#i have multiple family members who were bitten by dogs! and SHIT ALL WAS DONE! ans those were juat poorly controlled smaller breeds!

[borealing]

there have been more dog attacks in england so instead of doing something like. addressing the fact that people can own dogs and not train them and those dogs will then bite people, sunak is going to straight up ban a dog breed. this seems like it will help. definitely.

[myaekingheart]

So, there’s just some stuff I feel like I need to get off my chest right now.

When I got up this morning, I didn’t even want to think about coming onto this hell-site. Normally my complaints are all in jest, like I laugh about how the Tumblr community can be really corrupt and unforgiving but it’s never anything serious. It’s on trend to laugh about how ridiculous the cliques on here are. But during this week, things weren’t so funny anymore.

I blame myself, mostly. I’m the one who opened my big mouth and got involved with something that was never my place to begin with. I saw a post I didn’t agree with and I said something about it, but I didn’t think it would escalate to the point that it did. Maybe you saw the back and forth, maybe you didn’t, but the gist of it is that I got in an altercation with a hardcore radical feminist over the significance of the father figure and it blew way out of control.

I’m not sorry for the things I said. I think for the most part, I was being pretty reasonable. Disagree with me if you’d like, but that’s my opinion and I‘m sticking with it. What bothered me about this wasn’t the fact that this person had apparently experienced what they consider abuse from their father, but the overarching generalizations they were making about fathers as a whole. Seeing someone denounce an entire demographic solely based on their own negative experiences really rubbed me the wrong way. I understand that if you’ve been abused by your father, or any parent or adult whatsoever, you are more than allowed to feel resent, aggravation, and even hatred towards them. You’re allowed to cry and curse and question. That’s only natural. I would feel the same way in that predicament.

The problem arises, however, when you take those negative emotions and thrust them unto other people. You cannot apply a localized incident to the perception of the whole. Child abuse is common, I understand that. But that does not mean it’s normal. That does not mean that every other person has been beaten, belittled, and backstabbed by their parent. That does not mean that every father has looked at his daughter and thought to himself “What a disappointment because you don’t have a dick.” Some do, yes, but all and that I feel was the meat of the argument. This person refused to believe that any father was capable of goodness and kindness, that no matter what these men are sexist pigs who raise their daughters to believe they are inferior, that they overemotional and worthless, “raised as servants and trophies.” I’ve met and learned from a lot of people in my life, and especially the past few months as my colleagues have bore their rawest, truest selves in personal essays and short stories workshopped in class and out of the 60-some kids whose journeys I’ve read, only a small percentage have ever spoken ill of their fathers across both genders. If anything, they have praised their fathers for working multiple jobs to support their families or for the tender reactions they’ve had to their children’s suicide attempts after one too many classmates bullied them. Perhaps in different social circles, in different cities or countries or cultures, things are different and fathers are normally abusive and treat their daughters as if they are worthless and inferior. In fact, I know of quite a few places where this is probably considered the norm. I think without the context of where, it’s hard to pinpoint what is normalized and what isn’t because the world varies so greatly from one mile to the next but that doesn’t mean any of that treatment is right or excusable. Nobody deserves to be treated like that by a parent. That, I comprehend completely.

This “discussion” could’ve been conducted in a civilized and respectful manner. We could’ve been adults about this. But we weren’t. I did my best to be respectful, to try and point out where this person was going wrong with their viewpoint because I personally find it shameful and petty and completely narrow-minded to believe that there is only one way to experience something and that however you experienced it is that one way. It shows a sincere lack of empathy and that your only concern is to further your own agenda by forcing your close-minded ideals on someone else. Like, for example, someone only likes to eat their sandwich when it’s cut in rectangles. They’ve never eaten a sandwich any other way. This is fine until you meet someone who eats their sandwiches cut in triangles. This is new and different and scary. You can either accept that people eat their sandwiches all different kinds of ways or you can completely denounce that it is even possible to eat your sandwich cut in triangles and tell anyone who believes otherwise that they are wrong and that their triangles are rectangles in disguise or something else completely ridiculous. I feel like that’s where the entire issue stemmed from, though: a refusal to believe that anything other than your own experiences are valid, and that people only ever experience things the same way you do.

