'When my mum and dad split, I was relieved. Then I found out what he'd done with my savings.'

My dad was someone who could somehow be both supportive and deeply damaging.

I have vivid memories of him taking me to work for the day — he had a leather handbag business — and scrummaging around in the stockroom trying to find bags that were named after me. He did that — named bags after the people he loved.

I was his little helper, his baby girl who could do no wrong in his eyes. I enjoyed those workdays, feeling like I had a real purpose helping my dad, and I enjoyed seeing him happy. But the workday would eventually come to an end, and we would go home, and the dad I had just spent the day with was no longer around.

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My mum would prepare a beautiful home-cooked dinner, which my dad would demolish most of, then he'd have a whiskey and cop out for the night.

Meanwhile, my mum was left to sort out washing, prepare recess and lunch for two young children for the next day, tidy the house, bath my brother, put us both into bed, and only then did she have a moment for herself.

I must have been around 13 years old when I picked up the habit of going back downstairs every night roughly 20 minutes after my mum had tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight. I would wander down the dimly lit corridor and tiptoe down the stairs where I would usually find my mum — occasionally with my dad — watching TV or arguing about money.

"Go back to sleep now bubs, it's getting late, and you have to be up for school early tomorrow," she'd say.

Without saying much I'd sulk my way back upstairs, crawl into bed and fall asleep. As a 20-year-old now, I often reflect on these moments and I realise that even as a young teen, I was acutely aware of the emotional strain my mum was under. I was worried about mum and wanted to check on her, because it was at night time, where the arguing would reach its peak.

One afternoon, after a fight with my dad about me keeping my bedroom door open, my mum came into my room. "Bubs, why don't you go downstairs and say sorry to dad and give him a hug and a kiss". This time, I had reached my boiling point. "Why should I?" I snapped. "He's the adult, and I'm the child. Why do I need to apologise for his temper?" That moment was a real turning point for my mum. She knew I was right, but this was how it had always been.

In an attempt to minimise his outbursts, my mum, brother, and I would comply, simply to keep the peace, even if it meant sacrificing our own well-being.

After a gruelling 15 years of marriage, filled with violence, manipulation and constant finance troubles, my mum had reached her boiling point. She sat down with me in my room one night and said "bubs, how would you feel if dad and I took a little bit of a break?"

It was almost as if I could feel the metaphorical weight being lifted off my chest.

"I think that's a good idea," I muttered, trying to hide my sense of overwhelming relief.

See, it wasn't just my mum who was unhappy, my younger brother and I were constantly walking on eggshells around my dad. My dad is a businessman, or some would refer to him as a con artist, although, most businessmen really are I supposed.

His leather handbag business was his world, and my mum often felt like an accessory in his life. His employees were like family to him — his "real" family — while my brother and I seemed secondary to his work.

Money was always an issue in my family, but it only became apparent to me after their divorce.

My father had taken it upon himself to take all the money out of my savings account — most of which I had accumulated from family and friends for my bat-mitzvah — and use that to pay his debts.

Not only that, but the money that was sitting in a bank account in London, controlled by my father's sisters who lived there, which was promised to me when I turned 18, was stolen from me.

I have tried on multiple occasions to discuss this with my dad, but he will not budge.

It's either "I never stole any money from you", or "your mother is feeding you lies and has poisoned you against me".

Both statements are untrue, and only deepened my sense of betrayal.

I was 15 when I decided I didn't want a relationship with my dad anymore. At the time, I didn't fully understand the weight of it, but now, at 20, I stand by that decision. His actions — and his refusal to take responsibility for them — cemented the realisation that I could not maintain a relationship with someone who continually hurt me and my family.

I often find myself wondering if I made the wrong decision. Will I regret this one day when he dies? And the truth is, I don't know. But what I do know is that I am much better off without him.

If I had a dollar for every time someone has said to me "you only have one dad", I'd be a multi-billionaire. It's true, I do only have one dad, but I also have one hell of an amazing stepdad. About a year after my parents divorced, my mum met her current partner. This man has taught me not only the most important and valuable life lessons, but also, what a healthy family dynamic is supposed to look like. Never in my life have I seen my mum laugh and smile so much.

When I reflect on the emotional damage, the betrayal, and the lies, I realise it was the only choice I could make to protect my own peace.

Feature Image: Getty.