When I think about the men in my life, the words that come to mind aren’t simple.

They are real.
Complicated.
Protective.
Still growing.
Still learning alongside me.

The men in my life didn’t come with all the answers.

They were figuring things out too — just like I was.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that…
they held me.

The first man in my life was my father.

It wasn’t always an easy relationship.
There were moments that felt heavy. Times when understanding didn’t come easily. When love didn’t always show up in ways I recognized at the time.

My dad showed love in different ways.

He wasn’t the same father to each of us, and I’ve come to understand that my experience of him was my own.

And in the moment, it was sometimes hard to understand him — what made him so angry, and yet so vulnerable at the same time.

As a child, I didn’t have the perspective to hold both of those things together.

I only felt what was in front of me.

But looking back now, I can see more. I can see a man who was carrying his own weight.

He carried heavy things from his past — things I didn’t understand then, but that I can see now sometimes got in his way.

A man who didn’t always have the tools to express what he felt, but who still showed up in the ways he knew how.

He kept us safe.
He provided for us, even when times were tough.
He made sure our basic needs were met.

It may not have always felt like enough at the time.

But it was something.

And now, I understand what that something meant.

He gave me the gift of strength.
Of determination.
Of knowing how to stand my ground when I needed to.

He taught me how to protect myself.
How to defend myself.
How to keep going, even when things weren’t easy.

And in his own way… he taught me what I would never accept.

What love should not feel like, and what I would not allow for myself.

Those lessons didn’t always come gently.

But they stayed. And I carry them with me still.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that…

there was love.

It didn’t always come in the form I expected.

But it was there.

And then there was the man I chose to walk beside.

We were children when we met.

High school sweethearts.

From the beginning, we came from very different worlds.
Different backgrounds.
Different expectations.
Different ideas of what we needed from each other… and what love was supposed to look like.

He came from a family of rough-and-tumble boys —
where you were the winner if you got the last lick in.

I came from a family where getting the last lick in meant something very different.
It meant anger.
It meant tears.
It meant something had already gone too far.

And yet, there was another side of him.

There was a child in him who would come out and play.

And in those moments, everything felt lighter.

And those differences didn’t just sit quietly in the background.

They showed up.

In how we communicated.
In how we reacted.
In how we tried to understand each other… and sometimes couldn’t.

We were both bringing what we knew into something we were still trying to figure out.

Two different ways of being.
Two different ways of coping.
Trying to meet somewhere in the middle.

And that’s where the learning began.

Not just about each other —  but about ourselves.

About what we needed.
What we were willing to grow through.
And what it meant to stay… while we figured it out together.

Early in our marriage, we brought two sons into our world — two beautiful souls who would become our everything.

Our laughter.
Our joy.
Our sorrow.
Our everything.

We all grew together as a family.

It wasn’t always easy.
It wasn’t always right.

But there was love.
The kind of love you would walk to the ends of the earth for.

The one thing I wanted for my boys was a father who loved and respected them.

A father who showed them how to show up.
How to be present.
How to be good human beings — generous with their love and guidance as they move through the world.

And in those years, I began to see him differently.

Not just as the man I had grown up alongside…
but as a father.

I watched how he showed up for them.
In ways that weren’t always loud…
but were steady.

There was a protectiveness in him.
A presence.

Not perfect.
But real.

He was learning too.
Learning how to guide them.
How to be there for them.
How to give them something we were both still figuring out ourselves.

And somewhere in that…
we were all growing.
Not just as individuals —
but as a family.

And then, I watched those boys become men.

I didn’t think I could ever love my sons more than I already did…
until I watched them become husbands and fathers.

I have two beautiful grandsons and one great-grandson by marriage.

All three of them are the light of my life.

When I look at them, I don’t just see who they are…
I see everything that came before them.

The learning.
The growing.
The becoming.

And now, I get to watch it all again —
through a softer lens.