This tension, I feel, rose to such a fever pitch, and this person apparently grew so frustrated with my refusal to agree that all fathers are horrible human beings, that I guess they ran out of tools in their arsenal to use against me and had to resort to personal attacks and belittling. Saying because I’m young, my prefrontal cortex hasn’t fully developed yet as if to form some sort of insult against my cognitive functioning and social capabilities. So basically as if to insinuate that my age is an excuse to peg me as less intelligent. Calling me an abuse-hating piece of shit solely because I don’t think it’s right for someone to hate a whole demographic based on a localized experience (but apparently that’s a trend these days? Like how the news reports specific incidents in which cops have hurt/shot/killed members of the black community, and suddenly every cop is a racist pig who deserves to die. Or if someone had been bitten by a dog as a kid so therefore considers every dog dangerous and wants them to be shot in the head or abused or something as if that’s going to atone for it.) Let me just repeat this: I’m not telling you to trust men, because trusting anyone without evidence of them being worthy is a stupid mistake anyways. If your father has proven that he is not worthy of your trust and respect, then by all means, don’t grant him that privilege. The trauma they have inflicted on you and anyone else whose shared your experiences is disgusting and wrong, and I don’t want to see girls raised in that narrow-minded, disgusting standard. Talk about your trauma, talk about your frustration, curse and cry and do whatever else you want to express what you feel about this, but just know that men treating their daughters like this is not normal and it’s not okay and not every father does this, so please do not try to make everyone else in the world conform to your own perception just because you have had a negative experience because not everyone shares that and to believe otherwise, or even say that that doesn’t matter, is petty and close-minded and sad.

Another contributor to the conversation even went so far as to blatantly assume I was a man because my views differed so greatly from their own, and then when I stated that I was, in fact, a woman, they went on to say that because I didn’t agree with their views, I might as well be a man. As if women are only worth advocating for and protecting if they align to a certain set of views. Denouncing my right to be a woman because I disagree is honestly so sexist and disgusting and I still can’t get it out of my head. I just cannot believe that apparently even though I’m a woman, I’m apparently viewed as scum and no better than those big, awful, misogynistic men because I don’t want what men have done to you to influence your demeanor so strongly that you spend your life stewing in hatred. I don’t think that’s any way to live, but do what you want. I have no control over how you live your life.

The thing that aggravated me more than anything, however, was the last condescending note on the last message I replied to: “It’s ok, I bring you the message of hope: your father doesn’t matter and you don’t need his approval to be happy.”

This seriously set me off. This person knows nothing of my father and to assume that he doesn’t matter solely because their experiences with their own father made them bitter and fostered a hatred for fathers as a whole is disgusting.

I don’t talk about my father a lot, and I don’t reveal a lot of information about him solely for the sake of protecting him (because I’m very protective over him) but I feel like I need to say something now. I need to let you know how far from my father deviates from his insinuation that he does not matter and that his approval is unimportant.

