“It moved,” muttered George Costanza, the contemptible yet lovable Seinfeld character, in terror. He had been receiving a full-body massage from an objectively attractive male masseuse, and, well, “it” moved.

I suspect I don’t have to spell this one out. If you grew up with “it” between your legs, you know it has a mind of its own. It does what it wants when it wants and, for the most part, we are passengers on the “please no one notice” train.

The Seinfeld episode in question first aired in 1991. I would’ve been around 11 or so. This is a prime age for uncontrollable and inexplicable, ummmm, swellings. Around that time, I would’ve been begging dear sweet baby Jesus to protect me from the Devil’s hormones raging in my body. The all-too-tight khakis I had been forced to wear at church offered no protection. I was exposed. I could do my best Ron Burgundy “It’s the pleats” defense, but I had no pleats. Only a snug, flat fabric stretched across my crotch, waiting to advertise an untimely pitched tent.

Self-care or snake oil?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been awkward about being touched, and since this Seinfeld episode, I have genuinely had a fear of massages. I feel compelled to report it had nothing to do with men or my sexuality, but it heightened my fear of accidental bulges – regardless of who or what may have been the cause. Now you understand why “it moved” has been a terrifying mantra bouncing in my brain for 30-plus years.

And so, at the age of 44, I finally had my first massage.

I tend to reject what’s new and popular. The self-care industry has become so full of snake oil and nonsensical claims, I barely pay attention. There’s an infinite supply of influencers and hucksters eager to prey upon our desperate desire to feel better. Through smiling, beautiful faces, they claim to care about us, when it mostly seems they only care about separating us from our money. Sadly, the preponderance of profit-obsessed businesses and products has made it hard to find the real people, the genuine healers, who truly devote themselves to helping others. This cacophony of profiteering has made it hard for me to believe there’s any value in taking care of myself. I’m a stay-at-home dad. My full-time job is caring for three (sometimes four) kids. Taking care of myself is low on my list of priorities.

After my hour-long massage, I’m questioning the ranking of my priorities.

Feeling bad normally is not normal

Let’s address the first fear: Did it move?

Yep. Sure did.

A man didn’t give me my massage, but that was never my fear. I was worried about making things awkward and weird because I’m awkward and weird – which is exhausting, by the way. But, although blood was certainly flowing, and I did feel pretty dang good, nothing untoward happened. In the words of Costanza, “I think it moved. I don’t know. … It was imperceptible, but I felt it. … It wasn’t a shift. I’ve shifted. This was a move!”

My face was covered by a towel. In the background, there was meditative music. I was doing guided breathwork. Periodically a deep breath would be filled with some exotic aroma. All the hippy woo-woo shit the old me would mock.

The new me? I’m weary of being afraid of everything. I’m tired of being the frowning skeptic closed off from everything and everyone. “No one touch me. No one hug me. Respect my giant, ‘Merica-sized bubble, dammit!” I’ve always confused intimacy and sensuality with sexuality, and it’s a shame our society seeks to continue this confusion. Feeling good isn’t bad, but we’ve all felt so bad for so long that we’ve convinced ourselves it’s normal.

As fathers, how has all that impacted our children?

Massage your parenting message

I don’t know about you fellow dads, but I don’t want my kids to feel bad. Ever. About anything. OK, maybe sometimes, like when I recently found tiny particles of “window crayons,” all over the house, but in general, I want my kids to feel great. Great about themselves. About their bodies. About feeling great. Why would I want anything else?

How can I make them feel great if my body is falling apart? How can I create a happy home if I’m tense, grumpy and in pain from being tense and grumpy? I want to be a better human so I can be the best dad I can be. I’m no longer going to reject some of the tools in the cosmic toolbox. [*Giggles* — tool!]

I’m not saying we all need to put on our tinfoil hats and stop getting measles vaccines. We should absolutely trust doctors and experts when appropriate, but they don’t deserve our blind allegiance – no ideology does. There’s a whole world of possibilities, and the only way to know what works, sometimes, is to give it a try. Imagine our hypocrisy when we frustratingly stare at a plate full of uneaten food we encouraged our kids to try while knowing we’ve rejected alternate solutions to our own problems because we didn’t have the courage to try.

While on the massage table, I felt transported into another realm. My recently departed mother and brother were there. They were laughing at me. It was ludicrous some silly episode of a 30-year-old show had isolated me from my fellow humans. They told me the only person standing between me and everything I ever wanted was me, “It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.” They were right. And I think I realized I’m also standing between my kids and everything they may want, and I desperately don’t want to be that guy.

Be better today than you were yesterday

Did I REALLY travel to alternate dimensions? I hope so, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is whether I’m willing to be better today than I was yesterday. While I can’t pretend I’ll always be willing to make my physical and mental health a priority, viewing self-care as a service to my wife and kids puts a whole new spin on it.

So get a massage.

Go for a run.

Lift some weights.

Sprinkle some rosewater on your pillowcase.

