My Dad Still Irritates Me

I’m generally a calm, level-headed guy. But my dad is the only person who really gets me worked up. The things he does, the things he doesn’t do, the things he says or things he doesn't say – they all bother me to some extent. I can’t have a serious conversation with him, and I even sometimes find it hard to look him in the eyes.

I don’t always know why I react this strongly. I'm not around him all the time, but when I am, I turn into someone else. I'm reminded of a quote from Carl Jung¹:

Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.

So what can I learn about myself here? I’ve been sitting with this for a while, and this is what I’ve come to so far.

When my dad does or says something that bothers me, I’m often left with this unspoken frustration. I feel dismissed, unheard, or unimportant.

A quick example: I recently mentioned I’m looking at buying a specific car. He immediately frowned and jumped into all the reasons why I should consider a different vehicle instead. He doesn’t really listen and he doesn't ask questions. So I'm left feeling shut down and withdrawn. It's like I'm a hurt little boy again.

If I say something, it'll turn into an argument. But if I don't, I just end up feeling bad about myself. I wonder if my reaction is not only a response to the current moment, but to all the other times I felt dismissed by him. All the times I felt like I wasn't good enough.

But I want his approval so badly. When I was younger, I'd often just do what he said even if it didn't sit right with me. Gaining his approval meant disregarding my own feelings. And so I often found myself in a lose-lose situation. Starved of paternal affection. Or left feeling resentful and bitter.

In some ways, becoming an adult has meant discovering myself, what I like, how I feel, and what I want. For too long, I disregarded all of that, just to get the love that I needed. He used to be so angry all the time. He would yell at me and I shut down. But he's since changed. He's quieter now. I know he means well. He just doesn't know how to be there for me. I’m trying to have more patience with him. It’s tough, though. These days the roles feel reversed – I’m the one getting angry with him.

I am trying to understand myself better. But sometimes I feel like knowing isn't enough. It’s as if my reaction is a cumulative response to all those earlier hurts. My nervous system is slow to trust. I don’t know exactly how to break this cycle. I want us to get along. I want to be able to trust him with my thoughts and feelings. But I’m not sure he has the bandwidth for that.

I’ve brought this up with him before, but it’s always delicate because he tends to get defensive. Sometimes it feels like it’s too late to change anything. I am trying to change. I want him to change too. But I can't force it.

I just feel so hurt being around him sometimes. Old wounds get brought up and I'm tired of being on the defense. I sometimes find myself lashing out preemptively – maybe as a way to protect myself from getting hurt again. But I know he’s hurting too. So we stay stuck.

I’m sharing this because I suspect this kind of dynamic with a same-sex parent is not uncommon for those of us struggling with our sexuality. That longing to have a dad who really cares, who you can trust with your inner world – that’s good and natural. But when it’s gone unmet for a long time, it tends to leak out in other areas of life.

I don’t think it’s too late. The best I can do is focus on what I can control. That is, myself. It takes time, genuine conversations, and probably some apologies on both sides. It’s exhausting, but the older I get, the more I feel these relationships matter. I want a good, real relationship with my dad, even though it’s been such a challenge.

Sometimes I wonder if it would be simpler to just pull back and not care as much. But I don’t really want to do that either. I still want some kind of relationship with him, even if it’s not the one I wish we had. I’m just tired of feeling this way when I’m around him. So for now I’m just trying to be honest about how much it still hurts.

1) Jung, C. G. (1963). Memories, dreams, reflections (A. Jaffé, Ed.; R. Winston & C. Winston, Trans.). Pantheon Books.