My father grew up his entire life wanting to be a police officer, and he fought for decades to achieve his dream. For years, he faced nothing but setbacks. He nearly lost his arm when it was crushed in a printing press. It’s a miracle he didn’t need an amputation. This happened mere weeks before his last test in the police academy, the one that would grant him a job if he passed. All of that hard work went down the drain, and he had to spend years in rehab just to get functionality of his arm back. Through that rehab, he began woodworking and had his own business where he’d work as a vendor at craft shows. Becoming a cop was a pipe dream at this point. The business was keeping us afloat just fine anyways, until the economy crashed and our business went under. He worked meaningless retail jobs just to keep us afloat, we moved every year, we even got evicted once and had to live in a hotel for a little while. He worked in a juvenile detention facility for a short time where he’d get into massive altercations with delinquent teens, one of which pulled his thumb back so far in a fight that my dad had to get surgery and go through another round of rehab. During this time, my dad was unhappy. He wasn’t pleased with where his life was going, and I think he felt like a failure because he was struggling to support his wife and child. There were times when my parents would fight and he would reach a breaking point and storm out. I resented him for a long while for this, but in retrospect I understand. I would’ve done the same. Throughout it all, though, he never made me feel as if I was incapable of doing anything or was inferior because of my gender. He rallied for me no matter what, he pushed me to work hard and kick ass and succeed in life. We’ve butted heads a lot and had our disagreements, but when I look back I respect and understand his perspective and my current self agrees with his views because I know I was naive and selfish back then and that what I thought was best for me may not have been the right path. I have seen the effects of financial turmoil, rejection, prejudice, and depression firsthand through the experiences of my father. I have caught him on the phone with my mother at rock bottom, saying he doesn’t understand why he tries anymore and saying he’d be better off dead. I remember stealing the phone from his hand and throwing it to the other side of the room, screaming crying at him how wrong he was because I knew he was worth more than he ever believed he was. When I was in middle school, after much encouragement from my mother, my dad finally decided to try becoming a police officer again. We pursued eighth grade and the police academy in parallel. After he graduated, he spent four years applying for jobs but his gray hair was an asset of discrimination. Nobody wanted to hire an old guy because he might be incapable of doing everything a twenty-something can. Finally, he was met with a department who wanted him, but his qualifications were quickly reaching their expiration. If he was going to finally do this, he would have to travel eight hours away to the state’s law enforcement headquarters, meet with the in court, and plead for an extension. This department promised to back him up. My dad made the long journey with hope that he’d finally achieve his dream. The department that wanted to hire him backed out last minute. My dad had to stand all alone in front of the higher ups and plead his case. A case which they rejected. My dad’s qualification expired and he still had not been hired. At this point, he no longer saw the point. He was prepared to give up. My mom refused to let him. They saved up all their money so he could afford to go through the police academy again and get re-certified. He graduated shortly after I graduated high school. He started applying again. Finally, someone wanted to hire him. And the best part was that it was our own county, so we wouldn’t have to move. This was a really drastic change for all of us as my dad began working 12 hour shifts on the road in a time when Black Lives Matter and hatred against the police was beginning to rapidly rise. This coupled with the fact that I was a full-time college student now, I was caught up in a boy who didn’t love me back, I was losing all my friends, and I was engaging in unhealthy eating habits all caused me to spiral. I nearly dropped out of college, which infuriated my father. He refused to let me give up, and didn't speak to me for two days when I insisted. At the time, I hated him for it but looking back from where I am now, I understand. He saw himself in me: that hopeless, angry, depressed being who didn't think they were capable enough and just wanted to take the easy way out. I took the bus to campus behind his back to beg an advisor to let me drop my classes. This advisor, who retired before I could thank him, convinced me to only drop half of my courseload. I confided in him about my fears, telling him of how I couldn't eat or sleep or focus because all I could think about was if my father was going to home that night. Of how every morning hug before he left for work might be the last. It haunted me. I couldn't stand to lose him. My dad and I have always had this very special relationship. When my mom's maternity leave ended, she went back to work and my dad raised me for the first year of my life. He always rallied for me and raised me under the notion that I was capable of anything I put my mind to. He never made me feel as if I was inferior or worthless or unloved. Everything he said and did was with the intention of encouraging me toward success, to achieve everything I could've possibly wanted. And while he achieved his own dream, things didn't get any easier. His field training officer constantly wrote shitty progress reports and poked fun at my father for his age, even if he was doing everything right. This affected his job performance so greatly that he was nearly fired because they thought he was incapable of doing the job correctly. Eventually, they came to an agreement. My father was put in the jail and trained as a corrections officer, making him dual-sworn, and would spend the year like that before being permitted to work on the road again. Despite still being in the corrections academy at the time, he was mistaken for a seasoned professional. To this day, he still works in the jail as a highly respected officer. It's not what he originally planned, but it's the hand he was dealt and he's still happy. And I could not be prouder of the man whom I call dad. Neither of us have been perfect-- we've butted heads and had our disagreements-- but in the end I understand why he's done the things he's done. He has fought against every setback thrown at him and still achieved his success and for that, he is the most resilient, inspiring human being I have ever had the honor of knowing. I seek his approval not because he is my father or even because he is a man but because I highly respect him. I want him to be proud of me. His approval is important to me because he does matter. The fact that someone who doesn't even know any of this had the audacity to tell me otherwise is why I reacted the way I did, because honestly how dare you.

I know I am incredibly lucky. I know I am privileged to have been gifted a father so strong and wonderful. He has left an immense impact on my life, my behavior, and my perception of the world that I am forever grateful for. I am highly protective of him because of all these things.

