David McElroy

My father was often a bully with his children — but he hid it from anyone outside the family.

He didn’t call it bullying, of course, but he believed he had the divine right to whatever he wanted from us. I’m not talking about when we were small children, although he was more overt and hostile about it then. No matter how old we got, he never accepted us as independent adults.

When he faced even the slightest pushback from me — even in the last years of his life — he would get angry and assert his right to control me. He constantly said things such as, “As your father, it’s my right to…” and then he would name whatever he was demanding at the moment.

In psychological terms, my father had no respect for his children’s boundaries. This lack of ability to respect other people’s boundaries is common with narcissists, but since I grew up believing that his practices must be normal, it took me a long time to try to set boundaries with him as an adult.

After I cut off all contact with him more than a decade ago — after he refused to go to therapy with me to deal with our unhealthy relationship — he refused to accept that boundary. He continued to email me, call me and to show up at my door. At times, he was pathetic and manipulative. Other times, he made threats that scared me — sometimes about vague “dire consequences” if I didn’t do what he wanted.

The photo above is from the last time he came to my house.

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When I was in college, I had a very clear image of myself.

I was the smartest guy in every room. I was a leader. People followed me because they expected great things from me. I was successful at everything I tried. I was going to be given immense political power and prestige soon, because people love a winner. Money would naturally follow, because I was going to do great things.

I wouldn’t have admitted these things, of course, but it’s the way I felt. I’m told by people who knew me then that I exuded a confidence that could seem more like arrogance at times.

I think it’s a miracle that anybody put up with me. At the time, though, it never occurred to me that there was anything wrong with the way I saw myself or the way I carried myself. And I didn’t realize for many years that the way I saw myself was almost completely in terms of my public image.

I saw myself — and judged myself — according to how well I played a role. I can’t remember wanting to be or do things to make myself happy or to make myself a better person. All of my goals focused on the image that others saw.

I’ve had to let go of almost everything I wanted back then. Almost nothing that mattered to me then matters to me today — and the things which mean everything today weren’t even on my radar when I was an arrogant college kid.

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I should be asleep now. It’s 1 a.m. and I’m exhausted. I slept only about four hours last night. Wednesday was a long and exhausting day, made longer by my lack of sleep.

But I’m sitting in the silent darkness of my front yard, watching clouds move across the night sky, creating endless patterns above the dark tree branches above me. One moment the sky is clear and the full moon is bright. The next moment, the clouds mute the light and diffuse its brightness like a giant sheet in the sky.

This is my favorite time of day. There are no people around. No ringing phones. Nobody who needs something from me. Everything seems clear. Life makes more sense.

In this peaceful stillness, I am the closest I come to being joyful and happy these days. My feelings and thoughts turn to a future which seems just barely out of reach. And I always think of her.

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