I Thought About My Father Last Night

Dear Healed Black Girl,

I went out last night to see a live jazz performance.
Lately, I’ve been refining my music taste—and honestly, it’s been incredibly healing. I’ve been finding songs that move me, music that feels aligned with who I am right now. It’s been a fun and soulful exploration—an act of both expression and discovery.

While I was swaying to the music, I thought about my father. I smiled and thought to myself, “He would love this.”

That’s one thing about my dad—he loves music.
I actually credit him for my deep love of music. Growing up, it felt strange to need “permission” to explore music outside of hip-hop and R&B. I used to feel weird expressing my alternative music taste out loud. But my father exposed me to different genres. He made it okay to like something different—and I appreciate him for that.

Still, in that moment of gratitude, a wave of grief came over me.

My father is still alive. And to be honest, he was a good dad during my childhood. Flawed, of course, like most parents—but present.
But after my parents divorced when I was 12, our relationship slowly became distant. The little girl in me was really hurt by that. And despite multiple attempts over the years, our relationship never fully recovered.

Today, we’re estranged. I have him blocked. I don’t reach out.
Not because I don’t care—but because the relationship became emotionally unsafe. He’s a toxic communicator—often bitter, argumentative, and unwilling to truly listen. And what I need most from him now is just that: the ability to be heard.

The last time we spoke, I got so angry—uncharacteristically angry—that I knew I had reached my limit.
That version of me—the one who has to scream to be seen—is not someone I want to keep bringing into the room.

So I chose peace.

But last night, in that brief moment of remembering him, I realized… maybe there’s still something I need to grieve.
The idea of what could have been. The moments we could still be sharing.
He’s still alive. He could be at shows with me. We could be bonding over music.
And part of me still longs for that.

I’m sitting with that today.

So I wanted to ask you, Healed Black Girl—
What’s your relationship with your father? Who is or was he to you?
What healing might still be needed in that part of your story?

I’m holding space for you.

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—A fellow Healed Black Girl