“I was raised Catholic. Guilt is my resting state.” — Paul Doiron
We are officially almost a month into the new year, and I’ve very excited to have been bestowed the honor (by myself, of course) to start this new chapter of life off with a good ole fashioned bitchfest. Yes, my loves, we have survived the last year, but I’m trying out this whole “practice what you preach” thing, which means I get to stand on my little soap box, point out the biggest thorn in my side in the crowd, and read them for absolute filth.
Today’s receiver? The big guy, the alleged creator of this shit show, and the reason people keep poking fun at my over politeness and intense need to feel shame over that which I haven’t done because his book said I’m bound to do it anyways. If you thought “It’s Santa!”, well, not only are you wrong, but now I’m hesitantly concerned for your well-being. Santa was very kind to me, especially when I visited *Blanta in New York of few years back (*Black Santa – he’s real, he’s at Macy’s and 20-something year old me GREATLY recommends him!)
Nah, we are talking about my deadbeat father – God.
Now, before I get into the tea, let me make myself clear: I was an actively practicing Hispanic Catholic until the sixth grade (there’s major lore here – for another day). I’m baptized, own several rosaries, carry enough Catholic guilt for the entire Midwest, keep a cross in my house (just incase!), and have a body that snaps into solider- level discipline anytime that Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, and Three Kings Day approaches. My relationship with God is just as valid as anyone else’s who isn’t trying to oppress others. If you’re thinking to yourself “Well, she COULDN’T have been Catholic with a mouth like that on her!” My response is to point out that I’m using my wit and codeswitching skills the way God intended, or I wouldn’t be here giving you 1000+ words of raw reality – right? Also, ya mamma, how about that?
ANYWAYS. Where were we? Ah, yes, my deadbeat father, God. Wow, do I have a bone to pick. And please, don’t mistake this for an underappreciation to making it into the new year. I feel very proud of the work that I put in to make it this far. However, I’m sure alot of folks can relate when I say 2025 wasn’t a walk in the park. I gave this post alot of thought and figured if Hannah Montana can stick to just seven grievances towards someone in a song, then I can do the same in this blog post.
- #1. Well, if it isn’t obvious, no one likes a deadbeat. And of course, I’m not talking about child support or grand gestures at birthday parties. I’m talking about the constant “Where is He?” anytime I needed someone. You made the roadmap, you knew the hurdles I faced. But you sat, you watched, you did nothing and I get to be as upset about that as I’d like. I watched Jay Gatsby have far more commitment in two hours then you in twenty years.
- #2. Please stop telling your people that I am your strongest soldier. Tell them I’m a rare China plate, tell them I’m a newborn baby, tell them I’m an endangered species. Anything to get yall to stop handling me so rough, please and thank you. Or leave me alone entirely for at least a year to get a steadier grip on everything. Close the course registration, I’m not open to anymore lessons and you refuse to provide a syllabus.
- #3. We are both watching the news, I really don’t feel like I should have to stress the point that you actively know what’ll be broadcasted there. Do something – anything! Send your son our way, we’ll give him a brief run down, and we can get to work.
- #4. Kangaroos. They aren’t native to Wisconsin (THANK GOD), so maybe that have some important role in their habitat’s eco system. But I refuse to be informed. Why do they look like that, why do they be acting like that, and who told you that you had the right to combine a marsupial and human together??? Have you seen one wading in the water, waiting for their next snack. Like, are you okay???
- #5. Making me short, hard of seeing, and mentally ill was offensive enough. Now my body is falling off it’s bones sideways and I’m having to completely draft a new five year plan to tend to my new physical limitations. How am I supposed to be the know-it-all we all know and love if I don’t know anything, ever?? You’re being rude.
- #6. Why was I born here? Mind you, I’m thankful for the family, friends, and experiences I’ve had. But I could’ve had an accent, and you just….decided against that? Hell, you could’ve dropped me on the island of Puerto Rico!! Furthermore, you let me born in a state that thrives off of dairy and cheese, and gave me G.E.R.D. You’re going in the Burn Book as I patiently wait to hit up Leon’s for my blue moon ice cream.
- #7. I feel like at this point you’re being lazy. I can see how some of the issues we face are 100% man-made (heavy on the MAN part), but I think a couple of miracles and answers wouldn’t hurt anyone. Ya know, eradicate some deadly diseases, lower the amount of people under the poverty line, make people’s homes feel safe so they don’t have to put themselves in danger to flee – what I would consider light work to He who is all knowing and has a bazillion holy tools at His disposal.
This list is the short, quiet, and less explicit verison of my grievances. Once upon a time, I had detailed plans on how you could help address these issues, but I lost that optimism years ago. And still, as the daughter experiencing your deadbeat shenanigians, it would be a lie to say I don’t have seven things I have taken note of and am thankful for. Sometimes they feel more like teasing gifts that can disappear at any given moment then intentional pillars of peace and joy, but alas, I’ve listed them below.
