I don’t live with my father, but he happens to reside in the same town where I recently began a new job. The role is largely remote, with only occasional days in the office, so when I do travel up, I usually spend one night there before returning home. He lives in a small studio flat, and he insists that I take the bed while he sleeps on a mattress laid out on the floor just beside it. I often feel guilty about this arrangement, but the bed is too small for us to share comfortably.
Ordinarily, these visits pass without incident. Yet I have long been aware of my father’s more questionable habits. When I was younger, I discovered adult channels available on the television without my mother’s knowledge. Later, I stumbled upon his iPad history, which was filled with explicit material. Even in recent years, I’ve noticed his wandering eye online, despite being in a committed relationship since 2019.
Last night, I made the mistake of drinking coffee late in the day. I am very sensitive to caffeine, so instead of falling asleep quickly—as I usually do—I found myself restless and unsettled. Before bed, I noticed him wearing headphones. He explained that he wanted to listen to something before sleeping, and I thought little of it. But forty minutes later, I realized his phone was on, and I could hear heavy breathing and unmistakably inappropriate sounds. I froze, stunned that he would engage in such behavior while I was in the same room. The bathroom was only steps away, and had he chosen that space, I would not have questioned it.
The noises continued for some time. Even after I rose to use the bathroom, he asked if I had managed to fall asleep. I said no, and when I lay down again, he resumed. Perhaps he assumed I could not hear him or had drifted off. Regardless, I felt deeply unsettled. The thought of anyone doing this so near to me would have been disturbing, but the fact that it was my father made it unbearable. My frustration and exhaustion eventually led me to tears before I finally fell asleep.
In the morning, he behaved as though nothing had happened. I was drained from lack of rest and decided to work from home rather than go into the office. Yet the issue was not merely sleep deprivation—it was the lingering sense of disgust. Even speaking to him left me uncomfortable. I felt compelled to shower again and imagined scrubbing the entire flat, as though cleanliness might erase the memory.
I tried confiding in my mother, though I did not disclose the full truth. I told her only that he had kept me awake with noise and that he seemed to hide his phone whenever I passed by. Her response was that I should be grateful he gave up his bed for me and allowed me to come and go freely. Instead of comfort, her words deepened my unease. I felt isolated, unable to share the reality of what had transpired.
I knew that if I told her the full story, she would be furious and understand my anger. Yet I hesitated, wishing instead that I had simply fallen asleep and remained unaware. The knowledge itself felt contaminating, leaving me unsettled and ashamed.
Eventually, I did tell her. Her reaction was less explosive than I had imagined. She was not surprised, and though disappointed, she was calmer than expected. Oddly, her measured response gave me some relief. Speaking the truth aloud helped me release part of the burden. I still feel violated and disrespected, but I recognize there was no malicious intent. Even so, the experience has left me shaken.
Letting it out, however, did help. I am grateful for the encouragement to speak, and though the discomfort remains, I feel lighter for having shared it.
