Grab your daddy tissues — Chapter Three opens with champagne.

Because apparently I've made it: I've reached the level of podcasting where people are mad about things I didn't say, names I didn't use, and jokes they've decided to treat like sworn testimony. So this one starts with a little fan mail — a toast to the haters, a quick word with God (we're boys, we get each other), and the one thing I need everybody to understand: you can love people and still tell the truth about what happened to you. Both things can be true at the same time.

Then we get back in the time machine. Last chapter ended with me going into labor at eighteen. This chapter is what came home from the hospital with me: a baby I loved more than my own life, and a relationship where I had to fight for permission to be my own son's mother. The flowers that vanished to a house I never agreed to live in. The 3 a.m. crying nobody comforted. And the lesson nobody teaches you — why we stay. The gifts, the apologies, the flood of love that always comes right after the hurt. The low gets fed by the high. That is the design.

Plus a plot twist nobody saw coming: my dad — nine months of silence, and then one baby boy unlocked him completely.

It ends on a normal fall night in Northeast Philly. Leaves in those orange pumpkin bags. Macaroni and cheese on the stove. I kissed my son on the head and went to the gym.

And then my phone rang.

In this episode:

• Fan mail: a champagne toast to the haters — "I finally made it"
• The fuck-you clarification, once and for all: it's a JOKE (even great-great-grandpop gets a pass — no therapists or ChatGPT back then)
• The abuse nobody can see: when everyone's telling you you're crazy and the cycle feeds itself
• Fighting for permission to hold my own baby — the hospital rules, the balloon heist, the 3 a.m. face
• Daddy Tissues University: the cycle of abuse — you're not addicted to the pain, you're addicted to the relief. The low gets fed by the high.
• The coat, the jewelry, and the car I paid for — when the gift is really a reset button
• The prison: how he made leaving worse than staying — "I felt like I didn't have a choice"
• The sermon: fear runs the world, love wins anyway — live a good story
• The plot twist: my dad, the grandson who unlocked him, and the last-name fight (maybe he was right)
• The leaf night. And then my phone rang.

Every name in this story is changed. Every single one. The people don't matter — the pattern matters.

Content note: this episode discusses emotional abuse and postpartum struggles. Take care of yourself.

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Music: "Do It Anyway" by Scarlett Solo (licensed)

Daddy Tissues is a personal storytelling podcast for entertainment, reflection, and connection — not legal, medical, financial, or mental health advice. Take care of yourself. Names and identifying details may be changed or omitted to protect privacy.

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Music: "Do It Anyway" by Scarlett Solo, used under license.

Disclaimer: This podcast is for entertainment and personal storytelling purposes only. It is not therapy, legal advice, medical advice, or a replacement for professional support. If you are in an unsafe relationship or crisis situation, please reach out to a qualified professional or local support service.

I have apparently reached that magical level of podcasting where people are angry about things I didn't say, names I didn't use, and jokes they have decided to treat like sworn testimony everyone has their own definition of success or a goal they are trying to reach.

I'm actually being extremely kind, in my opinion, considering the awful things that have been said about me and done to me. And to all you people out there who think I've been literally telling my grandmom to go fuck herself, relax. It's a joke. I thought that was obviously understood, but apparently some people do not get it.

Those two things can exist at the same time. , You can appreciate everything someone gave you, and still acknowledge what they could not give you. You can know that somebody did the best they knew how to do, and still admit that their best hurt you. I'm allowed to say fuck you to anyone I want, even you, great-great-grandfather that I never met, because you have really fucked all of us. But like, hey, we forgive you. They didn't have therapists and ChatGPT back then, so you get a pass.

Welcome back to another episode of Daddy Tissues. I'm your host, Gina Sullivan, and this is the show where we talk about family trauma, relationships, emotional abuse, daddy issues, mommy issues, generational dysfunction, and all of the other beautiful little gifts our families unknowingly hand us before releasing us into society and wondering why we are completely unhinged.

The truth is, all of you haters are actually my biggest fans. I love you too. This whole thing has been terrifying for me. . I didn't start this show because I wanted to embarrass anybody. I didn't start it because I wanted revenge. I started it because I know what it feels like to be trapped inside something that you cannot explain.

It just keeps getting worse. -- It feels like being trapped inside some psychological horror movie where everyone keeps telling you that you are the problem. You know you are not crazy, but everyone around you is treating you like you are. And after enough time, you start thinking, "Wait, am I crazy?

Because if everybody is telling me I'm crazy, maybe I am." Then you start questioning your own memory, your own reactions, your own instincts. You are already being hurt by what somebody else is doing, but now you are also being hurt by the people who refuse to believe you Your own children get pulled into it.

There are forms of abuse that everybody understands because they leave evidence. A bruise can be photographed. A broken bone can be X-rayed. But there is so much damage that nobody can see. Psychological abuse, emotional abuse, coercive control, manipulation, the slow destruction of somebody's confidence until they no longer trust themselves enough to leave.

The only way I know how to explain it is by telling you what happened to me. Not because my story is the worst story, not because I think I am the only person who has suffered. I tell it because somebody listening might finally hear the words they have been trying to find. They might finally think, "Holy shit, that is what happened to me.

Not because you stopped caring, not because you became cold, but because you finally learned the difference between love and control, and that is freedom. For the first time in my life, I feel safe. -- Maybe not completely safe. Based on some of the reactions to this podcast, , you would think I had exposed an international crime ring instead of making jokes about my childhood.

