Among the many things I love about the work I get to do in the world, it is thrilling to get to witness parents in the process of conscious parenting. It’s a gorgeous process to witness. And this piece, shared by Dan Seare, a dad in our community, is a beautiful reflection of that. I know you’ll love reading it as much as I did. ~ Elaine 

My dad was a soft, beautiful man. My dad was a hard, authoritarian man. Since my son was born fourteen years ago, the question has been, “Where do I position myself on that continuum so that I show up as a loving and effective father?”

Unlike many men of my generation, I heard the words “I love you” from my dad nearly every day.  There was another side to him, though. He struggled with unresolved anger from his own childhood. When he experienced stress, he frequently lashed out at my mother, my siblings, and me.

The unpredictability of his rage was terrifying. One minute he’d shower me with love; the next, he’d berate me at the top of his lungs. When I get rundown, I still viscerally relive those explosions. Sometimes, I’m haunted by visions of his red face and the accompanying purple veins popping out of his neck.

My dad’s approach to parenting was rooted in the shockingly common belief that children are born with a disproportionate propensity for bad behavior. Apparently, he felt obligated to counter that by any means necessary. Inducing fear was the primary method he used to control his children’s behavior.

After years of working in 12-step groups and therapy to let go of resentments, I finally understand why my dad became the type of parent he was. Forgiveness has been an arduous process. He died several years ago, but I still work to let go of more of my indignation toward him every day.

Ten-year-old me couldn’t grasp any of that. I vowed to live in direct opposition to the way my dad lived his life. If I ever had children, I swore my parenting would be as different from my dad’s as possible.

I know many parents who regret making vows like mine. They inevitably hear themselves repeating their parents’ words or even observe themselves parenting like they were parented. I’ve occasionally cringed when I’ve heard myself say something like, “Because I said so, that’s why!”

However, I’ve largely kept my vow to do a fatherhood one-eighty. Has my approach truly been better for my son, though? Frankly, I can be a real pushover. I’ve found it challenging to enforce rules and hold firm boundaries. It’s often difficult for me to resist rescuing my son from natural consequences, let alone actively impose consequences of my own design. In part because that’s the kind of mercy I craved as a child.

Most people would probably be surprised to learn that, as a younger man, I was quite adept at summoning rage when I felt the situation called for it. Thankfully, that was long before my son was born. I’ve striven to reject the intergenerational rage I inherited. However, when my son’s most provocative behaviors surface, I sometimes feel compelled to use fear to suppress them.

For several years, my son physically assaulted me almost nightly. I used to sit with my back against the inside of his closed bedroom door to prevent him from leaving. That was the only way I could think of to increase the likelihood he’d get the sleep he desperately needed. Many nights included multiple kicks to my groin. Amazingly, I usually controlled my temper.

Admittedly, there were nights when I yelled and said things intended to elicit shame. Every time I crossed that line, I candidly talked to him about it the next morning. I’m committed to resisting the impulse to append, “But I lost it because you did X,” to my apologies.

I’ve seen so much change in my son over the past few years. And I have made the effort to tailor my parenting to his challenging temperament. Sanity School®, private coaching, group coaching (Parent Success System), and other ImpactParents resources have been critical to our progress as a family. Medications have also helped my son maintain better control over his impulsivity, temper, and anxiety.

Despite those previously unimaginable improvements, I still frequently hear my dad’s voice saying, “Spare the rod, spoil the child”. Sometimes, I catch myself wondering whether our home might be less chaotic if I used a heavier hand.

All children, especially complex kids, benefit from and deserve well-defined and enforced boundaries. There’s still a lot of room for me to improve in that area, but I try to humbly acknowledge the progress I’ve achieved in reducing the amount of intergenerational trauma I pass on.

I know my fatherhood pendulum swung too far in response to my dad’s mistakes. My work has been to seek a middle way. I get closer to that goal one day at a time, but the road ahead still calls for heightened vigilance.

Many of you are intimately familiar with how difficult this kind of journey is. At times, I thought I might buckle under its weight. It’s crucial to remember this isn’t easy for our kids either. After my son recently said some very disrespectful things to me in front of a group of family friends, I told him I felt embarrassed and hurt. With a tear in his eye, he replied, “Do you think I like it when I do stuff like that?”

After seven or eight years where I barely recognized the boy in my home, it now frequently feels like I have my son back. Rough edges and all, he’s precious to me. Most days, he clearly loves me for the father I’ve become. In full candor, we still face frequent challenges that many families will never have to contend with. However, the progress we’ve accomplished together is nothing short of amazing.

Our family’s path to healing started when we walked into a parenting group at a local ADHD clinic. As other parents shared their stories, I nearly dissolved into a puddle of tears as I realized I was no longer alone. Our journey continued as my wife and I found our way to get ongoing support from ImpactParents. 

If you’ve found your way here, you’re no longer alone either. You’re among people who understand exactly what you’re going through. Lean on the shoulders of those of us who know your path because we have walked it. You’ve earned that support, and you’re worth it. Your kids are worth it, too.