The importance of perseverance
I’ve always described the moment my Dad won full custody of my sister and I as my “sliding doors moment” because it’s the moment we got to walk through a door that’d change our lives for the better, forever.
… but it was also a moment that wasn’t easily “won”, and it required so much perseverance on my Dad’s end, who had to fight for custody of us in a 1980s court system that – at the time – favoured ensuring that children remained with their mother, no matter how unsuitable that person might be.
He spent $70,000AUD (borrowed from his parents, and an amount that took him years to repay), and he ultimately lost because the court saw that his two daughters would be better off with an unstable, drug-affected woman with a penchant for dating really abusive alcoholic men… than a single father of two girls, who was in the military and “moved around a lot”, so couldn’t offer stability.
He said losing custody of us that day had him feeling permanently sick to his stomach while he wondered if we’d even survive life with our mother, and if we did, what trauma we’d endure in that environment.
Ultimately though, our mother abandoned my sister and I for three plus days in our home: no food, no water, just a coupl’a bottles with red cordial in them (I don’t remember this at all, but I’ve read the Child Protection Services reports). Our neighbours heard my younger sister (2 years old) screaming, and called the police and we were placed in emergency foster care… and eventually made it to my Dad, who gained full custody of both of us.
If you ever want to learn lessons about perseverance, talk to my Dad: he could write the book.
And then, the importance of patience
Unfortunately, all of Dad’s fears around “will they even survive whilst in custody of their mother, or – if they do – will they endure trauma they’re unable to recover from?” were realised.
Child protective services drove us from Far North Queensland to my Dad’s house in Newcastle, and… we were traumatised. It was all too much, and I can vividly remember making an internal decision not to talk, and I remained mute for an entire year.
I can’t imagine waiting so long for custody of your children, and finally gaining custody, and when they’re delivered to you… they’re completely traumatised. And it all almost feels beyond repair. We’d both flinch at anything and everything, we’d hide from everyone, we didn’t trust adults, we binged on food like we’d never eat again, we’d hoard food in our bedrooms, and we absolutely didn’t trust our Dad because we had been trained to believe he was incredibly dangerous.
After a whole year of my brain deciding to make myself mute as a coping mechanism, I finally spoke for the first time in a year. It was just before Christmas when my Dad asked me to write a letter to Santa with a wishlist of presents etc. and he heard a little voice say, “a new Dad: I want a new Dad”.
I cannot believe I’d say that to the nicest man in the world.
My therapist (years later) said it’s a typical thing children do when they’ve been abused by adults, and are testing out whether or not their “new adult” is safe, i.e “can I get a rise out of this man?”.
I couldn’t get a rise out of him. In fact, he went to bed so happy because he’d heard speech from me and felt like that was progress… even if the speech was used to insult him.
If you ever want to learn lessons about patience, talk to my Dad: he could write the book.
But also, the all-important lesson that your mistakes don’t define you
My Dad describes one of his lowest moments as a moment where he was dealing with yet another severe illness with me (I was a really sick kid: my Mum used drugs whilst pregnant with me, and chain smoked throughout pregnancy and beyond, and I was subsequently born “respiratory sick”… and kinda remained respiratory sick throughout life).
My Dad’s full-time salary was $30,000AUD when he gained custody of us and – of course – there was no child support coming from anywhere else, so the full responsibility was on him, and it was heavy.
We were poor.
On one occasion, I was so sick and we were at another GP clinic and he had what he describes as the “rock bottom moment for a parent” where you know you can’t afford the medicine your child needs. At almost the same moment he was waiting at the reception to pay for my medical appointment, and he noticed $500 in an envelope on the front counter where he was standing. Almost an instant later, the medical receptionist got up to get something she needed from the other side of the front reception and Dad said the survival mode kicked in and he took the envelope.
I can’t even type this without crying, because you have to know that my Dad is the most honest man: the desperation and survival and “parental instinct” was just (necessarily) stronger than his desire to be honest. He pocketed the cash, he paid the medical bills, he got me the medicine I needed… and I got better.
Years later, he had enough money to walk back into the same medical clinic and he repaid them in full.
If you ever want to learn lessons about your mistakes not defining you (as well as a lesson in integrity), talk to my Dad: he could write the book.
But the biggest lesson for me has been the knowing that children only need one solid parent: just one!
He always said this, and made me know this through simply living this: kids genuinely only need one solid parent (figure).
For me, that was my biological Dad (him), but for other kids? It’s just one solid, stable, safe, regulated, loving, dependable parent (figure).
…whatever that looks like, and whoever that’s with.
This lesson alone has meant that I’ve married well, because I’ve seen everything represented in what I want for my one day children’s father, through my own father, and I subsequently won’t settle for anything less… but it’s also given me the most empowered feeling of knowing what I won’t settle for in my own marriage. And because of this knowing, I can whole-heartedly say that if my partner isn’t going to “bring it”, then it’s a big ol’ Chappell-Roan-”good-luck-babe” from me.
I’ve seen the best of fatherhood from my own Dad, and I expect the same from my partner for our own children. Because of this, I’m never (not ever) afraid to solo parent if I/my children aren’t getting what we need from my partner/their father.
Luckily for me, and my children, I married well.
…but I reckon my own Dad played a huge role here too, because he set the bar high.
Cherie Clonan is the proud Autistic CEO of The Digital Picnic. Cherie is a passionate believer in social media for social good, and giving back, and is fiercely motivated to create a neuro-inclusive workplace.
