week later my dad rang me at work, he told me something that changed my life forever…

“Justine, it's dad, I have cancer, I have 9 months to live,” he said breaking down. To which I replied: “Why did you call me at work?!”

Okay… so I wasn't a Saint yet, not quite enlightened yet Jesus. But apparently, it doesn’t happen overnight.

In the following months, I made a few trips to see him. It turned out he liked my dark humour and we often shared an inappropriate joke or two. 

The last time I saw him was in the hospital… With his eyes looking down in shame, he said “I have really fucked up my life haven’t I?”

To which I replied: “no dad, it was precisely how it was meant to be… You’ve taught me so much.”

He looked up at me and the most enormous sigh came out of his failing lungs. It was as if the burden was released from him too.

At that moment I understood there was an unhealed child in my father, the one whose father had a heart attack and died when he was only 8 years old. He didn’t know what to do, so he ran away into nature and never went to his father’s funeral. He was just an unhealed little boy stuck in a man’s body. 

I had felt forgiveness before, but I had never felt this depth of compassion before this moment. Compassion felt like a deeper love, it was a love I had never felt before, it was as if the more I loved him the more I felt loved.

What this experience taught me was we don’t always get the lessons delivered the way we wish for them to come, but when we see enough perspectives, other people’s pain and suffering doesn’t have a hold of our life.

Now, awakened to this, I have been writing a different life story – there is no limit to the compassion I feel for others. 

And I’m proud to say it is my father, by default, who taught me that.