- #1. I can’t imagine a life where I couldn’t continue to learn. Fun facts, rabbit holes, culture, langauge, ground breaking research – all of it. I’ve found ways to feed this need without getting 16 degrees (although my friends will tell you I already have 16 degrees), but Im very thankful for the selection of things to learn, both in and out of the lecture hall.
- #2. Elizabeth and Esteban. They weren’t perfect parents and they passed far too soon, but they were mine nonetheless. I’ll never regret my knee jerk reaction to love first, to force people to take plates home, to remind people that where they’re going is not where they’ve been. Having older parents sucked for all the obvious reasons, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way
- #3. Honestly? Being pansexual and AfroLatina. It’s lit when we ignore the way them people try to villianize it. I love the culture, I love the inside jokes, I love the “privilege”(See: Living In The Crossroads of Intersectionality).
- #4. Sometimes, I feel you’ve found a way to reach me through my newfound peace in spirtuality. I’ve found myself finally grounded in a practice that makes me feel lighter, and I’ve noticed conincidences too hard to ignore. Healing religious trauma (*cough* deadbeat behaviors mixed with Latino Catholic expections *cough*) is still and ongoing feat, but I feel far more steady, seen, and connected with the world since I stumbled upon this community. Maybe this is you way of trying? I can give ya that.
- #5. My therapist has been an absolute pillar, and I feel very blessed to have his support as I navigate all of these things. Who I am today and who I was in 2019 took alot of healing, alot of fucks up, and alot of awkward moments. Therapy, medication -it came exactly when it needed to. I don’t appreciate what led to it, but I clocked the timing. Words can not express godsend (see what I did there?) he has been!
- #6. Traveling into year I fell inlove and was loved on, ruthlessly. I told myself romance for a woman like me with passions like mine just wasn’t an option. I was happy to buy land and help a bunch of animals get healthy. I don’t have the ticking clock feeling or a quota to meet, I just love loving people. I got the chance to really explore my needs, my relationship structure, and who I am when I feel safe versus when I don’t. My heart has grown three sizes. Now, I know better – about a lot of things. I know I’ll never know what happens next until we get there, but I feel blessed having had the chance to live a bit of my Disney fairytale
- #7. There are at least a hundred names of people I could list here, but won’t, to protect their privacy (except Ana, she wanted to be specifically mentioned. Typical behavior for a Scorpio slytherin). But man, I have a community surrounding me. Old therapists, old academic advisors, old student government mentors, friends I’ve met and friends I’ve made along the way, customer service folks at my favoraite places to hang, activists and organizers I didn’t realize would notice the work I’m putting in, current badass politicans, the people who follow and comment good vibes towards me every three months, the family members who stuck around to see who I’d become. If my life was a movie and their names are in the credits, the credits are rolling FIRST. There are times when the static gets so loud that I think about these people and start sobbing, out of pure joy to have the privilege of knowing them and knowing they see and love me all the same. A true gift I try hard not to take for granted.
Let me be clear: I will never give you full ownership over that list of seven joys. I put a lot of hard work into getting where I am now, and more hard work is to come if I want to keep this momentmum. I will never understand why people want me to give more props to my deadbest Father then I already do – our relationships is a living document, after all. But I can make space to be thankful for being here to experience all of these things, and the things to come.
I fuss over my trials and tribulations, but they double as reminders of what I can survive and what I want others to never have to survive. Sometimes, I do miss when we had a better relationship, and I saw you in every Bible coloring page and smelled you in the pews of St. Anthony’s church. I suppose if I can be mad that you knew all of this was going to happen and didn’t prevent it, I also can’t be mad because you knew I’d pick the pieces back up eventually. But we ain’t there yet and I ain’t adding you to my Netflix account until we are.
This post is bittersweet, it’s an ongoing development, it’s me respecting the rot. This letter – my steadfast commitment to addressing all parts of me and what has created all parts of me – is not my diss track. It’s grieving on paper – a wake for what was, an honoring of what is, and a nod at what will never be again. If you’ve stuck around til now and still choose to be offended by the way I address He was has created me (and my love for shit talking and chaos), then congrats – you’ve missed the plot and wasted your time! If this post made you laugh, made you cry, made you realize something you hadn’t before – then thank you for reading, I’m honored to have shared this space with you. Me and my deadbeat Father will be okay – we aren’t going away anytime soon and I feel He’ll enjoy this posts as much as I do.
Or, He won’t and He’ll continue to be a thorn in my side. That is what I’m happy to give Him full ownership of.
Until next time, my weeping willows!
~ Amillia
Leave a Reply