‘I FEEL LIKE THERE’S A PART OF ME MISSING’
Natalie Turner-Mitchell, 26, is a mental health support assistant and lives in east London. She says: “Being taunted about not having a dad by kids at school used to feel like a stab to the heart. My mum Wendie, 52, has always been vague about what happened. All I know is that soon after she became pregnant with me she told my soldier dad Mark*, but then he was deployed to Iraq. They wrote a few times, but then the letters stopped and we never heard from him again.
By the time I was two, she’d met my stepdad David* and they had a daughter, Sarah*, now 25. Three years later Lucy*, now 22, was born. By then it seemed that their family was complete and I was just a spare part, as I was always aware that I had a different dad.
This was made worse because when my half-sisters and I used to fight, they’d say hurtful things like: “At least I know my dad.” So when I was six I started to write letters to him, which I thought Mum sent to his army barracks. I’d begin by saying although he didn’t know me, I’d like to meet him. I found the letters in a box four years later. I felt so let down and upset with my mum for not sending them.
At the age of eight, I remember watching a programme on TV and I heard my dad’s name. Mum casually mentioned the man being interviewed was him. I still think about that snapshot of his face.
I discovered I was pregnant at 16 after a short relationship that had ended by then, but I couldn’t stand the thought of my child going through the same pain I had felt growing up without a father. So, even though my ex wanted us to keep it, I had an abortion as I was convinced he’d abandon us.
Once I hit adulthood, I wrote to my dad again at the army base, asking him to meet me. But my letters were returned unopened. I felt so confused – had he sent them back? After that, I didn’t contact him again. I think what upsets me the most is not knowing whether I have other siblings. Thankfully, Sarah, Lucy and I have become good friends now we’re older.
Not knowing my dad has affected my relationships with men, too. When I was 19 I went out with a man 20 years older. Everyone told me he was a father figure and I knew it wouldn’t last because of his age. I haven’t had a relationship since and can’t get close to people for fear they’ll hurt me.
I know my mum loves me, but I still feel like I’ve been rejected my whole life. Seven years ago, I started cutting myself and was diagnosed with depression, so I rely on antidepressants to stabilise my moods. If my real dad had stuck around, I’d like to think I wouldn’t feel this way and would have been a much happier person.
Now I understand it must have been difficult for my mum and I hope one day we can talk about it. I’m not angry with Dad, how can I be when I don’t know the full story? I just want him to know I’m here if he wants to meet me. If he doesn’t, at least I’ll know for sure and I’ll be able to move on with my life.”
‘MY MUM WAS A BRILLIANT MOTHER AND FATHER’
Sabine Gruchet, 39, is a plus-size model and presenter and lives in Berkshire with her husband. She says: “My dad left me and my mum Susanne when I was just three. But when I was finally reunited with him in 2012, I soon realised his absence hadn’t harmed me.
My mum and her twin sister Nanette brought me up in Sydney, Australia, teaching me to be fearless, strong and independent. She told me that she and my dad had a great relationship, so it was a shock when he just upped and left in 1979. But she never said horrible things about him in front of me – even when he came back to be with my mum when I was 15, only to leave again after just a few weeks when his new partner wanted him back.
I found his return overwhelming and he showered me with affection, but it was weird because I’d never had a father figure before. However, when he left I felt so deflated and very sad for my mum, too.
Although he didn’t try to contact us again, my mum always encouraged me to look for him. In my 20s I searched on the internet and scoured directories, but it was like he’d vanished without a trace. I never let it get to me, though, as living with my mum and aunt was brilliant.
We’d go out together at the weekends and had so much fun. I loved our girl power. And as decisions didn’t have to be fought over by two parents, everything went pretty smoothly. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of my friends who had their dads around, but I bet they were envious of my two ‘mums’, too.
Being raised by such strong women also gave me the courage to be confident in relationships. If I ever felt like I was being mistreated, I simply packed my bags.
When Mum died from breast, lymph node and cervical cancer aged 55 in 2005, I was devastated. Her death really affected me and although I carried on as normal, inside I was shattered.
Four years later, I finally felt strong enough to go through her things and I found an old letter from my dad, written 27 years earlier. He told my mum that even though they weren’t together, he still loved her. She hadn’t acted on it, but I found a number for the address he’d written from in France, and called him. Miraculously, he was still there.
We talked for 15 minutes. He asked how my mum was and sounded heartbroken when I told him she’d died. I suggested he could buy me a plane ticket from Australia to France so we could meet. But he replied: ‘I won’t, but thanks for getting in touch.’ I felt so numb, I didn’t know what to say.
We didn’t speak after that for two years, but in 2012 when I moved to England, where my husband is from, I decided to try again. This time, my dad agreed to meet in France.
I went with my now-husband and bawled my eyes out as soon as I saw Dad, expecting him to do the same. But he only turned to my partner and said how lovely it was to meet him. I was stunned and furious. What about me? I didn’t say anything, but felt crushed with disappointment.
Since then, I’ve worked hard for us to forge a relationship, and visit him every couple of months. I do feel sad it’s always me making the effort. I can tell from his eyes he loves me, but when I try to hug him, he stands awkwardly. I think he still feels guilty for leaving us. But some good has come out of it – I have a half-brother Julian, 33, and three half-nieces, and we share a bond.
In an ideal world, every child would grow up with a father, but my mum had a rare mix of qualities – the ability to discipline, yet be soft, too. Everything that’s happened in my life has made me who I am, so how can I begrudge my dad for leaving?”
