Jump to Main ContentJump to Primary Navigation

How My Single Father Made Me A Feminist

Like all little girls, I dreamed of marrying Prince Charming. I wanted a man who knew exactly what he wanted and knew that it was me; a man who had the confidence, respect and the manners of a prince and who knew his worth and calling in life. However, as time went on and after countless heartbreaks, this glossy dream lost its shine. 

The first man to break my heart was my dad. He and my mum split up when I was five. After my dad left, I would be fortunate to receive a phone call from him twice a year. I would rarely see him and his lack of presence in my life made me feel like he did not love me, and that I could not count on him. When I reached ten years old and I moved to live with my dad and I had my guard up. When I saw that the first meal he cooked for me was Pot Noodle, I cried, “Is this what living with you will be like?!” Tears fell that day not because I was angry about the food, but because I was bitter about the years he had abandoned me.