You were never a bad man and still aren’t. But you are also not perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything you’ve ever done. All the dance recitals you attended, you yelled my name louder than any other parent. The amount of times we've talked about life and adventures is endless. And every time we sang along to Lenny Kravitz in the car like we were right there at his concert, that was a girl and her dad. That was having not a care in the world. That’s what I thought was your love, but I guess I was wrong.

Unconditional love — this is what I thought being a child with parents entailed. What I thought I was receiving my whole life, but in reality, it was only a figment of my imagination. I thought I didn’t have to worry about making a mistake, being genuinely forgetful or even having to reschedule our lunch plans. But I did.

Each year, the consequences for whatever was my wrongdoing grew. So by the time I was 18, an adult, I automatically got treated like one. Subsequently, my consequences were no longer fun-sized. They were serious.

It wasn’t until one random day, two Aprils ago, that I truly found out what being loved by you meant. It was on that one day, when you decided to point the finger at me for the void relationship we’ve had — the relationship, or lack-there-of, during my 18 years of living without you. But you only had your perspective, not mine.

So here’s a breakdown of what that looked like.

My baby and toddler years — 0 to 5 — were the best because you couldn’t yell at someone who barley even developed a vocabulary. Between 5 and 8, I was expected to reach out to all of my family members via phone (because texting was not a thing), and if I didn’t because I simply forgot or the introverted personality you didn’t even bother to consider got scared, there was a consequence. Yelling.

8 to 12 I was expected to ask random people, “Where’s the restroom?” by myself in every store we went to. If I didn’t, I couldn’t go. You weren’t evil, so clearly if I really had to go, you’d cave and ask. But I wasn’t a big girl, so I needed to grow up. There was a consequence. Bashing. 13 to 15 was public transportation. You’re a city man and naturally expected your suburban-grown daughter to be just that, a city man. Get my own metro card, sit next to random people, know how to walk across the street without getting hit, but not wait for the cars to stop moving. Naturally I sucked. You said I'd never be able to survive in the city, which to you meant that I’d never be able to thrive as an adult in the real world. There was a consequence. Failure.

15 to 18 there was less expectation. Partially because the expectations became unattainable, and nothing I did was quite good enough. After dealing with the previous years, there was less interaction between us. And this was probably because neither of us were too happy the 30 or so days we spent together each year.

But back to April — in April it all clicked. In April, you unintentionally put it all on the table. Put everything in perspective for an older version of your once happy-to-be-adored-no-matter-the-consequence, dancing-on-stage, singing-in-the-car baby girl. I completely digested what you presented to me that day and suddenly, everything clicked.

To you, love was simple: “Of course love comes with conditions. There is nothing wrong with me. I’m your father, not your buddy. Get your head right.” You told me I was living a lie if I thought otherwise. That the feeling and perceptions I’ve had, or what I thought and considered to be love, were not your truths. You said I was to blame for not realizing. Then you ended the conversation: “My darling daughter, what is your perception of life when life has smiled on you? To have problems so great? You need therapy. “

I realized on that day that I was living with conditions, that you only showed me love sometimes, not all the time. In retrospect, I was able to see these conditions for what they were and how they advanced into my adulthood. Since that day, I haven’t talked to you. For a year after that day, every few months you'd send me texts hinting that you wanted to speak. They got shorter and shorter due to my lack of reply, until the last one: “I love you."

After that text I blocked you.

You see, love is so important. It should never be conditional, only unconditional. It’s so necessary, and it’s so beautiful. Everyone describes love and shows love in their own particular way, and even though you love me, your conditions are just too particular.

I know you’re not a bad person. And even though you may blame me, I don’t blame you. I’m not a stereotype or a statistic. You’re not a deadbeat dad or someone who left me. You and Mom separated for a reason, and I applaud it. You’re human and have just as many emotions, problems and needs as anyone else does.

But what I need is to live my life. To thrive, explore, create, and enjoy all the moments I can. I deserve to feel loved.

I need to forgive you, and I realize now that I finally have. Because it's in these past two years that I've flourished immensely without you. However, I need to suppress you, so I can develop my own definition of love.

They say as children, we learn from our parents' mistakes, so I think mine will be simple to learn from. I continue to learn more about how I love others every day.

I considered sending this to you, but didn’t know how you’d receive it because you’re not a God fairing man.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

And my love? It's unconditional.

I love you.