When You Buy and IKEA Couch and Can’t Read the Swedish Instructions

At 25, fresh out of college and full of confidence, I went to work for my dad. Spoiler alert: I thought I knew everything—I actually knew nothing. My dad had been running a new business for about two or three years, struggling to keep it afloat while juggling the operational and administrative responsibilities that come with running a company.

The irony I learned about my dad was this: “Nothing was ever simple with him—kind of like assembling IKEA furniture with the original Swedish instructions.” He was complex, and his deep sadness often showed up as passive-aggressive anger. Unfortunately, anyone who crossed his path and triggered his negative feelings bore the brunt of it.

It was tough for me. Not only was much of it unnecessary, but it clashed with the larger-than-life image I had of my dad—the man who never showed his struggles. The man who was funny. Suddenly, his problems were out in the open, on full display.

I felt like it was my job to be his fixer—sort of like a mob fixer, but without the criminal activity. That role left me exhausted. When he died, I was left to clean up the mess he had created for himself. Resilience didn’t come easily or quickly. But looking back, I survived—and now I’m here to tell the story.

Want to hear more about my dad’s story? Not only can you hear it in my book, currently in writing but I share more on social media. So… follow me if you are not already!