Tag: dad

What to Do When You’re Caught in the Middle

Being caught in the middle doesn’t feel like conflict — it feels like captivity.
It feels like being stuck in a snare with no way to move without hurting someone.
Like a mouse trap waiting to snap shut.
Like you’re locked in a raccoon cage, unsure if speaking the truth will free you… or cost you everything.

People talk about “taking sides” like it’s simple.
But when you’re caught in the middle of family, trauma, loyalty, and truth, nothing about it is simple.

It’s one of the loneliest places a person can stand.

What You’re Really Caught Between

Sometimes “caught in the middle” means choosing between two opinions.

But sometimes — like in my life — it means standing between your own child who was harmed and your own child who did the harming.

Between the daughter who still carries wounds and the son whose actions caused them.

Between the victim in your home and the perpetrator who shares your blood.

Between your mother — who continues contact with the perpetrator — and your daughter, the victim.

Between your loyalty as a mother and your integrity as a protector.

Between who you used to be and who you’re becoming.

Between the pressure to keep quiet and the truth that refuses to stay silent anymore.

It’s not two sides.
It is layers of emotional conflict, guilt, fear, and responsibility colliding inside your chest.


Why This Position Freezes You

People say, “Just say what you feel,” but they don’t see what comes with it.

When you’re in the middle, speaking the truth feels dangerous.

You fear hurting someone you love.
You fear being misunderstood.
You fear being shunned.
You fear being blamed for protecting the wrong person — when you know exactly who needs protection.
You fear your mother’s reaction.
You fear the silence, the withdrawal, the guilt she might use.
You fear your childhood patterns pulling you back into old roles.

You fear becoming the target for finally telling the truth.

That fear freezes you.
Not because you’re weak, but because you’ve carried too many people’s emotions for too long.


You’re Allowed to Step Out of the Middle

This is the truth many of us need spoken out loud:

You are not betraying anyone by protecting the victim.
You are not abandoning someone by refusing to enable harmful choices.
You are not wrong for saying, “Enough.”
You are not required to cushion your truth to keep someone else comfortable.
You can love someone and still say, “This crosses a line for me.”
You can grieve what happened without sacrificing your integrity.

You are allowed to choose clarity over chaos.
You are allowed to choose protection over appeasement.
You are allowed to choose truth over silence.

You are allowed — fully allowed — to walk out of the middle.


How to Un-Freeze When You’re Caught in the Middle

Here are the steps that help you move from paralysis to clarity:

1. Name What’s Actually Happening

Write it plainly.
Do not soften it for someone else’s comfort.

2. Ask What Aligns With Your Values

What decision reflects the kind of mother, woman, friend, or human you want to be?

3. Decide Who Truly Needs Protection

Protect the vulnerable one.
Protect the honest one.
Protect the one who did not choose this.

4. Set One Clear, Simple Boundary

Not a debate.
Not a speech.
A boundary.

“This is not okay with me.”
“I won’t participate in this.”
“I love you, but I cannot be involved if you continue this.”

5. Speak With Clarity and Compassion

Firm does not mean unkind.
Compassion does not mean surrender.

6. Allow People to React However They React

They may:
– Shame you
– Guilt you
– Pull away
– Play victim
– Get angry
– Give the silent treatment

Their reaction belongs to them.
It is not proof you did something wrong.
It is evidence that you set a boundary they didn’t like.

7. Anchor Yourself After the Conversation

Your body may shake.
Your stomach may twist.
Old fears may roar.

That is normal.

Here are anchoring practices:

• Breathe: 4 seconds in, 6–8 out.
• Hand on chest: “I am safe. I told the truth.”
• Move your body: walk, stretch, shake out your hands.
• Ground yourself:
5 things you see
4 things you can touch
3 things you hear
2 things you smell
1 thing you taste
• Write what triggered you.
• Remind yourself: “A trembling body is a brave body.”
• Talk to someone who truly understands the situation.

Anchoring doesn’t erase fear — it prevents fear from dragging you back into silence.


Taking a Stand Doesn’t Make You Divisive

Taking a stand does not divide a family.
Harm divides families.
Silence divides families.
Minimizing what happened divides families.

Standing for what’s right is clarity, not conflict.

Protecting a victim is integrity.
Refusing to stand in the middle is courage.

A Soft, Steady Closing

There comes a moment when staying in the middle becomes impossible.
Not because you stopped loving people.
Not because you’re choosing sides out of anger.
But because the truth finally whispers:

“You don’t belong in the snare anymore.”

Stepping out isn’t selfish — it’s sacred.
It’s the moment you choose protection over silence, healing over guilt, and courage over captivity.

It’s the moment you finally allow yourself to stand somewhere solid —
where your truth has room to breathe.

What I Remember About My Father

What I remember first — the very first image that comes to mind — is my father brushing my hair every morning, getting me ready for day care. His hands were always careful, his attention focused. In those early mornings, he wasn’t just my dad — he was my caregiver, my protector, my world.

Then came the time he left for officers’ training. OTC. Boot camp. I didn’t understand what that meant, only that he was gone, and I was devastated. It felt like forever. When we visited, it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same. The warmth had changed — not gone, but buried under something sterner, more rigid. He had shifted, and even though I couldn’t name it at the time, I felt the weight of that difference. The fun, the gentleness — they weren’t as easy to reach in him anymore.

I don’t know when it happened, but there was a time I hated my dad. I don’t remember the reasons. I just remember the feeling — sharp, fiery. I wrote about it in my diary, used words like “asshole” or maybe even “son of a bitch.” I think my mom read that entry once. She tried to talk to me about it. I just told her I hated him. I don’t think I explained why. I don’t think I could.

I remember Sundays. My dad used to drive the church bus, getting up early to head to the church and prepare for it. He left without me, even though I desperately wanted to ride with the other church kids. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed. Mom and I always ended up there eventually, but still — that moment of being left behind stuck with me.

As a teenager, I saw a different side of my father: the provider. He worked long hours, especially during tax season. He’d skip church, come home late. My mom was often irritated by him pouring so much of himself into work. But he always made sure we had what we needed. No matter how tired, no matter how stretched thin, he provided.

I remember the day he was paying property taxes. He told me he had to pay for me to go to two schools — the Christian school and the public one. I didn’t understand at first, but I could hear the strain in his voice. The frustration. So I made a choice. I started going to public school. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t want him to have to carry that burden. I don’t know if I ever told him that’s why.

And still — for all of it — I always told my friends that my dad might come across like a bear, big and growling and stern. But really? He was a big ol’ teddy bear. Underneath the rugged exterior was still the man who used to brush my hair every morning, who got me ready for day care, who — whether he knew how to show it or not — loved me deeply.