The story of my sperm donor

I feel as though you never really realize the impact a fathers love, or lack thereof, can have on your life. I grew up with my mother who raised me herself (and with the help of a village of course). My dad nowhere to be found. I noticed early on my father wasn’t something my mother loved to talk about. I could sense from a young age that it was something that we just didn’t talk about, and it was peaceful that way. Looking back on it as an adult, I feel like maybe my subconscious knew it was a sensitive subject for her. Growing up, I asked very few questions. At the time my grandfather was my father figure, so for awhile I never really had too much curiosity about my father because my papa filled that void. Around the time I lost my papa is when I started getting increasingly curious about, at this point, my sperm donor. All I gathered was he was away in jail for something bad. I grew up thinking he was doing time for drugs and not paying child support to my mother. The bit about the drugs is still confusing to me because I honestly can’t remember her saying that directly to me because I also came to realize I disassociated a lot as a child. I do however remember her explaining to me that he owed us money to take care of me, but he wasn’t giving it to us. I eventually reached the age where I had this urge to contact him. I had so many questions for him. With the grace of the internet, I locked myself in my room and began my search with what little information I had. I could of thrown up for a million years after finding out what really happened. Why he was really gone. Finding out the truth sent chills through my body. I was happy to have found him but also scared of the information I found. Nonetheless I still had questions that only he could give me answers to. I inevitably had the conversation with my mom and stepdad about reaching out. I could tell my mother was uncomfortable and just wanted to protect me from this for as long as she possibly could. However, they both understood where I was coming from. They both understood this itch that I just had to scratch. I was happy to have found him and to finally ask him everything I’ve wanted to for years. At the same time, I wanted to find him and scream. I grew up fearing Father’s Day at school because while everyone was making cards for their dads, I was making one for my grandpa. While I didn’t mind that because he was the closest thing I had to a father for a long time, it was the fear of kids asking me why I was doing that. I wondered for years why my mom, and I weren’t enough for him to not make fucked up decisions that took him away from us. What he didn’t realize was he was creating a void inside of me that I have to learn to heal. Granted I didn’t know him until I met him at 16 years old, I still suffered from a huge fear of abandonment. Trust issues too. If the one man that was supposed to be my father and protect me and love me couldn’t, how could anyone else? I’ve grown a lot since being the curious 16 year old. I have come to realize that this man is my biological father, however I was raised by my real father. I still heal every day from the issues I adopted from this unfortunate situation, but its taught me to be so strong. I actually talk to my biological father about twice a week. Although I know we will never have the relationship that I wished for every single birthday growing up, it's nice to catch up and just get to know him. I have a lot of issues that I have had to heal surrounding the subject of men for this reason. I don’t trust easily, but when I do open up, I fall…hard. After being let down I spiral because the abandonment makes me crazy. I’m still learning to heal the parts he unknowingly broke within me. To the girls that grew up without fathers, hang in there and never forget that we're just that much stronger of an individual.

XOXO

Alora