Change for the Better?

On the battle to break inherited chains

One of the key recurring motifs of TNF—and a huge part of the manuscript sat here on my desk—is how today’s dads are doing the work to identify the inherited traumas passed down by generations of fathers before them, and becoming the circuit breakers to prevent them from going any further. Jeffrey Coleman recently got in touch to share a personal reflection on this work. He lives in Paris with his wife and daughters, works as a coach and community organiser, and writes The Bridge. Over to you, Jeffrey.

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Jackson Simmer / Unsplash

We want to be better fathers. But what if—as we strive to improve on what our fathers did and reject some of their ways—we learn our kids prefer what we rejected? Will our efforts ever be enough?

More context, maybe you can relate: my parents fought all the time growing up. At least that’s what I remember. My mom says it started soon after they met, even before they married, and maybe some fighting is a good thing because it means a couple is working out their differences. In my parents’ case, the facts are: they separated when I was 7 and tried to patch the marriage back together, but divorced before I finished grade school. Then they fought through me until the day I left for university. Fun times.

My father’s a workaholic. He doesn’t see it that way, but he’s 65 this summer and has said more than once he doesn’t plan to retire until he hits the grave. He’s co-owner of a small lumber resale business, and one of his business partners died young, of cancer, before retiring. My father’s father (who co-founded the business) was forced to retire the year before he died, while in hospital. At the eleventh hour, he tried to reconcile with his estranged sons. Better late than never. I learned that if business is the priority, other things take second place at best.

That wouldn’t be a huge deal—after all, I’m trying to live my life differently—but my early childhood memories include my mom being flung out of a moving car by a father in a road rage, my dad knocking me down the stairs more than once, other times screaming at me for an hour or more, telling me I’m wrong, telling me I don’t understand. I learned the awful power of unprocessed grief and anger and swore I’d find another way. Still, I carried wounds from the emotional and physical violence.

With time, I put distance between me and my father: both in my head (silencing the inner critic) and in reality (moving from Philly to NYC and then Paris). The path wasn’t easy. I worked hard to make my way in the world without my father’s help, hustling 50 hours a week, splitting parenting 50/50, making friends with other multicultural families of young kids trying like us to do it differently, expanding my capacity for empathy through literature, film and exposure to other ways of living until at last I felt I understood the story. I could find my peace.

If only that were enough! When I was a high-paid UX recruiter in NYC working long hours, I would always double-time it home to pick my daughter up from school. My wife worked one or two evenings a week and half the weekend, so I’d solo-parent as best I could. With time, we got the hang of it. It was the first four years of her life, so my daughter doesn’t remember. As a pre-teen, she’s often doubted that I love her, while I’ve always been committed.

Thanks to the lower cost of living in France, I gave up the hustle and worked part-time as a freelancer. With more time for parenting and self-care, I could more actively create fun moments for the kids—now two daughters, the second having been born in Paris. And I thought it would be enough: I’d reinvented my career to be more available for my kids. I’d found alignment in not being a high-speed businessman, and let my life stand as more of a creative statement, an effort of exploration.

Despite the efforts to change, my oldest daughter—now at the same age as I’d been when my parents divorced—has poured torrents of criticism at me, so much hate, full-on yelling, blaming me for her pain and all that’s wrong in the world. What else needed to change?

I realized that I’d done similarly as a kid. I had wanted my dad to listen to me: to hear my desire that he show proof of his love, caring less about work and wealth accumulation, caring more for our family’s well-being. When he couldn’t do it, I blamed him for all the pain. My daughter also wanted me to listen to her, though I’d already made plenty of space to talk about emotions. I’d previously rejected my father trying to love me with what felt like excessive spending, but that’s what my daughter wanted me to do. Spend more money buying what she wants to make her feel I care. It was time to reconcile the diverging threads.

My daughter, in one shouting match (during which I was trying so hard to de-escalate the situation), like a knife-twist of emotional force, said to me, “Your father claimed to love you, but look how he treated you. How can I trust you love me just because you say it?” Often enough with her, I know long-term where I’m headed, but don’t know in the moment how to respond. It hurt what she said. It also challenged me to go deeper.

My daughters know I’m invested. I show them by introducing them to new friends, listening to their long stories of what happens at school, finding activities we can do together, making space to talk through important transitions (like when we moved abroad or when the eldest became a big sister). These are ways I demonstrate my love. You probably try to do the same. So when my oldest tries to blame me for all her pain, I know it isn’t all my fault. This is just part of her self-actualization, part of growing up. So important for us parents to be kind to ourselves, not about perfection. But at the same time, I also knew there was one area of life I needed to work through if I was going to be the dad my daughters deserved—I needed to heal the relationship with my own father.

My father often wanted to love me, and he did it the best he knew: Paying for things and experiences, working hard to ensure we would not lack for money, teaching me how to have a work ethic. I wanted him to listen to what matters to me (social justice, healthy culture, apologizing when angry) and recognize our differences. He wanted to assure me I didn’t understand how life works, that I’d eventually come around to his position and way of living.

