The last two men I loved had a habit of staring down at the ground in silence with their tails between their legs, as I calmly told them how I felt. I thought of that as I watched my father do the same exact thing the other day.

Maybe what I’ve been looking for this whole time is his love. Here is a man, weak and broken. A soul must be in there somewhere. Maybe that’s why I am drawn to men who seem lost, I see a version of the man who made me.

My father’s son, and name’s sake, is the most financially successful, he carries pride in that. My sister, daddy’s little girl, was always the prettiest. The eldest two are obsolete. And then there’s me.

I’ve made the most noise, caused the most discomfort, and presented the clearest mirror. I asked myself why it always has to be me that has the hard and earth-shattering interactions with him. Maybe that’s part of my purpose here.

My father, a victim of his own circumstances, becomes defensive and lashes out when backed into a corner. I allowed him to do so, it was the only way to back him further into the corner. He angrily came for me, then he added, “I hope you aren’t expecting an apology because you’re never going to get one.” I waited until he was finished. And there we stood, me staring directly at him, and him looking down, out of defenses. Then I held the mirror up.

As he looked down, I thought for a second he would start to cry. He fidgeted with his hands and bounced his knee up and down. I knew I had cut him deep. And as he spoke with his body language, I studied him and saw someone else. I had seen that same stance last winter, fascinating. There are my daddy issues.

Breaking my toxic patterns with men starts here, where I see them in my father. Understanding that feeble, hesitant, and defensive behaviors in men are not signs of love, but rather the unwillingness to grow and evolve. I think I’ll start there.