I Refuse to Be the Ghost That Haunts My Children

Every parent becomes one or the other: a ghost that haunts, or an ancestor who stays. For me, the fight to be the latter never stops.

Image by the author with a big assist from AI.

It looked like the post-apocalyptic aftermath of the fast food wars.

McDonald's bags, Taco Bell wrappers, and Domino's Pizza boxes blanketed the ground. A black cat emerged from the corner with a KFC chicken bone in its teeth.

But this wasn't a barren hellscape at the end of humanity. It was my apartment a year before I met my wife.

Almost a decade later, my choices in home decor have improved, but inside, it still feels like I’m navigating fog.

And that fog isn’t just distraction. It’s clinical. I’ve been diagnosed with severe depression, ADHD, anxiety, and Borderline Personality Disorder. The combo makes emotional regulation and basic discipline feel impossible to manage on some days. I wasn’t medicated back then. I’d tried, but the ADHD meds dropped my weight from 145 to barely over 120. I stopped taking them because, well, it’s hard enough to barely function without looking like a skeleton doing it.

I’m on meds again now. But surviving the gauntlet takes a hell of a lot more than a prescription.

My brain resists structure. I talk too much. I drift mid-sentence. I answer my wife before I’ve even heard the question. My ego needs applause before it does the dishes. Emotional regulation and discipline don't come naturally. They don’t show up on command. It’s only after a long, stubborn fight that they show up at all.

And yet here I am, raising kids. Strangely, with them, I’m not the same wreck. I’m calmer. More present. More understanding. Somehow, it's easier to do for them than it’s ever been to do for myself. Of course, they’re four and one. As they age, it’ll be harder to stay regulated. So I have to do the work.

I have to build what I’ve never had: structure—anchors and guideposts to keep me from drifting. I have to establish and maintain effective routines. I have to exercise, eat right, meditate, and sleep enough. And I have to keep writing. Well, I don’t have to. In fact, you'd think it would make the rest harder. Sometimes, it does. But it’s also essential.

Since I started this newsletter two months ago, I’ve done more parenting research than I did in the prior four years of my parenting life. I've learned how to validate emotions, repair connections, and foster motivation. Most of it focuses on the external side of parenting—the part where you interact with your kid. And while many of the books mention "modeling" the behavior you want to see, few—if any—acknowledge how hard that can be for those of us still learning to function.

I’ll never use my mental health issues to excuse failure—especially not in parenting—but pretending they don’t make everything harder is a lie. I’ve cried more times than I can count, questioning whether I have what it takes to help guide my kids to a better life than the one I’ve lived. My parents did their best. But I’m only now, at 40, beginning to understand the internal walls I need to break down to get where I want to go.

Meanwhile, I’m filling the gaps. I’m hiding my shortcomings. I hope my words reach the places my actions miss—at least for now—because I am doing the work. I’m in therapy. I’m reflecting daily. I’m defining my path and course-correcting in real time.

My case is extreme, but this is the work we all have to do. In his autobiography Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen discusses his struggle to accept his father’s flaws. "In analysis, you work to turn the ghosts that haunt you into ancestors who accompany you," he writes.

When I distill my goal as a parent down to its essence, it’s this: I refuse to be a ghost that haunts my children.

I can't promise perfection. I can't even promise consistency. But I can promise effort. I can promise that I’ll try to bring order to the chaos inside me each day—not for applause or ease, but because my children are watching. And what they need from me is not a flawless father, but a present one. One who stumbles—but stands again. One who fights the internal war with honesty, with intention, and without surrender. If I can do that, maybe I won’t become a ghost. Maybe I’ll become something else: a living example that even the storm-tossed can choose the direction of their sail.

---

---

Affiliate Disclaimer
Paternal Progress participates in the Bookshop.org affiliate program. When you buy books through the links in this newsletter, I may earn a small commission—at no extra cost to you. I only recommend titles I believe can support your growth as a parent. For more, see my Sponsorship & Affiliate Policy or explore the full list on the Bookshelf. Thank you for supporting my work and local bookstores.