If You're Healing in Secret, You're Robbing Your Kids of the Most Important Thing You Can Give Them
For years, my daughters watched me disappear. This is what happened when they saw me return.
“Children don’t get traumatized because they are hurt. They get traumatized because they’re alone with the hurt.”
— Dr. Gabor Maté
In August 2024, I launched this newsletter for three reasons:
To share how my life had foundationally collapsed over the previous eight months,
Identify the decades of emotional patterns I’d never had the courage to face, and
Explore how mindfully sitting with these emotions is, breath by breath, helping me to rebuild a more compassionate, authentic self.
The biggest motivation for learning wisdom from my “negative” and releasing my clinging to them? To become the father my two teenage daughters needed.
Because since birth, they’d had front row seats to—and bore the heaviness of—the many manifestations of a deeply depressed father: shame and worthlessness. Irritability and rage. Withdrawal and hopelessness. Substance abuse and suicidal ideation. Immense guilt, and the emptiness of apology after apology.
Honestly, it’s been the most difficult process I’ve ever encountered. Because when I was deep underwater, drowning within myself, it would have been unfathomably easier to continue sinking into the darkness instead of fighting like hell to breathe in the light again.
So many tears shed while breathing through the sadness, so many sleepless nights weighed down by the guilt of my behaviors, and so many moments of feeling like an abject failure for not taking action sooner.
But last week, my youngest stood in front of her class, trembling like a leaf, and shared the following:
“This is my experience and I’m doing my report on my dad, Derek Lakin, and his battle with poor mental health. However, I also want to talk a little bit about my experience watching somebody you love go through a condition that seems permanent.
Chronic and untreated mental health is one of the many factors that can lead to clinical depression, which is the battle my dad fought (and continues to fight to this day). “Some days, you don’t want to get out of bed, some days you are angry at the world or at people around you, and other days you can’t even imagine eating a meal.” These are just some of the effects that clinical depression has had on my dad.
There were days when our house felt unusually quiet or heavy, and it was sad to look up and see somebody you love lose their spark more and more. But, it also brought a new light to our lives, because as a family we learned how to support one another and find happiness in the smallest moments, like sharing a meal or seeing him smile again! While the journey was difficult, it led us to a place of learning to understand ourselves and find joy every day.
Seeing my father overcome such a heavy burden has been the greatest inspiration of my life, and why I find so much importance in the topic of mental health.”
I had no idea she was doing a report on the topic, about her reflections on how my depression impacted her emotionally over the years, or about how seeing me overcome my depression has shaped her outlook on life today. My ex-wife sent me the text completely out of the blue, with the following message:
“This is a special piece of writing she’s been working very hard on. I was going to post it to social media and tag you because I want others to know how much we appreciate the fight.”
Other than the moments my daughters entered the world, reading that presentation was the greatest gift of my life. One that felt like a rebirth. The moment where I reached the most significant milestone in my recovery thus far: gaining the recognition that my children would no longer tell a story of living in darkness or death, but about the power of leaning into difficult emotions and gleaning the immeasurable wisdom they hold.
The moment when my daughter turned my story into her own.
Now, the temptation is to convince myself that I’ve “made it.” That the work is done, and that my daughters will forever tell the tale of a father who found his way back to them.
However, mindful reflection shows me that recovery isn’t an arrival, but an accumulation of moments; of choosing, and re-choosing, and then choosing again. I haven’t crossed a finish line, but I have reached a monumental waypoint on a path with no final destination.
For years, I thought suffering alone was the best way to protect my children. But now, I can see how healing—done openly, honestly, and in front of them (and my entire corner of the world)—provided what they ultimately needed from me all along.
Because the wound is also theirs.
And so is my recovery.
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