Facing the Wound: Transforming Pain into Purpose
Recently, during a session with my brothers in the Man UPrising Men’s Group, I opened up about the deepest wound of my life: the absence, betrayal, and legacy of darkness my dad left behind after his suicide.
As I shared my story—a story I’ve detailed in my forthcoming book, Man UPrising: Men Rising Up in the Second Half of Life (available inside the Man Uprising: Man Cave)—I looked around and saw tears in every man's eyes. But those tears weren’t just for me or my story. They were for their own stories. Every man in that group had a wound, their own history with their fathers.
For some, their fathers had been outright abusive. For others, they were absent, neglectful, or emotionally unavailable. Yet, as these men cried and shared their struggles, it became clear: this wasn’t about good dads versus bad dads. Most fathers cannot, and should not, be reduced to one word or their worst moments in life. Each man had at least one memory of kindness or love. I certainly did.
The Complexity of Fatherhood
Growing up, my dad was my hero. He wasn’t perfect, but to me, he was perfect enough. Until he wasn’t. When he decided to follow in his mother’s footsteps and take his own life, abandoning me at the moment I needed him most, I was devastated. What followed was a storm of emotions—grief, anger, and hatred.
It took me years to confront that anger. Beneath the rage, I discovered something profound: “The opposite of love is not hate,” wrote Elie Wiesel, “it’s indifference.”
I hated my dad for a long time, but I was never indifferent. The anger I felt was born from love—love betrayed, love lost, love unanswered. That love, buried beneath the darkness, never truly disappeared.
Healing Through Brotherhood
Sharing my story with my Man Uprising brothers brought all those feelings back to the surface. But instead of being a burden, it was a relief. Talking openly with men who had their own struggles allowed me to process the pain and dig deeper into the emotions I’d pushed down for so long.
What I found beneath the grief and rage was still love—complicated, messy, but enduring. No, I will never forget what my dad did to me, to my family, or to himself. But I’ve come to believe it’s my duty to remember, so that neither I nor anyone I love ever repeats his tragic choices.
That’s why I continue to revisit my relationship with my dad, even though he’s no longer here. I do it for him, for me, and for us.
To My Brothers Struggling With Their Dads
If you’re carrying wounds from your relationship with your father, hear me when I say this:
Don’t keep it in.
Don’t push it down.
Don’t tell yourself you don’t care.
Don’t mansplain it away with, “There’s nothing I can do about it, so what’s the point?”
There is something you can do.
You can break the cycle of silence, indifference, and unhealed pain. You can redeem your father’s brokenness—and in doing so, you may heal generations of men in your lineage.
You can dig deep into your heart and soul and, in the words of Dr. Viktor Frankl, “transform tragedy into triumph.”
How Do We Rise?
You rise by doing the work:
By opening up to other men.
By sharing your story, your pain, and your truth.
By giving your children and their children a better legacy.
By honoring your father—not by excusing his failures but by transforming his darkness into light.
Above all, you rise for yourself, becoming the man you were meant to be—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—in the second half of your life.
The Eternal Work of Healing
This journey isn’t about perfection. It’s about progress. It’s about showing up, doing the hard work, and refusing to let the past dictate your future. As men, we have the power to transform our pain into purpose, to rewrite the stories handed down to us, and to rise up stronger for ourselves and those we love.
So, to my brothers: don’t let your pain fester in silence. Step into the light. Speak your truth. And above all, keep rising.
Let’s do this together.
With courage,
Dr. Baruch “B” HaLevi