I never did come around to his perspective, but I have come around to an open acceptance of what he can offer, his limits and his strengths, which can complement my own desires. I have learned to receive the financial abundance he’s worked hard for, and redirect those resources towards the needs of my family, which include purchases for the kids and embraces as well as generosity towards creative founders working for systemic change. Allowing myself to receive the love my father has on offer (in the form of money) frees me to prioritize time and energy towards emotional and relational work that has been neglected in my family history, and I have discovered greater career alignment. Living the life I want has also helped me accept my father the way he is, with compassion and without judgment.

I can still feel simmering resentment towards my father for offering me money and condescension when I wanted respect, but I’ve seen that turned around when my oldest daughter tells me boldly she wants me to spend money for new clothes, new books, a new bedroom, a new iPad. She doesn’t want me to judge her. I’ve learned that when she wants to shop for clothes online or go to an expensive music concert, she’s also not trying to challenge my values with her consumerist habits. She’s inviting me to connect with her, to respect her needs on her terms.

While my father prioritized sales calls in his 20s, 30s, and 40s I’ve been prioritizing a different sort of relationship building (plus somatic healing work) that has helped me process generational trauma, and that in turn frees me up to show up differently with my children, even down to the way I react when they’re “misbehaving” (dancing around) during dinner. I see their need to express the joy, the nervousness, the silly, over and above my inherited instinct towards discipline.

My dad didn’t have systems of support to help him feel safe enough to change. He’s stayed entrenched in his positions because, for all the money he’s earned, he still feels psychologically that he’s not done enough. He feels threatened by criticism. I’ve learned to have compassion for him, and in the process, discovered the power of deep self-kindness for myself. And I have welcomed the critical feedback of my children to help me integrate the larger truth of how we heal: seen from the proper angle, we are all hurting in one way or another. Acceptance of what is (the good intentions, the twisted love, the misplaced effort) helps us receive.

By serendipity, a few months back, my dad admitted he had apologized many times but not taken the need to change behavior seriously enough. I have hope. Even old dogs can learn new tricks! I don’t expect much from him, but I like that we can talk more easily on the phone now, that he visited us twice in the past six months, that he can feel safe sharing about the work he does or the insecurities he feels in relation to his older brother. I’m not going to take on the role of father figure for him, but at least now I understand he needs appreciation and recognition as much as anyone. And I shower myself with appreciation many days too, to keep it equal.

So, back to the beginning: when can we say our efforts as parents are enough? With a little bit of luck, every day we can tell ourselves we are making the change in how we show up, how we learn and adapt, how we embrace even what we might have rejected before, how we seek the more holistic picture, how we live out the more beautiful story. I grew up in the Philly suburbs sometime after Benjamin Franklin, who wrote Poor Richard’s Almanack three centuries ago. He noted, “How few there are who have courage enough to own their faults, or resolution enough to mend them.” May we fathers be part of the few.

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3 things to read this week

1. “A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Mom” by Kim Brooks in The Cut. An old essay, ripe with insight on the classic “pram in the hallway” conundrum, and whether it’s possible to be a creative person and a parent simultaneously. “I don’t want to believe it — that parenting itself makes art hard, that you must always sacrifice one for the other, that there is something inherently selfish and greedy and darkly obsessive in the desire to care as much about the thing you are writing or making as you do about the other humans in your life. What parent would want to believe this?”

2. “A Grand Experiment in Parenthood and Friendship” by Rhaina Cohen in The Atlantic. Ever wonder how much easier parenting might be if you just moved onto a commune with your best friends? Cohen talks with families who have made the bold leap in buying apartments close by (even next door) to their friends, and building small communities to replicate “the village” that used to support childrearing. It’s not all roses, either—folks move away, people clash over parenting styles—noting: “If you want other adults to drive your kids to school in an emergency or watch them so you can rest after a rough night, this is the bargain: In exchange for more support, you get less control. Sometimes, your kid might seek comfort from another adult instead of you. Other times, another adult’s authority might trump yours.”

3. “Here’s What Surprised Me Most About Becoming a Parent” by Carlos Greaves in Shades of Greaves. A heartfelt reflection on becoming a dad for the first time. “I had expected parenting to be a mix of hard parts and great parts. But I didn’t realize that the two are not mutually exclusive. Sometimes the hard parts are the great parts.”

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A24’s Dad Movie

US dads: get yourself to the movies to check out Friendship. It’s been on limited release for the last few weeks, and is going nationwide from today. Tim Robinson, former SNL writer and creator of I Think You Should Leave, tackles the male loneliness epidemic in his inimitable way, with Paul Rudd on the assist. Early reviews have been promising, although A24 has cruelly yet to announce any details of an international release.

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Hot Dads Cry

One of the Berlin dads shared this in their Dadurday group: an event for Father’s Day in Berlin, hosted by Hot Boys Cry, a clothing brand and “movement empowering men to show emotions openly.” Bang on brand for The New Fatherhood, and highly encourage anyone in Berlin to roll through next Thursday. Alex, the organiser, promises “A flower stand, a letterbox for emotional messages, and lots of good vibes. No pressure. No posing. Just feeling.” More details on the event here.

All the local TNF dad groups (and details on how to start your own) can be found on the Dadurdays site.

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Good Dadvice

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