This is not to say that I expect all fathers to be so great. I know that's not true. I know there are fathers out there who are completely horrible. I have seen that firsthand, as well. My boyfriend's father has filled him with broken promises and favors a son that is not even of his own blood. My best friend's father has been less than kind to both her and her mother and brother. Yet in both of these instances, despite the awful things these men may have done, in both cases neither are filled with so much hatred so as to completely denounce their father. They still care for their dads and would never wish anything ill upon them. Even the great Audrey Hepburn, whose father abandoned her as a child and was a Nazi sympathizer, reconciled with the man and supported him financially until his death. Perhaps these are just specific cases of rare compassion, an anyone else in the world would seethe and curse and spit. I can't help but humbly admire their strength. It's not easy to look at someone whose wronged you and tell them that you forgive them, that you would never wish harm upon them, and that you still care about them. Because hatred is easy. It takes no effort to end the discussion and walk away, to scowl and badmouth. You can live your entire life like that. And everyone is guilty of it. It's something I still struggle with to this day, as I imagine every does and will continue to do until the end of their lives.

If your father, or parent or any adult for that matter, has abused you then of course by no means are you required to forgive them. You can curse and cry and be angry about it. No matter how common it may be, treating your child like shit is wrong and abnormal and no one deserves to be subjected to that. It's only human to hold resentment toward those experiences but the way I see it is that we all have a choice: we can either let it define us, let that anger and hatred consume our every waking moment, or we can learn from those experiences, prove ourselves successful and strong, and pursue happiness in spite of our tragedies. Granted, Rafiki says it much more eloquently than I do: "The past can hurt but the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it." I'm not here to tell anyone how to live their lives, but I know that letting yourself stew in hatred gets old after a while. It rots your insides and leaves you cold and lifeless and tired. I don't think that's any way to live. We have such a finite amount of time on this earth, I can't imagine wanting to waste it feeling bitter when you can break those chains and learn to embrace something brighter with the cards you've been dealt. Maybe I'm naive, but I'd like to believe that all humans are inclined to be inherently good. We are complex, imperfect creatures who make mistakes and stumble but to err is only human. Everyone fucks up but it's how we react to those situations that truly define us. It's easy to be cynical-- the world is dark and cruel place with vile, selfish people-- but there's good in it, too. At the end of the day, we need to believe in the good in spite of the bad.

Mistakes and mistreatment are like paint. They build up over time until the entire canvas is smothered in ugly splotches and dribbling onto the floor. It's always going to be there somewhere in your house, but what you decide to do with it is your choice. You can let it sit there and resent it's existence, scoffing and sneering at it as it constantly looms, completely unavoidable. Or you can pick it up, lock it in the closet, and start a new canvas. One where you decide what to paint. You can bring continue to paint the same ugly picture, or you can paint something new and decide whether to include colors from the first picture or not. Either way, the choice is yours. Leaving the first one alone is easy. It requires no effort. But after a time, certain color combinations can make you sick if you live within them too long. It's not fulfilling to look at. Why waste so much time staring at something that makes you unhappy? Even if you decide to paint something new, however, your canvas is yours and yours alone as is the same with everyone else. No one can tell you what colors to apply, or even pick up your paintbrush, but you cannot do the same for others. Not everyone will need to put the first picture in the closet, and that's okay. Sometimes other people's paintings just come out prettier the first time around. But that doesn't mean you can splatter your own snot green and vomit yellow onto someone else's canvas because you're bitter and think every first canvas is inclined to be nasty and ugly from the getgo. To believe otherwise, to see colors that are not there, is only furthering your own agenda and contributing to a bigger problem. Accept that not everyone's canvas is the same. Accept that you have the option to put yours in the closet and repaint, that you don't need to stare at something so ugly for the rest of your life and harbor resentment towards every canvas in the world. The choice is yours:  you can stew in hatred or you can make the choice to grow. I'm not here to tell anyone which to pick, because that's not my choice. Only you can make that decision. I just hope that anyone facing a struggle and harboring resentment toward anyone can find that strength to not let it define them, to work towards finding their own happiness and making peace with the circumstances they've been dealt. Everyone deserves happiness, it's just whether or not we decide to pursue it in spite of the negative that dictates what path we take.