I’ve never had a good relationship with my dad. truthfully, we’ve never even had a real conversation. Growing up, he was physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive. not just to me, but also to my mum and my siblings. From a very young age, he made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. He’s the reason I started hating myself so early on.

My struggles with insecurity and body image began in childhood because of him. I was as young as four and he would call me fat and ugly. He was ashamed of how I looked, and he made sure I knew it. When I was still under ten, he would mock my weight in front of our extended family. I can still remember the shame of having my plate snatched from me at gatherings while everyone watched.

It wasn’t just me. I witnessed him violently abuse my mum—strangling her, hitting her—until it got so bad we had to leave. For six months, we lived on a couch at my grandma’s place to escape him.

Now I’m 18. I’ll admit he’s calmed down a lot with age, and maybe he realizes what he’s done. But I don’t talk to him. I don’t show him affection. The trauma he caused still lives in me, and that doesn’t just fade with time. He doesn’t reach out much anyway.

My grandma and mum tell me he cries, that he wishes I was closer to him—but honestly, I don’t care. They remind me, “He’s your father,” but all I can remember is the abuse.

He gives me money, bought me a car—and I’m genuinely grateful. I know I’m lucky to have those things. But he seems to think that material things can fix what he broke. That they can buy my love.

The only thing I’ve ever wanted from him is an apology. A real one. But he’s never said sorry, never taken accountability, never once even told me he loved me.