The Words We Never Heard But Still Say

Fellas,

Picture this. A Dad sits at the kitchen table after a tough day. His son is upset about something; maybe a game didn’t go his way, or a friend said something hurtful.

The kind of moment adults often brush off with a “you’ll be fine.” But the dad doesn’t dismiss it. He doesn’t try to fix it with logic or distraction.

He just sits beside him and says, “Yeah… I’ve had days like that too. Want to talk, or just sit for a bit?”

That moment. Quiet, undramatic is where trust grows. It tells the son Your feelings matter. You don’t have to go through this alone. No lecture. Just presence.

That moment becomes a blueprint. Not just for conflict resolution, but for trust. The child doesn’t see his father as fragile. He sees him as real. Accessible.

We think kids only respect us when we have answers. But often, they respect us most when we’re honest about not having them all.

Too many of us grew up under the unspoken rule that real men, real fathers, don’t show fear, don’t cry, and don’t talk about what hurts. We were taught to fix, to provide, to protect and that’s it.

But if you keep everything locked behind silence and grit, what exactly are you protecting?

You can’t build trust with a son who only sees your mask. And you can’t lead a family if you’re too afraid to feel.

Authority Confused with Distance

After divorce or separation, a lot of fathers fall into emotional survival mode. You have limited time, strained communication, and sometimes, it feels like your child is being pulled away from you.

Some Dads believe they have to stay "tough" to command respect. They fear that if they admit confusion, sadness, or regret, they’ll lose ground as if their power depends on keeping their kids emotionally at arm’s length.

You start thinking, "Why bother opening up if they barely want to talk?"

But what happens? Kids sense the wall. They stop coming to you with their pain. Sons especially, grow up thinking emotions are dangerous.

They inherit your silence. And that silence becomes the rule, not the exception.

Start by opening the door an inch. You don’t need a TED Talk on your regrets. But you can say:

This isn’t about turning into a confessional booth. It’s about showing your kid that strength can speak.

A Reddit user once posted about how he used to think his dad didn’t care about him because he never said anything personal. "It wasn’t until I had my own son that I realized he was just scared to look soft. That realization came too late. I wish he’d let me in."

Speak the feeling, even if it's awkward. And when a boy sees his Father name feelings without shame, it becomes easier for him to do the same.

Years From Now

Your son is 15. He just got his heart broken. He doesn’t know how to handle the storm of feelings inside him, confusion, embarrassment, anger.

But because you’ve been modeling Emotional intelligence for years, he knows how to talk. He knows he can come to you and not be mocked or dismissed.

So he does. He knocks on your door. "Dad, I don’t know what to do." And you listen.

He doesn’t turn to YouTube.
He doesn’t shut down.
He turns to you.

Why?

Because five years earlier, when he was 10 and upset about losing a game, you didn’t minimize him. You didn’t scold. You said, “Losing sucks. Want to talk about it?” And you listened.

The Father Who Changes the Script

Many of us are trying to parent in ways we never experienced ourselves. Our dads may have been silent. Or angry. Or just…absent. They didn’t give us the language to talk about pain. Or to admit fear. Or to say “I love you” without feeling awkward. But that stops with us.

You can’t pass on what you’ve never received but you can build it now.

Many fathers feel unequipped. They don’t know where to start. Emotional talk feels clunky, unnatural. Use stories. Use metaphors. Use music. Say, “That song reminds me of how I used to feel when I was your age.” Don’t aim for perfection aim for openness.

What It Looks Like in Practice

These small shifts? They’re not just words. They’re a light in the fog.
You’re raising a young man who won’t mistake Silence for Safety, or Anger for Armor.

Maybe your own father didn’t have a Inner world understanding.
Maybe love in your childhood looked like discipline, or distance, or disappearing acts. And maybe quietly, desperately you swore you’d break that cycle.

I’m 44 years old and I’ve never said “I love you, Dad.” I never will.

But I hear those words every day now, from my Sons.

That’s the battlefield of transformation. It’s not your fault you inherited the silence. But it is your mission to plant something different in the soil.

And years from now, your son may not remember what you fixed, what you lost, or what you got right.

But he will remember That you stayed.
That you stumbled, and

still reached for him. And that strength?

That’s the kind he’ll pass on.

Until next time,

Barkim

Noose: