For as long as I could remember, my life had been shaped by a single, unwavering principle: Do the opposite of what my father would do. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first, but it became a mantra, a way of ensuring that I wouldn’t become the man who had shaped my childhood in ways I desperately wanted to escape.

My father wasn’t a kind man. He wasn’t the type of person you’d want to emulate, nor was he someone who left you with too many fond memories. He was harsh, quick-tempered, and had a way of making everyone around him feel small. He treated people with disdain, whether it was a neighbor who did something he didn’t like or when someone took too long to do something he asked them to do. The world, in his eyes, seemed to revolve around him.

I watched him closely as a child, absorbing every sneer, every barked command, every dismissive gesture. It got to the point where I could predict his next move before he even did it. But instead of learning from him, I resolved to be his opposite. In situations where he would be rude, I would be kind. If he would be selfish, I would be generous. If he tore people down, I would lift them up. It seemed like the perfect antidote to the poison he spread through our lives.

For years, it worked—or so I thought. I was proud of myself for not becoming him. Choices I made, I weighed against the question: What would my father do? And then I’d do the opposite. It felt like I was beating him at his own game. I had crafted a persona that was everything he was not.

But the day I started to live—really live—came when I realized that, despite my best efforts, I was becoming exactly like him. Subconsciously, his traits that were passed on to me were beginning to show and I was treating people the way that he would treat others, the way he would treat ME.

It hit me one afternoon, and in that instant, I realized what I had been doing all these years. I had been so consumed with doing the opposite of what my father would do that I had let him dictate every aspect of my life. I was still living in reaction to him, still bound by the very thing I thought I had escaped. By defining myself against him, I had let him shape me, just in reverse.

And worse, I was starting to see that simply doing the opposite of cruelty didn’t always lead to kindness. Sometimes it led to indifference. Sometimes it led to exhaustion, as I wore myself out trying to be the anti-father in every scenario. I was rigid, predictable in my unpredictability, and blind to the nuances that make people truly good or bad.

That day, the weight of my realization settled on me like a heavy blanket. I had spent my whole life trying not to be someone else, but I had never asked myself who I actually wanted to be.

I knew then that I needed to let go of my father, not just in my actions but in my mind. I had to stop reacting to him, stop letting his shadow guide me, even if it was in opposition. Instead, I had to find my own way, to make decisions based on my values, my beliefs, and my desires—independent of him.

The next morning, I woke up feeling different. I couldn’t quite place the emotion at first, but it was a mixture of fear and exhilaration. For the first time, I was free. I would choose my actions based on what I truly felt was right, not just as a counterbalance to someone else’s wrongs.

It isn’t easy. Old habits die hard, and I find myself slipping back into the old mindset more times than I care to admit. But each time, I catch myself, reminding myself that my life is mine to live, not just a reaction to someone else’s. I started making decisions based on what felt right for me, what aligned with my own sense of justice and compassion, rather than just doing the opposite of what he would have done.

The day I started to live was the day I stopped defining myself by what I was not and began exploring who I actually am. It was a painful realization, but it was also liberating. I had spent my life in opposition, but now I was ready to live on my own terms. And in that moment, I knew I was finally free.

While I cannot go back in time and right any of the wrongs I may have done because of this mindset, I can only hope that the people I have encountered, the people I have loved and lost, will know that I truly meant the best in my intentions. Nobody is perfect.