I don’t feel anything for my father, and I think I’m okay with that

When I was a kid, my dad used to tell me “You were created by God… and even He regretted it.”

He didn’t say it once. He said other mean, dehumanizing things too. And it wasn’t just words. He beat me with a hard stick, so hard it left purple marks all over my body. I was fragile. I was just a child.

I don’t have a single memory of him hugging me, holding me, or kissing me. Nothing that a father is supposed to give his child. Not comfort. Not warmth. Just pain, and silence, and fear.

Because of this, I grew up with incredibly low self-esteem. I didn’t believe I deserved love or respect, and people could sense that — so they treated me accordingly. I let them. I always felt worthless.

But something changed when I hit my 30s. Slowly, I started loving myself. I began treating myself the way I always wished someone else had treated me. I stopped accepting scraps and started believing I deserved peace.

That growth has been real. But it doesn’t erase the past.

Now he’s old, and he says he regrets what he did. But I don’t feel anything toward him. I don’t hate him. I just… feel nothing. If he died tomorrow, I don’t think I’d even notice the absence.

And the weird part is, I think I’m okay with that. For the longest time, I thought I was supposed to feel guilt or sadness — like maybe I was broken for not having some deep emotional response. But honestly, I think it’s just that part of me finally going quiet. The part that waited too long for something he never gave.

I’m not sure if anyone else has felt this way, but I just needed to say it out loud somewhere. Maybe that child version of me deserves to be heard, even if it’s just through a screen.