My Dad
When I was growing up there was a dichotomy between how I saw my dad and how I didn’t understand the boys who bullied me, ignored me, and hurt me in the most intimate way.
My dad was what I’d describe as the strong, silent type. He was an executive at a large corporation, devoted husband and family man, and incredibly generous.
His journey deeply resonates with me, highlighting the intricate dance between masculinity and emotional openness.
He spent a tremendous amount of energy on his self-improvement, particularly when it came to his marriage to my mom, spearheading a couples-led listening group and spending many weekends at marriage encounter retreats, both with mom and at men-exclusive events.
He put in more effort in self-development than mom did because he had a lot of cultural unlearning to do. The two of them were a formidable force together in making their marriage a success for 63 years before his death.
My dad was more than my mom’s husband. He was a provider for the family of 8. In that role he spent a good amount of time traveling for work, quite often out of the country. Even with his busy work schedule, he had time for us. I have such wonderful memories of his cannon balls into the pool, teaching me how to sail, and exploring countries and cultures as a family.
I don’t have any bad memories of my dad, but I know he did.
After he died, I read an unfinished letter he had written to the person who sexually abused me when I was a child.
In that letter, my dad talked about how he felt shame and disappointment in himself for not doing more to stop the abuse, and for not reacting differently when I told him about the abuse when I was 17.
He wrote that he just didn’t know what to do and wished that he could have done more to take away my pain and truly confront my abuser.
I empathize with men. They grow up with conflicting expectations — be strong, but not too tough. Be loving, but don’t be a pushover. They provide for the family, but struggle with being cared for themselves.
How many of them hold back from doing what they truly believe they need to do because they’re afraid of the consequences, scared of alienating people, or because society tells them how they should or shouldn’t express their emotions?
I spent a tremendous amount of energy in my own self-development, which included healing from my past and creating who I truly am and want to be. Throughout the last 45+ years, I wasn’t only focused on understanding me, I was trying to understand men and what makes them hard-hearted and what makes them tender-hearted.
I don’t believe men want to be hard-hearted. I believe they just don’t know how to be different.
My dad was able to truly show his emotions with my mom, but I know that he never was able to truly express them to me, and probably my siblings as well.
And after reading that letter, I believe that if my father had been able to express both compassion for me and confronted my abuser, he would have enjoyed greater inner peace throughout his life.
As a coach, my passion is helping men gain a deeper understanding of themselves and the world around them. Through this, I empower them to lead lives marked by authenticity and inner peace, free from the burden of regret or self-disappointment.
