Joshua - 39

My father died when I was just six months old. I never knew him, yet his presence loomed large over my life. He was an alcoholic, a man whose rage and unresolved trauma fueled unspeakable acts of abuse towards my mother. The stories I’ve heard of his cruelty could fill books. He used to put cigarettes out on her skin to ensure that no other man would find her attractive. He would strike her down if she dared to talk back. She had no friends, no job, no hobbies—because he allowed none of it. She lived in a prison, created by his hands and fueled by his demons. And when he died, my mother thought maybe we were finally free. That his influence had ended.

She was wrong.

Though he was gone, his shadow continued to haunt us. It lingered in the people he damaged, and in the way we all learned to survive. I grew up believing I was better off without a father, thinking his absence spared me from becoming anything like him. But as I grew older, I realized that he was still very much a part of me—not because I knew him, but because I grew up in the ruins of the life he destroyed. His trauma bled into my mother and seeped into me.

He was a broken man, consumed by his own unhealed wounds. The more I reflect on him, the more I understand that his actions, though unforgivable, were not born out of evil but out of profound pain. He couldn’t find a way to heal, so he inflicted that pain on those closest to him—on my mother, and indirectly, on me. 

The years that followed his death were not kind. My mother struggled to break free from the cycles of abuse. She had boyfriends who were either abusive, drunks, or simply absent in every meaningful way. Her self-worth had been obliterated by my father, and she didn’t know how to choose better for herself. She clung to men who reminded her of him, in one way or another. From this, I learned how to be a man—from a woman who both feared and hated men. It shaped me in ways I couldn’t understand at the time.

I grew up with a deep distrust and even hatred for men. I had few male friends. I preferred the company of women, where I felt safer, more understood. Men were dangerous to me, untrustworthy. They were the source of betrayal, violence, and harm. My first love, in fact, cheated on me with a guy who called himself my friend. Some of my male friends abandoned me when sex or other distractions pulled them away. In my mind, men were selfish, unreliable, and unworthy of my trust. And without realizing it, I carried the weight of my father’s legacy—the very thing I thought I had escaped—into my relationships and my life.

For years, I thought I was running from my father. I believed I was building a life separate from his shadow. But the truth was, I was simply reacting to it. His trauma, his anger, and his pain were still influencing my choices. I didn’t want to be him, yet everything I did was shaped by the fear of becoming him. It wasn’t until I decided to stop running that real healing began.

The turning point came when I started to forgive him—not for his sake, but for mine. I realized I was carrying anger and resentment that wasn’t serving me. I had to look at my father, not as a monster, but as a deeply damaged man who needed healing and never found it. By embracing his brokenness, I began to confront my own. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight. But the moment I stopped trying to deny him, I started to find myself.

That’s when the real work began. I committed to therapy. I joined a men’s group. I surrounded myself with men who were willing to look inward, to confront their pain and work through it. This wasn’t just about my father anymore—it was about me, about the man I wanted to become. Through years of work, I’ve uncovered layers of trauma I didn’t even know I was carrying. Abandonment issues from parental figures. Betrayal from male friends. Feelings of unworthiness that were passed down from both my father and my mother.

I’ve had to face the parts of myself that I had buried, believing that if I ignored them, I could be better than my father. But healing doesn’t work like that. I can’t outrun the past. I have to confront it. I have to embrace it, ugly as it is, and work through it.

Today, I’m still on that journey. Every day, I learn more about myself—about the wounds I still carry and the ways I’ve learned to cope. But what’s different now is that I no longer hate men. I no longer fear them. I surround myself with brothers who are on their own journeys of healing, men who are willing to be vulnerable and open, to support one another in becoming the best versions of themselves.

And it all started with forgiveness. Forgiving the man who hurt my mother. Forgiving the man who hurt me, even if indirectly. And in forgiving him, I found the freedom to begin healing my own pain. 

The road to healing is never straight, and it’s never easy. I still have moments where the old wounds flare up, where anger or resentment rises to the surface. But now I know that’s part of the process. Each time, I learn something new. Each time, I get a little closer to becoming the man I want to be.

My father may have been a deeply flawed man, but he was also the starting point of this journey. He forced me to look inward, to confront my own darkness, and to do the work that’s necessary to break the cycle. His death, though tragic, was the beginning of my healing. And for that, I am grateful.

I forgive you, Father. For everything.

Music - Joshua's music choices during our photo session included William Fitzsimmons, Gracie Abrams, Hozier and Bon Iver.