Men & The Women They Date With Daddy Issues

Now, I am neither young nor do I consider myself conventionally attractive; my time as an object of desire has passed. Yet, this subject remains relevant to me. It’s evident — I have unresolved issues with my father. And it’s from this point that I begin to unravel my backstory.

Many individuals relinquish their personal accountability by clinging to labels, a path I urge you to avoid. My father, whose career was making fishing lures and diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, often excused his absence at my baseball games by saying, “I’m schizophrenic, so I can’t attend.” I’d scan the field, hoping against hope to see him there, but he never showed. It left me wondering, where was he? What was he doing instead? Did his love for me extend beyond words?

The cycle of repeating known patterns is a peculiar phenomenon. It’s suggested that women are often drawn to figures resembling their fathers, possibly even finding familiarity in mistreatment. If a father overlooks his daughter, relegating her to seeking attention by hanging from monkey bars and pleading, “hey daddy, look at me,” only to receive a dismissive wave — it sets a tone. It’s a far cry from the enthusiastic recognition she craves.

There was someone who loved me profoundly, enough to marry me. I never thought I was good enough to be married. I thought I was a pile of dog shit by the time I left for the Air Force.

When we exchanged vows amid the season’s first snow at a ski resort in Telluride, Colorado, on October 12th, 2007. I believe there was love, though perhaps not sufficiently sustained. Our marriage ended in divorce, primarily because I still thought I was dog shit, but he had a way of making the feel alive. He told me I was someone and not the product of childhood abuse and neglect.

Love is indeed a complex entity, governed by its own rules where everything seems permissible, even the painful parts. Maybe, in the realm of love and conflict, the hardships we endure are part of the journey.

A few weeks ago, I connected with someone through a dating app we will call this character “two-date-wonder…” So “two-date-wonder” visited my office, where I offered him a complimentary session for his neck, mainly because I was eager to meet him. We even spent my birthday together. I took care of him, he ignored me.

He doesn’t intentionally try to ignore me. Well, who knows. He says he has a few labels he identifies with.

It appears to be a recurring theme in my life. My own pattern. I find echoes of my father in the men I become involved with, regardless of how deeply I try to bury his influence or the additional years of therapy I undertake. His presence manifests in the dismissive attitudes and even the violence of my past partners.

“Daddy, please leave me be. I’m grown now, weary, and my life is far from easy. I’m constantly extinguishing fires, one after the other.”

“I’ve outgrown the need for you, Daddy, to dictate my patterns of attraction.”

I yearn for a man who genuinely loves me, who is there for me, who cheers “hell yeah” at the sight of me swinging from the monkey bars, who adores my red hair and freckles, and who truly finds me as charming as can be. Because I am deserving of love. Because I am beautiful. And, most importantly, because I love myself.

In our most recent exchange with this “two-date-wonder”, he yelled, barely allowing me to speak, snapping me out of my idealisms for him, asserting he didn’t know me — even though we became intimate on my birthday, yeah I don’t know you. You’re right and you will never know me. And because of LA culture he doesn’t care. I don’t think this person has emotion.

I decided to block him. I might still send him this message, although I’m skeptical he’ll even read it, let alone understand its significance.

There’s an even stranger pattern that emerges, one that I’ve noticed not just in myself but in others with unresolved father issues: the tendency to be drawn to someone with a physical trait reminiscent of their father’s.

He possessed thick fingers reminiscent of my father’s, and an uncanny similarity to a former partner. My history has been one of seeking out ‘projects’ — men so deeply troubled they seemed beyond mending. The more troubled, the more appealing they became to me, a pattern that, in hindsight, feels rather twisted. My ex was a well-educated writer with a compulsive addiction to sex, engaging with everyone but me. That’s when chaos ensued, leading to a moment where he violently harmed me, an act as shocking as it was devastating.

Of course when you tell someone that is not what you’re seeking, they give it to you. It’s a like sick joke.

This “two-date-wonder” remarked, “you wanted a weekend boyfriend,” as though he got sick passion from repeating what I had said. But really, how is someone like myself, with three 9-to-5s supposed to maintain a relationship? It’s quite the puzzle. All I recall is his phrase, “you people!” What does he mean, “us people”? Does he mean women who desire a man to be present? A man who has worked through his shit? There are women who yearn to cherish their partner, to truly understand and love him. To share quality time.

Some women seek mutual affection, prefer phone conversations over texts, value kindness, have worked extensively through our shit, desire a partner who is present, reject the hookup culture, and yearn for someone who genuinely cares. Someone who will hold our hand. Yes, “us people.”

It’s sad, 90% of women are seeking validation from their male counterparts yet the male counterpart is struggling with their own sense of validation.

I wouldn’t even bother to remove the Marlboro from my lips before telling him to kiss my ass.

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