What happens when a father’s absence becomes the norm? How can I carry feelings for someone who was never truly there?
I started this project two years ago, after reuniting with my paternal grandparents following ten years of no contact. The first time I saw them, I was nervous. I remember standing outside their door, unsure of what I’d find. I thought I might see my father too, but he wasn’t there. My grandmother told me he had moved to Colombia, and I felt relieved. I wasn’t ready to confront him.
The last time I saw my dad, I was 13. He promised me he would change and be a better father, that he would call more, but he never did. I buried the pain and convinced myself it didn’t affect me. It was easy to pretend, especially when no one in my family talks about him.
When I started visiting my grandparents again, something began to ache. My father was present even in his absence. In objects, in silences, in old photographs. One day, going through an album, I saw a picture of him holding me as a baby. I stared at the image and thought, “How dare you.” How dare you hold me like that and then leave. He hugged me as a child, but never as an adult.
Latin America has some of the highest rates of absent fathers in the world. In Mexico, over 30% of children live in single-parent households, most led by mothers (INEGI, 2020). In Colombia, nearly 28% of households are headed by women (World Bank, 2017). In Venezuela, data is limited, but the number is likely higher due to the forced migration of nearly 7.9 million people (IOM, 2023). Father absence is normalized, yet its emotional impact remains unspoken.
This project is a visual exploration of loss, memory, and identity. Elefante en la Habitación it's not just a personal project, but a shared story. It invites others to reflect on the emotional inheritance of abandonment and how silence can shape entire lives.
It took me 25 years to confront how deeply my father’s absence has shaped me.
