#012 The Stoic Art of Growing for Those You Love

I’ve made my share of mistakes—both big and small. For a long time, I believed that strength meant holding everything together, keeping my emotions locked away, and never showing any signs of weakness. But in doing so, I’ve fallen short. I became the kind of man who ran from conflict and vulnerability, made excuses, and, as a result, hurt myself, and the two people who matter most to me. Now, I realize that becoming the man they need starts with accepting my faults, being open, and putting in the work to grow.

Stoicism has been a guide for me on this journey, but not in the way many people imagine. It’s easy to think that Stoicism is about shutting down emotions and toughing it out. What I’ve discovered is that real Stoicism teaches something deeper: the strength to confront my imperfections and the courage to grow from them. Alongside Stoicism, therapy has become essential in helping me peel back the layers, face my past mistakes, and understand myself in ways I couldn’t before.

Accepting My Faults, Confronting My Mistakes

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is that I’ve fallen short in my relationships, especially with my wife. I let fear, ego, and pride get in the way of being the husband, partner, and friend she deserves. Rather than face the truth, I made excuses, thinking that if I seemed strong, everything would be okay.

Beneath that façade of strength was something much harder to admit—a deep fear of conflict. I thought that by avoiding difficult conversations, I was keeping the peace. But all I was really doing was creating more distance, allowing unresolved issues to grow into something bigger and more painful. That fear of facing the truth, of admitting my own vulnerabilities, led me to make choices I deeply regret—choices that hurt not just my wife, but the trust and bond we had built together. I see now that avoiding the hard truths didn’t protect me from pain. It only made things worse.

The effects of my actions didn’t stop with our marriage. Our separation has taken a toll on our son, too. Even at a young age, he can feel the shift in our family. Kids don’t need words to understand when something is wrong—they sense it in the silence, the arguments, the tension, and the absence of unity. The stability he once relied on has been shaken, and it breaks my heart to know that my inability to face my own issues played a role in that.

I love our son more than anyone would ever think and as a father, nothing hurts more than realizing your actions have affected the very person you want to protect the most. I’ve had to face the fact that the walls I put up to shield myself didn’t just hurt me or my wife—they created a ripple effect that reached our son. He doesn’t deserve to feel that loss of security or to see his parents as anything less than a team.

This too has been one of the hardest lessons. It’s not just about rebuilding trust with my wife—it’s about showing my son what it means to take responsibility and grow from mistakes. I want him to see that even when we mess up, we can work to make things right. This isn’t just about healing my marriage; it’s about healing my family and giving him a foundation of love and resilience to carry forward in his own life.

Through therapy, I’ve started to unravel the roots of these behaviors, tracing them back to my attachment style and formative experiences from childhood. I’ve come to understand how my early relationships shaped my tendencies—how at times a fear of rejection, a desire to please, or even an instinct to withdraw were all survival mechanisms unknowingly carried into adulthood. Therapy has shown me that these patterns aren’t fixed; they’re learned, and with effort, they can be unlearned.

Now, I’m learning to engage with conflict in a healthier way—not as a battle to win, but as an opportunity for growth and connection. I’ve started to see that true strength lies not in avoiding discomfort but in facing it with honesty and vulnerability. And I’ve realized that addressing my attachment style is not just about understanding the past but also about shaping a better future—for myself, my wife, and the relationships I cherish most.

There’s no space for excuses anymore. I’ve had to confront the reality of my mistakes—mistakes that have hurt the people I love most. Admitting this has been one of the toughest things I’ve ever done, but also the most necessary. Only by acknowledging where I’ve gone wrong can I begin to make things right. It’s been a lesson in humility that I didn’t realize I needed. And while it’s uncomfortable, every day I’m learning that it’s okay to be imperfect, as long as I’m committed to getting better.

Learning to Be Vulnerable

Vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to me. Like many men, I grew up believing that being vulnerable was a sign of weakness. But as I dive deeper into Stoicism, and through therapy, I’ve realized that vulnerability is actually a source of strength. It takes courage to admit when I’m wrong, to say that I don’t have all the answers, and to acknowledge that I need to grow.

I can’t undo the mistakes of my past, but I can control how I move forward. That means showing up as my true self—flaws and all—and letting those I love see that I’m committed to being a better friend, husband, and father. It means having hard conversations, admitting when I’ve messed up, and working to rebuild trust where it’s been broken.

This journey into vulnerability is uncomfortable, but it’s also transformative. I’m learning that real strength isn’t about holding back emotions—it’s about being honest with myself and the people I love. As I embrace this, I can already see how it’s starting to strengthen my relationships. I’m realizing that vulnerability creates connection, and by letting my guard down, I’m becoming a better man.

Growing for My Family

As I work on being the husband and father my family deserves, I’m seeing that my growth is tied directly to how I show up for them. The Stoic virtue of justice reminds me that my actions affect not just me but those who rely on me. How I treat them is a reflection of my character. I can’t live with integrity if I’m not fully present, honest, and vulnerable with the people who mean the most to me.

Becoming a better man isn’t just about correcting past mistakes. It’s about building something better—relationships rooted in love, patience, and honesty. Every day, I’m learning to listen more, to be present, and to show my love not through grand gestures, but through consistency and care. This process has been humbling, but it’s shown me how much stronger our relationships can be when I choose vulnerability over fear or pride.

The Path Forward: A Commitment to Growth

I’m not perfect, and I never will be. But the beauty of Stoicism—and life—is that it’s not about perfection, it’s about progress. Every day, I wake up with the intention of being better. My goal is to live with honesty, embrace vulnerability, and learn from my mistakes. I’ve stumbled, but each stumble has taught me something, and every lesson brings me closer to the person I want to be.

I don’t know how much time I have, but I do know that every day is an opportunity to be better—for my wife, my son, my extended family, my friends, and myself. The work isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. By embracing vulnerability, committing to therapy, and dedicating myself to growth, I’m not just becoming a better man—I’m becoming the man my family deserves.

To my wife and son, if you ever read this, know that I wrote it with all my love and my promise to keep growing.

With love,

Rey / Dad / Hubby