Growing Pains by Lydia

Growing Pains by Lydia - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

I’ve never had a normal relationship with my father. My mother’s always been the caretaker. She’s the one who ensured my siblings and I got to school on time, completed our homework each night, ate dinner we all liked, and held us when we scraped our knees.
I've never had any kind of love or affection like this from my father, at least not consistently. However, when I was four years old and watched how families were supposed to be, I sort of made up an image of my own in my mind. My dad gave me nothing to love, yet for some reason, I had so much love for him. My earliest memories of him are sometimes clouded by how I wish it could've been. Each time I go back to those early years, I have to push past the good memories. There aren't nearly as many good ones as bad ones, but for some reason, my mind prioritizes the good. Now, I've learned to balance the fishing trips and the 4-wheeler ride memories with the memories of screaming, cursing, and fighting. Looking back with a mature sense of how things should be, I can vividly see the abuse, both physical and mental, that my whole family endured. No little girl should be made feel worthless by their father. No little girl should be terrified of the person supposed to protect them. I was that little girl though, and if I wasn't, I wouldn't be who I am today.
For a long time, I felt so much anger toward my dad. I was mad. I was mad that he tore a perfect family apart. Sometimes I still feel mad. I’m mad he ruined my self-esteem. I’m mad I’ll never be able to have a normal relationship. I'm mad he put me through so much. It's hard to even capture half of what he did to me. Some of it is still too hard to talk about. Some of it I’ve forced myself to forget. Some of it I only remember in scenes. Like when he tried to take my little brother or when he stole my moms car. All the times he would throw baby bottles across the house or kick my mom when he was angry. All the clues we would find hinting at his drug abuse. We'd find the elastic torn out of our clothes, lamps that were missing lightbulbs, and charred spoons scattered all over the house. He was always changing tires. He'd disappear for days at a time and would always come home sick. Even though some of my anger still lingers, I mostly feel lucky. I'm lucky to have been able to overcome such a situation. I'm lucky I live such a beautiful life now. I still see my dad every once and a while. He'll jump in whenever I allow it. I only allow it when it's to my benefit. Even now though, he never comes around because he cares. I know it's only because he knows he’s supposed to. I’ve forgiven my dad. I’m a very forgiving person. For that, I'm proud of myself. He changed me in a lot of ways. One of them, I know for certain, is that after all I’ve been through, I'm filled with gratitude and compassion for others. He taught me that even the happiest of people, like me, have the greatest battles. He taught me to find the best in any situation. He taught me strength. He taught me hard work, to work hard so I never become anything like him. The funny thing is, he never really taught me anything; it was what he put me through that taught me these qualities. I learned because of what my father didn't do. People have always told me how strong I am, and I am learning to tell myself that, too. After all the years, I learned that my skills are a result of my hardship. My drive is a reflection of my past. I’ve grown because of what I’ve been through.