Then a baby comes out, and everybody acts like the previous several hours were completely normal and there isn't a man between your legs with a sewing kit. - But there is one important thing I need you to understand. Having the baby did not make the relationship better. It made everything worse.

He had already been passed around too much. Everything became a decision somebody else needed to control. And I had just given birth. I was exhausted. My hormones were everywhere. I was trying to breastfeed. I was trying to figure out how to keep an entire human being alive when I was still basically a child myself.

I wanted to be with my mom. I was 18 years old. But everything was being arranged as if my decisions did not matter. I don't remember every detail of the fight. I just remember the feeling. I remember there must have been this ripping down of balloons, like an, "Ah, you want balloons? I'll give you the fucking balloons," type of energy. I remember sitting there breastfeeding my baby and crying, just crying and crying, and he did not care.

It is not horrible every second. If it were horrible every second, most people would leave much sooner. The abuse happens, then the person comes back with apologies, affection, gifts, flowers, promises, sex, attention, or some huge declaration of love.

Maybe this time things will be different." But then the affection gets pulled away again. The tension starts building. The criticism starts. The control starts. The fighting starts, and you find yourself desperately waiting for the loving version of that person to return. When they finally come back with the apology or the gift, - it feels even more powerful because you have been starved of it.

That is how the relationship becomes addictive

The cruelty was just a mistake. The control happened because they loved you too much. The anger happened because they were scared to lose you. The gift becomes evidence you use against your own instincts. You tell yourself, "He must love me. Look at what he just bought me." On birthdays and holidays, he would go all out.

The gifts made the relationship look loving. They gave me something physical I could point to whenever the relationship felt horrible. "See? He does love me. A man who did not love me would not buy me this." But a gift does not cancel out abuse. Flowers do not restore your dignity. A [00:16:00] beautiful Christmas present does not make controlling behavior romantic.

Sometimes the gift is not proof that the cycle has ended. Sometimes it is the reset button that allows the cycle to begin again. The low gets fed by the high. Say it back to yourself the next time a beautiful box shows up after an ugly week And I was a people pleaser. I wanted everybody to be okay. I wanted to keep the peace.

And the more I said it, the more he tried to make it so horrible for me that when we broke up, my life was easier staying with him and pretending It's like I was this prisoner. It sucked being in prison, but it actually became the only bearable option. He made sure leaving was worse, so I felt like I didn't have a choice I spent most of my life letting fear control me.

Fear that somebody will be upset with me. Fear that somebody will get mad at me. Fear that somebody I loved would reject me because they disagreed with me. When someone you love gets angry at you, it does not feel good, especially when you have spent your entire life believing that love can be withdrawn at any moment.

What would happen if we acted from love instead? Real love. Not the version of love that demands obedience. Not love that requires you to hide. Not love that [00:19:00] disappears the moment you tell an uncomfortable truth Real love does not need silence to survive. Real love can handle honesty. Real love can say, "I don't agree with everything you are saying, but I still love you Real love allows people to be free

Free to have their own beliefs. Free to make their own choices. Free to become who they truly are. Everybody is allowed to have an opinion about this podcast. Everybody is allowed to hate it. Everybody is allowed to be scared of what I might say.

I am already free, and it feels really fucking good I am not telling these stories to hurt anybody. The people involved are already living their own lives. They have their own struggles, their own pain, and their own choices to live with. I do not need revenge. I do not need to add pain to anybody's life.

Maybe a parent recognizes the way they are controlling their child and decides to change. Maybe somebody finally understands that love and loyalty are not the same thing as silence. That is why I'm here. I am not here to destroy people. I am here to help free people, and if you cannot see that, I cannot force you to.

Live a life that is wild. Live a life that is honest. Live a life that is free. Stand up for what you believe in. Love people fiercely, but do not disappear inside that love. Do not give away your freedom just to keep somebody else comfortable. Most of the things we spend our lives worrying about are so fucking small compared with what life actually means.

There is something bigger than fear. There is something bigger than the drama.

That's it. That's the whole ask. It makes sure the next chapter finds you the second it drops. Okay, back to the story Eventually, I broke it off. I got away. I started dating somebody else, and for a while things were bearable. We shared time with our son. We tried to work out some version of co-parenting, and here's something that happened that I did not see coming.

He got to spend a lot of time with my son, more time than he ever got to spend with us when we were little because he was never home. He grew a bond with him, and he just loved that little baby so much. He was furious that I gave him his dad's last name, but that's my dad. And honestly, knowing what I know now, maybe he was right Anyway, little did I know that [00:25:00] that short period of less dramatic events not happening so much was actually the calm before the storm. Something horrible happened. Something so horrible that I still don't know exactly how much of it and how exactly I'm going to tell it.

Not because I'm trying to hide the truth, but because some stories need to be handled carefully. Some stories involve more than one person's pain, and some memories are too important to spill out carelessly just because there is a microphone in front of me. So I'm gonna stop this chapter where it needs to stop, not because somebody has scared me into silence, not because I need permission to tell my own story.

They were raking leaves into those huge orange trash bags that look like pumpkins. Do you remember those? You would fill them with leaves and put them on the lawn as Halloween decorations. My dad did that every year. The kids were outside looking for leaves, big leaves, little leaves, running around, having fun.

My son was eating macaroni and cheese with his two little friends from next door. It was just a normal night. I lived in the city on a street with row homes and cars parked along both sides. I was supposed to go to the gym for an hour with my friend, so I asked my dad to keep an eye on my son. He was safe.

You're gonna need it, and so will I. Till next time, my queens