A Father’s Promise

Breaking the Cycle: Why My Children Will Never Question My Love

I spent most of my life wondering if I would ever hear the words, “I’m proud of you.” Not from a stranger. Not from a mentor. From my father. The man whose harsh words and painful strikes carved deeper than any silence ever could. As a boy, I carried that question everywhere—into my work, my relationships, and my reflection in the mirror. Would I ever be enough?

Now I have sons of my own, and I’ve made them an unspoken promise: You will never have to ask that question. You won’t live with the weight of unspoken approval. You won’t spend your life trying to prove your worth to someone who never made you feel seen. That cycle ends with me.

I didn’t grow up in a home built for safety. Love was conditional. Praise was rare. Vulnerability was weakness. So I became what I had to: observant, guarded, hungry for respect. I worked jobs most people overlook—behind counters, in kitchens, on back roads delivering orders just to stay afloat. Eventually, I found my way into law enforcement.

The uniform gave me structure. It gave me purpose. But it didn’t silence the doubt that had lived in me since childhood. What it did do was open my eyes to just how much quiet pain people carry with them every day.

I’ve answered calls where the damage was already done—where someone reached the end of their rope with no one left to call. I’ve seen addiction steal a person’s light right in front of them. I’ve heard the kind of regret that only surfaces when it’s too late to go back. And I’ve sat in silence with people who simply didn’t want to die alone.

Those moments don’t go away. They stay with you. They teach you to listen more closely. To recognize the signs of someone trying to hold themselves together. And to understand that most people aren’t broken—they’re just tired of pretending they’re okay.

And maybe that’s why I’ve grown so tired of pretending everything’s fine. Because I’ve seen what pretending does. I’ve seen what silence costs. We live in a world where people feel like they have to wear a mask just to survive—and sometimes, that mask gets so heavy, they forget who they are underneath it.

But what if we changed that?

What if more of us spoke up?

What if fathers told their sons now, not someday, that they’re proud of them—not for being perfect, but for being kind? For treating people right. For standing back up after life knocked them down?

My sons will never have to wonder. They won’t grow up guessing whether they matter. I’ll tell them every chance I get. Not because I’m trying to be the perfect father, but because I remember what it felt like to crave words I never heard. And I refuse to let that curse pass down to another generation.

I’m still learning. I still stumble. I’m far from perfect. But I keep showing up. I keep pushing forward. And every time I look at my boys, I speak the words I spent decades craving: I’m proud of you. You’re already enough.

That doesn’t erase the past. But it reshapes the future.