The Integrated Masculine

A,

If you’re reading this, then the boy I once carried on my shoulders has become a man. Maybe you’re only just stepping into adulthood. Maybe you’re older than I am as I write these words. Wherever you are—know this: you have always been my greatest teacher, my clearest mirror, and the most beautiful reason I’ve ever had to become a better man.

When you were five years old, we were living in the thick of it. Life was messy. Complicated. Your smile could break open any storm I carried, and your questions—those endless, brilliant questions—kept me honest.

I want to tell you who I was when you were little, not to burden you with my story, but to offer you a thread. Something to hold onto when life feels heavy. Something to remind you that you come from a man who did the work, who wrestled with his own shadows, who loved you more fiercely than you’ll ever fully grasp until, perhaps, you become a father yourself.

I was still learning how to let go of what didn’t serve me. Still healing from things I didn’t cause, but didn’t want to pass down either. I was figuring out how to lead with love—not fear. To father from presence, not performance.

I wasn’t perfect. I won’t pretend I had it all together. But I showed up. And I kept showing up.

Being a man isn’t about how much you can carry—it’s about knowing when to put things down.

It’s not about being unbreakable. It’s about learning how to break well, and come back stronger.

You are allowed to be both fierce and tender. Brave and uncertain. Bold and gentle.

Don’t ever shrink to fit a version of masculinity someone else created for you.

Make your own way. Walk it with integrity. And when in doubt—lead with heart.

You taught me more than I could ever teach you. Some of the lessons I have learned with you are:

Love isn’t a grand gesture. It’s a thousand tiny ones.

Listening is one of the most powerful forms of protection.

Slowing down, getting on the floor, and watching the clouds or dinosaurs with you was sometimes the most important work I could do that day.

I’ll never forget one quiet morning, just the two of us at the breakfast table. I leaned in close and whispered, “I have a secret to tell you.” Your eyes lit up with curiosity. I cupped my hand around your ear and said, “Daddy loves you, forever and always.” You giggled and leaned in with your own secret—“I love you a billion.”

That moment… I’ll carry it with me for the rest of my life.

Or the time I tucked a Freddo Frog underneath your cucumber and celery sticks. You groaned your way through those “horrible” greens—and then found the surprise. Your laughter lit up the kitchen like sunlight. That’s love too, you know. It’s in the little joys.

And one of the things I’m loving most right now, at this age, is watching you make friends—real friends. The kind that see you, get you, and grow with you. Watching you laugh and run and connect with other kids—seeing your heart open to people—I know those friendships will be part of your story for a long, long time.

You may have questions one day about why things were the way they were. About why we lived between two homes, why some days were easier than others. I want you to know: I always fought for you. I made choices with your heart in mind, even when they were hard.

I don’t speak ill of your mother. You are made of both of us. My job was never to win. It was to love you well. And I did.

You will face your own storms. You may feel lost, misunderstood, or stuck. When that happens, don’t isolate. Don’t numb. Come back to the basics.

Call someone. Move your body. Cry if you need to. Sit in nature. Breathe deep.

And remember—your worth is not up for debate. Ever.

If I could bottle one thing and give it to you, it would be this: the feeling of holding your tiny hand in mine, your voice calling “Dad!” with that unfiltered joy, the peace I feel when I see you asleep, safe and growing, under the same roof as me.

If you forget everything else, remember this: you were, are, and always will be loved. More than language can hold. More than time can erase.

I’m proud of you. I’m proud with you. And I always will be.

With everything I am,

–Dad