It’s hard to battle your Dad, or any other close relative, for that matter. It’s on a parallel with battling your conscience, like fighting yourself; but only marginally better with a brilliant feeling of satisfaction and the closest thing to fulfilment some children have ever felt.
To fight something, you need to hate it. This is your incentive; or your motivation. It becomes complicated when it’s a parent, because they’re under your skin. You’ve trusted them most/all of your life, and there lies this awful, terrifying idea that they’ve helped make you who, or according to them ‘what,’ you are. Because these parents in question will, of course, be adamant that they are always right, without failure, and you have always been wrong, and will always be wrong. You loose total trust in yourself and your opinion; because this God-like figure knows you’re wrong and reminds you of it, frequently. So, if you battle this God, you basically have to put all your trust back in yourself-you’re denying them that glint of satisfaction they gather from belittling you constantly. However, this game plan is fundamentally flawed-if you’re not quite strong enough to do this, if you have remotely weak moments, then ‘FamilyGod’ will verbally reduce you to a crying splodge of putty, calling you “useless, pathetic, unorganised, incompetent etc.” In these times, you may actually believe that you are all of the above, or that one or more apply to you. (They don’t; it just take a while, and quite a bit of distance, 250 miles to be approximate; for the younger, littler person to have this big revelation.)
If so, then you are beginning a part-time battle with yourself. That’s why some people, hate themselves sometimes, some days. “I don’t deserve to like myself” is common reasoning of the subconscious. You win some, you loose some. It becomes complicated when you don’t actually feel like you ‘loose’ some-he wants you to hate yourself; so, if you hate yourself, not only has it meant you let him win, but it turns out you share something in common, with a sick twist. Well; you are related, after all.
