What Christmas Taught My Son- The Cost of Being a Father
Excerpt
I don’t even know where to start, so I’ll start where I was sitting.
At my kitchen table. Wrapping paper everywhere. Tape stuck to my fingers. It was late. Way past midnight. I’d never wrapped presents before, not like this, but I sat there all night doing it anyway. Crying. Laughing at myself. Dancing a little. Just trying to make Christmas feel real for my kids.
I spent about a thousand dollars on them. Not because I had it to spend, but because I wanted them to wake up and feel loved. Spoiled. Safe. Excited. Especially my oldest. I know how much this stuff means to him. I know how much he was looking forward to it.
She told me she was dropping them off on Christmas Eve.
Then an hour later, she changed her mind.
Just like that.
I was fucking devastated. And honestly, the worst part wasn’t even me. It was thinking about what was going through my son’s head in that moment. The excitement turning into confusion. Then disappointment. Then that quiet hurt kids don’t know how to put into words yet.
I was on the phone with her, and my son was standing right next to her when I asked if I could at least still get them. Just let Christmas be Christmas.
.
Dads Don’t Fold – Part Four-The Mirror, the Mud, and the Man I Had to Bury
I don’t share this for sympathy. I share it because someone out there needs to hear it.
✅ I’ve worked 90-hour weeks.
✅ I’ve cried in silence.
✅ I’ve been left, broken, blocked — and still showed up.
✅ I’ve nearly ended it.
✅ I’m still here.
This isn’t a story about perfection.
It’s about pain, growth, and choosing to rise anyway.
This is for the fathers who refuse to fold.
The ones dragging themselves through the mud,
one inch at a time — for their kids.
For legacy.
For something bigger than pain.
I wrote this blog for us. For you.
And if it hits home…
You're already one of us.
#DadsDontFold #AllThingsDad #RealMenRaise #HealingOutLoud #ModernFatherhood #DadLifeUnfiltered #FathersMatter #BreakingGenerationalTrauma #LegacyOverLuxury #BlackFatherhood #EmotionalResilience #MensMentalHealthMatters
Part 2 — A Father’s Fight to Stay Present
Four days a month.
Four days to teach, love, guide, and influence a little boy who looks to me for everything.
How do you build a childhood in four days?
I’m a present father limited by circumstance. Not by choice. Not by effort. And the weight of that reality is something only dads in this position truly understand. Staying present isn’t just about showing up physically—it’s about carrying the emotional weight when you’re forced to be absent more than you’re allowed to be there.
You Don’t Have to Be Perfect — You Just Have to Keep Showing UpFrom the Dads Don’t Fold Series
After losing my mother, brother, partner, home—and the version of myself I thought would last forever—I learned something nobody tells you:
Standing up from the ashes is one thing.
Learning how to live again is another.
This chapter isn’t about the collapse.
It’s about what comes after:
The silence. The fight to stay present.
The weight fathers carry quietly.
It’s about showing up for your kids—even when you're still rebuilding yourself.
Because we don’t need to be perfect.
We just have to keep showing up.
A Father’s Rise from the Ashes: A Story of Pain and Perseverance
A Father’s Rise from Ashes
There are nights I’ve sat alone in my car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly I thought my knuckles would crack. The house I used to call home felt like a memory, and the people who were supposed to remind me who I was—the people who loved me unconditionally—were gone. My mom. My brother. Both taken before I could say goodbye.
And then my relationship ended. Suddenly, the two people I had built my life around weren’t there to catch me when I fell. I was exhausted from working 12–13 hour days just to provide for Noah, Ava, and Matthew, yet I felt like I wasn’t enough. Not enough for my kids. Not enough for myself.
Some nights, I slept upright in the car because I couldn’t face the emptiness of an apartment without my family. Some nights, I didn’t sleep at all. And yet, through all the heartbreak, the panic attacks, the feeling of fading away—I kept showing up.
Because that’s what my kids needed. Not a perfect dad. Not a dad who never cried or never struggled. They needed a dad who fought. A dad who kept coming back. A dad who rose from the ashes, every single day.
This is my story. A story of loss, heartbreak, and grief—but also of resilience, love, and the fight to be the father my children deserve. And if you’re a dad going through it too… you’re not alone.