Forgiving My Father

My father had bipolar disease. How do I know? I know because I have bipolar. My father was never diagnosed with manic depression; he was born in 1911 and died in 1982 and at his death had been disabled for about four years from several previous heart attacks and strokes and adult onset diabetes.

Growing up, I walked on eggshells. I never knew what would set off his temper. There was never any in-between with my dad. He would either be irritable and angry, or affectionate and loving. In other words, there was no normal at our house; I didn’t discover this until I grew up and moved away.

During my father’s angry cycles my brother, who is eight years older, and I were in danger of being the targets of my father’s wrath and humiliating vitriol and actions. I remember my father sending my brother away from the dinner table, then chasing after him and jumping on top of him to beat him when my brother wasn’t sufficiently groveling about being sent away.

He submitted me to humiliating punishments and never remembered them afterwards, as though a fog came over him during the punishment phase, and the fog lifted afterward, taking his memory along with it. Of course at the time, I just thought I was crazy and had dreamed each event.

These cycles carried into my teen and young adult life, when I was accused of “making things up” or “dreaming things,” when an abuser didn’t want to admit to an abuse. I regularly doubted my sanity.

A prime example of this was when I was sixteen, I was sent to our family dentist for a root canal. The dentist’s office was only two blocks from our home, so I walked because my mother and father both worked. At the onset, the dentist told me he would be drilling into my tooth, and to let him know if I felt any pain. If I did, he would switch to a smaller needle/drill.

When I related the entire experience to my parents, their joint response was, “You must have been dreaming.” I became convinced I must have been under sedation and dreamed the entire episode.

As the dentist moved his tools over to the tray, his hand was shaking so much the tools clinked together. There was no assistant – this was in the days before assistants were required in the room (1966). He gave me no pain reliever, i.e. Novocaine before he began to drill. The excruciating process took hours, and I distinctly remember he changed needles five times.

By the time the process was over, I was shaking and in horrible pain. It was obvious to me the dentist had been drinking; his speech was slurred. How I managed to walk home is beyond me. When I related the entire experience to my parents, their joint response was, “You must have been dreaming.” I became convinced I must have been under sedation and dreamed the entire episode.

Once I realized where this came from, I began to blame my father, and blamed him for much of the dysfunction in my relationships with men. “That’s natural,” you might say. Yes, but as long as I held onto unforgiveness, the longer I remained in a state of immovability. I could not move forward; I was not teachable. I was unable to see beyond the hurt and chains which kept me locked into my “story.”

Three things occurred which allowed me to transform my heart and mind into forgiveness. The first is that I became a follower of Jesus. As God began to mold and shape me, I realized I could not hold onto the hurts and resentments because that is not who He is. He forgave me for all my past behavior, all the things I did which hurt His children, and I knew He had also forgiven my father.

I began to feel compassion for my father. I began to see the world through his eyes.

The second thing which occurred is I was diagnosed with bipolar. Once that happened, I realized my father was bipolar. He could not control his behavior or cycles anymore than I could. I began to feel compassion for my father. I began to see the world through his eyes.

Looking back, I recognize his depression, his hypomania, his isolation and his shame. I also now understand the fear that may have driven him not knowing or understanding his disease. My own diagnosis allowed me to see my father as a man, a human being instead of just my father.

So I have been able to forgive, to hold him in my other Father’s love, to see him through the eyes of Jesus. I have been able, with the Spirit’s wisdom and reminder of Jesus’ words, to give my father the compassion,  love and grace he did not receive from his own egregiously abusive father.

And the third: I can do this because along with the bad memories, I also have memories of my father telling my mother he loved her every single day. And I remember my mother telling me she knew my father loved her more than she loved him. And this single, sad memory makes me want to take my father in my arms and love him unconditionally; it helps me forgive him and give him the grace he deserves.

[It] makes me want to take my father in my arms and love him unconditionally; it helps me forgive him and give him the grace he deserves.


  1. Thank you for sharing your story …. wow


  2. I have a story, too. It was my grandfather.


    1. Forgiving is difficult, but a blessing. Feel free to tell your story here, Susan, if you wish.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. before he died, he repented. My sister has yet forgiven him. that is hard to do. my parents did not believe us. ‘but Jesus loves us all


  3. Wow, what a great story of God’s amazing grace working through you, Susan. I forgave my father for other reasons than yours, but knowing what I know now about God’s grace and other-centered, self-giving love, I wish I could’ve talked to him before he died. Maybe some day since he gave his heart to Jesus on his deathbed. 🙂


    1. ❤ Mine didn't, but I have a feeling he knows he's me and God.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Gulp. And gulp again.

    Thank you Susan. Thank you.


  5. · ·

    Thanks for sharing this story. My dad was much like this too, but I think it was because he drank too much. He never laid a hand on us, but his words could cut like a knife. Maybe he did have bipolar. It was something we never heard about in those days.. A frightening environment for a child to experience.


    1. Yes, in their generation, things like that weren’t talk about. And I forgave my mother, too, who colluded to keep the family secrets and keep the peace as best she knew how. The truth is, they did the best they could; there were no parenting classes then. They made decisions based on what they knew at the time.

      Generations grow and learn based on new information and experiences, and we all do the best we can with the information we have at the time. I can only pray I am forgiven for the mistakes I made when I was younger and less informed.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. · ·

        You ARE forgiven. Jesus died and overcame death once for everyone. The price is paid in full. Thanks again for sharing this difficult time in your past.


  6. Dearest, my body is gripped with pain from reading this. This reads like the testimonies I wrote during my spiritual healing exercises. I hand wrote them, my priest and I prayed over them, and then we burned them…releasing the pain to the Holy Spirit. The only difference is how you are able to relate your forgiveness at the same time. I was not able to forgive until later, and even then, I ‘formally’ forgave at one point but did not feel the ‘let it go’ for another year or more. You show such courage! You are an inspiration. Bless you


    1. Thank you, Kitsy. I only wish I had been able to do it during his lifetime. I pray he knows somehow I have forgiven him now. Yet, I am convinced forgiveness is more for us than for the forgiven. I feel much freer knowing I have given that burden away.


  7. what a brave and honest post, susan. forgiveness is powerful for the people on both sides. i’m glad you have found your peace and understanding. my post today is about walking in another’s skin to understand them. i grew up with a very challenging mother, and was the one who had to be in charge of her care when she went through dementia, and everything leading up to it. i finally was able to forgive her, and knew that she had done the best she could. it does not excuse some of the things she did, but i understood her and felt for her as a person. it helped me to understand the person she was and actually felt empathy for her. great post –


    1. That’s exactly what I had to do with my father, Beth-walk in his shoes. Until I could do that – separate myself as his daughter and see him as a human being, one of God’s children, fraught with suffering of his own, I could never have offered him forgiveness and broken my own chains.

      I’m glad you were able to do the same.

      Liked by 1 person

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