I said earlier this week I needed to overshare soon, and here we are.
It’s not the post I thought I’d write—but something cracked open. One of those quiet mini-revelations that starts small and then won’t leave you alone. A pattern I couldn’t see while I was still living inside it.
And now, while I’m still writing my way through it all, I think I’ve finally started to understand why I stayed tangled up in my dad’s story for so long. Why I still feel connected to him. Why I still feel bad for him. Why the guilt still knots in my chest whenever I try to put him down on paper.
I’ve spent the past couple of years trying to understand my daddy. Trying to figure out how things got so twisted—and how close I came to ending up just like him.
He was sensitive. Probably more than he ever let on. The kind of person who couldn’t stand to feel rejected, so he’d rewrite the story to make sure someone always felt sorry for him. If I invited him someplace and he didn’t show, he’d say I never invited him at all. If I hurt his feelings, he’d pass along a version of the story where I’d wounded him on purpose. Where I’d turned on him. Most of the time, I was just trying to explain the ways in which he’d hurt me.
But I think he always had to be the one who’d been hurt—so people would stay close. And I get that. It wasn’t always malicious, but it wasn’t the truth either. I used to protect his feelings too. I didn’t want to upset him. I tiptoed around what I needed. I twisted myself into whatever version kept him calm, kept him loving, kept him proud.
Except once.
When I was thirteen—not long after he got out of rehab—I told him how I really felt. I asked for space. For something to change. I spoke plainly.
But he came back the same. For a while, I tried to stay distant. I thought maybe that would help us both. But eventually, he pulled me back in. And I let him. We had what I thought was a “heart-to-heart” moment, and at the time I thought it was progress. I was only thirteen—I didn’t realize that what he was doing wasn’t opening up. It was redirecting the guilt.
He told me my closeness with Randy hurt his feelings. That it was hard to watch. I tried to explain—that having a kind stepdad was better than an abusive one. That Randy wasn’t trying to take his place.
But I walked away thinking it was a breakthrough. I wanted to be better with him. I started pulling away from Randy, without even realizing it.
That one conversation rewired something in me—and it caused damage I wouldn’t understand until years later. Because I went right back to putting Dad at the center of everything. I thought that was love. It wasn’t until he died that I realized what it had cost me.
And Dad lied too—often. Not just to cover for his addiction, but to cushion how he was perceived. To feel cared for. To feel safe. I’ve done versions of that, too. Not the big lies. Not the rewrites. But the smaller ones. The polished version of a fight. The silence where the truth should’ve been.
I can see how close that line is now. How easy it is to slip into telling stories that protect you—at the expense of the people you love.
And if Dad hadn’t died—if I hadn’t started this work—I might’ve ended up just like him. A sweetheart, with a sensitive soul, but brittle. Maybe even broken. Desperate to always be seen in a certain light. Incapable of communication. Especially if that communication involved hearing some hard truths.
It took Dad’s death for me to stop protecting him and instead start trying to understand him. And more importantly—begin the harder work of trying to understand Mackenzie Irene.
This isn’t a resolution. It’s just a moment of clarity. A mini-revelation. A pattern broken before it had the chance to harden into something worse.
I loved him, and I still do. But I think I really would have become him, if I hadn’t started questioning my long-believed version of events—which were shaped by my daddy’s telling, not reality.
Hell, I still could be just like him.
But I don’t think I will. Because I finally turned inward—and didn’t flinch.
inspo: having a “mini-revelation” while writing ch. 11, so memoir musings, mostly // revisiting old emails from 2006 and watching the same lies shape-shift across time // thinking about that one “heart-to-heart” at thirteen and how it rewired my idea of loyalty & love // memoir-mind meets grief-logic meets mini-revelation
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Thank you for sharing. Very powerful. I only wish I had known earlier. ❤️🙏🏻
Thank you for reading. I wish I’d realized earlier too, but when we’re only given pieces of the puzzle we have to make do. It’s taken me a while to piece together this much, so I don’t blame anyone for not knowing the whole story. Hopefully my memoir can do everyone involved justice—I’m really striving to do that to the best of my ability, at least with the pieces I have been given. I appreciate your comment ❤️
Thank you for your quick response. As a former therapist, I hope you plan to publish. You are an incredible writer and your memoirs could really help others. ❤️🙏🏻
If I can’t interest any real publishers, I’ll self-publish. I post updates on my Facebook page (Kinsey Keys). And I’ll always keep an active site, though I’m planning to switch platforms very soon. Blog posts are more sporadic now that I’m inching toward the finish line with the memoir, but I’ll check in as often as possible. Usually on FB. I appreciate the support and love! ❤️❤️
Amazing, raw and beautiful writing – as always.
Thank goodness you are making these discoveries about the past – so that you can move forward in a positive and healthy way.
And those of us that have the honor of sharing your journey are blessed. Thank you for your continued courage and honesty.