Absent fathers
I spend a lot of time speaking with wounded men. Men trying to figure out how to be the men they want to be, when no-one has shown them how. When they’ve never believed they are good enough.
Almost always, there is an absent father at the start of their story. Sometimes, just not there at all. Sometimes, there in body but not in mind.
Always, emotionally absent.
These men did not grow up feeling that they mattered in the world. I don’t blame their fathers, or mothers. Often they had similar stories and weren’t able to overcome their own challenges. Blame doesn’t really serve anyone.
But, absence has consequences. And for these men - for me - those consequences are hard to live with.
Often we are emotionally shut down. Unable to feel. Many of us get triggered easily, with overblown anger or fear impacting our behaviours.
It can be hard to connect with other people. Men, or women. It can be hard just to be. To stop and sit. To avoid numbing out in a dozen different ways.
Each of us has our own special cocktail of challenges, instilled in early childhood by emotionally absent fathers.
The children
I have a strong belief. A hill I’ll die on:
Children need, more than anything, unconditional love from their parents
No shit, Sherlock. Of course kids need their parents to love them.
Ok, hear me out. There’s a key word here: unconditional. Too often this doesn’t happen. In fact, it rarely does.
Nearly all parents will tell you that they love their kids. And usually, they do.
But look at their actions. How often do parents travel for work? Pick their phones up at home? Tell their kids to stop whinging or shouting? Punish their behaviour? Criticise their choices?
True unconditional love is a very high bar. An impossible standard. You will fail to meet it. Accepting that is part of the journey.
We still have choices. Things we can do to help our kids feel loved, unconditionally.
Hope is not lost.
A father’s pride
I sometimes get angry with my kids. I often disappear into my phone. I’m not always there when they want me to be, physically or emotionally.
These are all things I’m working on. There aren’t quick fixes - it takes a lot of work, especially with 4 kids who need me.
In the meantime I have a simple trick to keep my kids charged up with unconditional love. Every night I say three things to them:
I love you
I’m proud of you
I’m so lucky to be your Daddy
It’s amazing to see them physically puff up when they hear those words. It hits them somewhere deep inside. And it serves to remind me that all those things are true, too.
Keeping it clear
Remember that word ‘unconditional’. This can trip you up if you’re not careful. It’s easy to add conditions without meaning to.
In those three statements there is no “because”. I don’t give reasons why I’m proud of them. There are no reasons, other than their very existence.
Sometimes I fall into the trap of adding a ‘why’.
“You worked really hard at rugby today, I’m really proud of you”
The hidden message? “If I don’t try hard, Daddy won’t be proud of me…”
Repeated often enough that hidden message can turn into an embedded unconscious belief: “If even my own Dad isn’t proud of me I must really be a piece of shit. If I don’t try hard, I’m truly worthless”.
Too much of that and they are set-up for a lifetime of chasing external validation. The classic insecure over-achiever.
Hi, that’s me 👋
The end goal
I want my kids to believe that whatever happens, they matter. That whatever they choose to do with their lives is valid. That I’ve got their back no matter what.
That doesn’t mean I don’t set standards or apply boundaries. This isn’t a free-for-all.
They still learn the importance of taking responsibility. Of being respectful. Of doing their best.
They do this by learning that choices have consequences. Some of which they may not like.
And so they do these things for themselves, not to earn my love or pride.
Because they can’t earn my love or pride. It just is.
Deri.
The Blessing
By Peter Putnam
Growing up, what did you want your father to say to you?
What words did you crave from him? What words from him were you dying, literally dying, to hear? What I wanted my father to say to me was pretty simple.
Son, I'm proud of you.
That's it, that's what I wanted more than anything. And he could have said it anytime - after I brought home yet another "A"; after I scored ten points in a basketball game; after I wrote a poem; after I was nice to my sister.
Son, I'm proud of you.
Or what would have been even better, he could have said it when I hadn't accomplished anything so concrete and worthy. He could have said it first thing in the morning, while I was eating cornflakes at the kitchen table. He could have said it at night, right before he closed my bedroom door.
Son, I'm proud of you.
If he had said it then, it would have meant even more. It would have meant: Son, you don't have to make the honor roll or the basketball team. You're good enough just as you are. Right now, without accomplishing another thing. You can relax. You're enough.
I didn't know I was enough.
If I wasn't doing something important, accomplishing something, achieving something, I felt I was worthless.
But I think my father could have reassured me that that wasn't true; he could have convinced me that even if I wasn't working, I was worthy. I think he's the only person in the world who could have convinced me of that.
Son, I'm proud of you. Without changing a thing, you're enough.
If I had heard that growing up - even once, clearly, sincerely, definitively - I think I would have come to believe I wouldn't always be this boy working his ass off so he can feel good about himself, feel strong, feel like a man.
I suspect I would have finally come to believe the essential underlying message that only my father could convince me of:
Son, you have all it takes to be a strong, loving man.
This is what I wanted my father to say to me while I was growing up, and I wanted him to hug me when he said it.
This is The Blessing. I wanted my father to give me The Blessing.
Son, I'm proud of you. You're enough. You have all it takes to be a strong, loving man.
I suspect you, too, wanted your father to give you The Blessing. Maybe not in exactly the same words, but in the same spirit: Son, you're OK, you're a man. I love you.
I suspect, like me, you craved his Blessing, would damn near have died for his Blessing - although you might have had to pretend it didn't mean shit to you.
And maybe you're still pretending that. Or maybe you've filled the hole opened in you by not getting The Blessing with so many addictions you've forgotten what you originally craved. Or maybe you've never forgotten that - all your life you've been acutely aware of not getting what you wanted from your father - but have had absolutely no idea how to get it.
Welcome to my world. Welcome to the world of most sons. Welcome to the world of Unblessed Sons.
Son, I'm sorry I never said the words you so wanted to hear. They were always here in my heart, and sometimes, oh so many times, they were right there on my lips ... I'm sorry for the pain I caused by not finding a way to hug you and to speak them. Let me say them now, let me hug you like you wanted to be hugged, and let me say them to you now: Son, I'm proud of you. You're strong, you're loving, you're a man. I honor all that you are, and all that you are becoming. I am blessed to have you as my son.