I (F33) had a very unstable childhood—we moved 27 times, and I didn’t have close friends until I was 16. That same year, my father abandoned me and ignored my birthday. I was prepping for my high school French exam when he demanded I clean the house. My mom stepped in, they argued, and she left. My siblings and I followed with small bags, scared to stay. We ended up in my cousin’s tiny Paris apartment—six people, 9m², no toilet.

My dad disappeared for years. I got into university on my own, no support. At 20, he reappeared and promised to pay my engineering school tuition. He stopped after 3 months. I nearly dropped out, but thankfully found a work-study program that saved me.

When I got my first engineering job, he came back again. I gave him another chance. Then I found out he was sleeping in my parking spot and storing things there without asking. During COVID, I let him crash at my place for the winter.

I also met my son's father around then. My dad didn’t care about the relationship—just my apartment. When I moved out, I had him sign a lease and asked for rent (I was pregnant). He didn’t pay and told me being a landlord was my problem. My partner and I later moved back in and decided not to charge rent to help him save. He bought an old car instead.

After I split from my son’s father, I asked my dad to move out of the baby’s room. He did—when I was 6 months pregnant. I got very little help from him or my family. At 8 months, I carried all the baby stuff up 4 flights of stairs alone. Two weeks later, I returned from an OB appointment and found he’d moved in again—without asking.

I was shocked, exhausted, and didn’t know how to respond. I was on maternity leave with low income, and he barely contributed. I had to find work when my baby was a month old. When I told him I needed the flat back, he sat me down, took my baby, and insulted me—called me a failure, blamed me for everything.

I lost the job shortly after and moved in with my mom. He moved into my apartment again—without asking—and started rearranging things. I eventually got a job abroad, and he stayed in the apartment for months, piling up unpaid bills. I nearly lost the place. It took me almost a year to afford a basic car, and he mocked me for not getting a better one.

Now, 3 years later, I’m still paying off the debt he left behind. I’ve realized how much trauma I’ve carried. Any time I speak up, I’m gaslit or blamed. I’ve been made to feel like a failure for being a single mom—even though I’m the first daughter, an engineer, a homeowner, and I keep pushing forward.

I don’t want to carry his name anymore. It feels like a reminder of everything I’ve survived. I’m even considering legal action for the damage he caused me financially and emotionally.

AITA for wanting to change my last name and finally cut ties?