"Autopilot Fatherhood: Breaking the Cycle Before It Breaks Me"

"35, Broken, and Trying Anyway"

   I’m 35. A father of three. Not perfect. Complicated upbringing. Abandonment issues. PTSD, ADHD, Bipolar — unmedicated. I’ve barely managed to hold it together all these years, trying to be the man I thought I needed to be. Time’s creeping up behind me like the bald spots sneaking in on the back of my head, and every morning I wake up sore like I lost a fight in my sleep. Most days, it feels like I’ve given up.

Life runs on autopilot: wake up, get the kids ready, scramble to remember whatever special event they’ve got going on, drop them off at different places, and head to work to manage a Non-Profit site that brings its own set of problems. I forget my lunch — again — stress over the endless to-do list, and sometimes cry on the drive home. But I shove it all down, pick the kids up, ask about their day while my brain’s drowning in the mental checklist of chores waiting for me.

Evenings are a blur of dogs barking, dinner battles, sibling or spouse fights, and cleaning until I finally crash in front of a screen — finding my identity in a video game, a mindless scroll, or another excuse for not being more present. Eventually, the overstimulation snaps me out of it, I lose my temper, feel guilty, and dive into the bedtime routine: baths, brushing, tuck-ins, wrestling a toddler to sleep on my chest.

By then, if I haven’t already passed out, I lie there debating between a shower, half-hearted intimacy, or just marinating in that familiar ache of regret over who I was, who I am, and the father I wish I could be. Then the alarm hits… and it starts all over.

My first hike with Gray June 2017
(notice the beautiful hair)

The intentions I had then weren't matching my actions now...

     When we first had Grayson, my oldest, I had all these ideas about the kind of father I was going to be. I was terrified of my own shortcomings — scared I’d end up angry and abusive or indifferent like my mother, father and stepfather. Back then, I was just starting to confront the long, tangled history of violence and abuse I came from. I’d hear myself repeat the same promise in my head, over and over, like a ringing in my ears: “I’ll never be like them. I’ll be the father I always needed. I’ll be more.”

But that ringing still stings. Some days, it makes my chest hurt and my hands shake, haunted by the fear that I’m just another link in a broken chain — that maybe the cycle of self-loathing and damage won’t stop with me. When the shaking comes, it’s like a reset button, forcing me back to the present. It reminds me that I’m the one in control of this story now, and it’s never too late to write a better one.

I thought about this on a hike I took years ago with Grayson. He was so small, so curious — pointing out every bird, frog, and bug along the trail like it was a miracle. That memory lit something in me. After years of getting swallowed by the daily grind, it made me want to reconnect. He’s always been into nature: rocks, bugs, animals, survival stuff. So I made a decision. We were going camping. Just me and him. No phones, no screens, no distractions. I didn’t know it at the time, but that trip would end up being the start of something bigger than either of us expected.

    Next time, Ill share a bit about what led us to the trip and why it was so important. Thanks for reading.