'I feel sad my Dad does not have his daughter in his life — but his loss is far greater than mine'

When Adele Miner was five, and her mother seven months pregnant, she discovered her father was having an affair. Here she writes about the lasting impact of his abandonment

When Adele Miner was five, she learned he father had been having an affair. Picture: Gareth Chaney

As a little girl, I was glued to my mam’s hip. Wherever she went, I followed. She worked evenings when I was around four years old, and the noise of her keys entering the door would spur me from whatever I was doing to run and welcome her home, screaming ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ as she swept me up in her arms. 

I was taken care of by my dad when she wasn’t around, and while he treated me well, we didn’t connect the same way that I did with mam. Even as a child, I felt his distance. He didn’t chat to me the way mam did. He didn’t tell me funny stories or play silly games. He met my basic needs, but emotionally, it always seemed as though his mind was somewhere else.

When I was five, I learned that his mind was indeed somewhere else – he had been having an affair for the past three years.

He shared the news, unexpectedly for everyone, on a random January evening in 2001. My mam, seven months pregnant with my brother at the time, had been looking at bigger homes to move into as the family expanded. An affair and imminent divorce were the last things on my mother’s mind.

It was the last thing on my mind, too, as I played with toys quietly on the floor. Until then, my world as I knew it was quite simple. I had a mam and a dad, a much-wanted sibling en route. My days consisted of going to school and watching cartoons when I came home. 

In that moment, my dad’s admission of his infidelity changed the trajectory of my life and the person I would grow up to become. Over the course of one evening, my entire life became different. My dad packed his belongings and moved out immediately. My mam and I remained in our home until my brother was born, and when he was three months old, we moved from Shropshire, England, to Dublin to live with my mam’s parents in their home.

My dad continued his relationship with his mistress. My contact with him from then on was minimal; he sent birthday and Christmas cards and presents, we had awkward phone calls, but I never saw him in person again.

When I turned 20, I chose to cut contact with him entirely after my brother and I opened Christmas cards made by his two other children, whom we knew nothing about.

'My dad’s admission of his infidelity changed the trajectory of my life and the person I would grow up to become.'

Discovering I have two siblings on Christmas morning was not on my festive bingo card that year. The pain of learning about the existence of two siblings via a Christmas tree finger painting made me vow not to allow him to hurt me again. I wrote him a letter asking him to leave me alone, and from then on, the biannual contact through greeting cards ceased.

I turned 30 this year, marking a decade of no contact with my father. In that time, I have learned a lot about the effect his actions have had on me. 

For much of my teens and early twenties, I denied that his affair and abandonment did anything to me. The divorce rate in Ireland is relatively low compared to the EU and global average (0.7 divorces per 1,000 people according to Rayden Solicitors), but parents splitting up didn’t feel like anything special. They happen; it’s no big deal. 

When I became an adult, I met friends whose dads had passed away, and to me, that was truly sad. My dad story could never compare to the pain of having one who loved you die. So I kept it to myself. I told myself to suck it up and get on with it. It wasn’t until I attended therapy for the first time at 28 that I realised my approach had been all wrong.

Over a year and a half in therapy, I untangled the imprint my dad’s choices have had on my life, realising that this abandonment is part of my DNA. Every action, decision and thought I have can link back to that one seismic event. 

But most interestingly, these effects aren’t all negative. Sure, I carry a certain amount of sadness and anger in me at the unfairness of it all, but still, it has shaped me into the person I am today, and that isn’t something I would change even if given the choice.

I learned quite early that the only person’s actions I can control are my own. I personally cannot understand many of the choices my dad made in his life — I could never imagine being unfaithful in my marriage or inactive in my children’s lives.

But, we are all in charge of our own actions and reactions. While my dad may mindlessly send me a card made by his other children, causing my brother and me shock and hurt, the only thing I can control in that situation is how I respond. 

'In therapy, I untangled the imprint my dad’s choices have had on my life, realising that this abandonment is part of my DNA.' Picture: Gareth Chaney

At times, I live in fear of my dad reaching out again in the future and upsetting me further, but I remind myself that I can handle it whatever way I choose to if that time comes. This mindset has served me well for other, smaller roadblocks I face in life. I am in charge of how I overcome things.

My dad’s actions have spurred me to be the best person I can be. Maybe subconsciously, I want to make up for his shortcomings. I try to navigate life with more kindness, more loyalty and stronger morals than I would otherwise to prove that I am cut from a different cloth. I have clear distinctions for what I believe is right and wrong in life, and every decision I make is based on doing the honourable thing. 

More than I feel sad for myself for not having a father in my life, I feel sad that my dad does not have his eldest daughter in his life. His loss is far greater than mine.

In many ways, my dad’s betrayal of trust has caused me to approach most people I meet with an ounce of scepticism at first, but strangely, it rarely affects my ability to trust and love. Aside from my dad, I have been surrounded by care all my life. 

Love was hooked up to me intravenously from my mam the moment I was born. I received it from her parents and my grandparents, too, unconditionally, who welcomed us into their home with open arms. Over the years, I have collected a small army of incredible people I get to call friends, who support and uplift me when I’m down and celebrate alongside me when I’m up. 

I’ve always managed to form deep connections with people in most places I go. So how could I ever question love’s existence when my life has been full of it?

Of course, there’s the ‘daddy issues’ conundrum. A misogynistic term used to insult and restrain women whose fathers have been difficult or not present in their lives. Most commonly, the colloquial term suggests that women will choose a romantic partner who has traits associated with their unresolved issues or who replicates past relational patterns. For example, seeking out partners who are older, emotionally unavailable, or who mirror past disappointments. 

For me, the notion is entirely redundant – my dad’s behaviour showed me exactly what I do not want in a partner. I am drawn to men who show signs of loyalty, trustworthiness, and reliability. Thankfully, these instincts have served me well, as so far I’ve been shown nothing but loyalty and respect from romantic partners. 

I believe that the person I choose to spend my life with will, in many ways, be the antithesis of my dad.

The final and most impactful effect my dad’s choices have had on me is to carefully consider my own desire to have children. Although my childhood was in no way horrible, I still would not want my children to experience what I or my brother did. My own children do not yet, and may never, exist, but I already know that I love them more than anything else. 

It’s clear to me now that my Dad was not ready to be a father. While I understand it’s easier said than done, I want my children to enter a world where both parents are ready for them. Parental abandonment leaves a scar on children that never heals, and I will do everything I can to break that cycle.