Mediate and get a little dizzy trying to figure out some complex breathing technique.

Go stretch in a hot room and try not to fart.

Give it a try. It just might work.

If it doesn’t work, that’s OK too. At least you tried, and it’s probably your kid’s fault, anyway. It’s always the kid’s fault.              

Author’s note: During the writing of this piece, “it” did NOT move.

+ + +

This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Massage photo by Pixabay via Pexels.

As fathers, and as parents, we know that whatever is within us is imposed upon our children. Whether it’s our jacked-up DNA or the baggage we carry from personal traumas, we can’t help but infect our kids with who we are – who we REALLY are. This is an involuntary imposition. Most of us want to share the good and excise the bad inherited traits in our kids.

But parenthood doesn’t always work that way.

I’ll start with a confession: I’m chronically anxious. I am afraid of everything and nothing all at once. I know that sounds impossible, but the things I should fear, I don’t. It gives a false impression of courage and confidence, but it’s just unhealthy. Rational fears have almost no place in my life. The irrational, the improbable, the highly unlikely, the complex web of “what-ifs” — those cripple me daily.

Over the years I’ve put genuine effort into keeping my inner struggles from impacting my children. For a while, I was sure I was succeeding. I made a lot of changes, and if I may boast a teeny bit, I made amazing progress. Sadly, it wasn’t enough.

As my oldest child’s personality began to emerge, my attempts to change the outward expression of my inner struggles clearly worked with her. The same struggles were embedded inside my daughter. It was the betrayal of DNA.

She becomes quickly discouraged by a simple task, seemingly overwhelmed by very minor obstacles. She latches onto a feeling and it overwhelms her and consumes her, leaving her unable to keep herself from spiraling. Too many variables can crush her forward progress. What for others is a quick decision — grab the thing and go – for her is a quagmire of possibilities with no clear path forward. She gets stuck.

Just like her dear ’ol dad.

Hope never gives up

For example, tonight is supposed to be her first sleepover. Last night she was shaking. Panicking. Terrified of the sleepover. In her fits and worries, in her frustration and anger, she asked if she could see a therapist.

It’s heartbreaking to know this is my fault. What broken strand of proteins have I cursed my daughter with? It’s clear she has the same poisonous voices in her mind. Her brain leaps to the darkest outcome for the darkest reasons – just like mine. It feels like an unbroken connection to ancient Celts on forlorn, rocky shores cursing the gray skies, fearful they may not survive another harsh winter.

But as parents, there’s one thing we can never do. It’s an option we discard when we embark upon this great adventure of parenthood: we can’t give up.

There’s no time for belly-aching. Our kids need our help now. Right now. We can be honest about our failings, and gentle in our solutions, but there’s no retreat here. We only get to move forward. Not trying is the only way we truly fail them.

I wish my pessimistic mind was able to gaze toward a horizon I believe to be filled with rainbows and chirping birds, but I know there’s no solution to this problem. There’s only learning how to cope. My brain will forever be this way. I’ve done the therapy and I’ve done the work. I’ve discarded the indoctrination that blamed invisible forces existing in imperceptible realms. All of these tools have been transformative, but the storms remain.

My hope is these words don’t discourage my fellow parents. My goal is to encourage, to empathize, but above all, I hope this acts as a reminder about the sacred oath to our children. It’s our job to raise them to be superior to us in every way. We must accept we can’t “fix” them, in the same way we can’t fully “fix” ourselves. We can be a little better every day and so can our kids.

I’m going to break the fourth wall here a bit. (Yes, I know, it’s a bit of a hack thing to do, but I don’t care.) A few paragraphs ago, I mentioned my daughter was having a mild panic attack regarding her first sleepover. As I’m re-writing and editing this, it’s the next morning. She made it through the night! I was unable to do the same at her age.

See, there’s hope, fellow parents. There’s always hope.

Of course, my daughter’s strength may come from her mother’s DNA.

Ahhhh, dammit …

Inherited traits photo by Anna Shvets via Pexels.

My 6-year-old son is normally the happiest, most high-energy kid around. Then, in mid-October, something shifted.

He was morose at pickups and unwilling to share anything about his day at school. The moping carried on for weeks.

I contacted his teacher, concerned something was happening in the classroom. Maybe he was being bullied or struggling with some learning concepts. The teacher said she had seen no evidence of those issues. 

Instead, he was picking up stress from his parents.

I finally realized this one November morning. My son looked downright depressed. I knelt down, meeting his eyes. I gently asked if he wanted to talk.

“It’s my zoo,” he replied.

While only 6, he has a keen interest in running a zoo and animal sanctuary when he’s older. Animals are his passion. He even requests time to “work on his life plan” as he calls it. This involves detailed sketches of his future zoo, along with notes about what the animals will require for care.

“What about your zoo?” I asked. 

“I’m worried no one will come. I’ll build a great zoo, and I’ll work really hard, but what if no matter what’s there, I can’t get any visitors?”

This sentence struck me hard. It even broke my heart a bit because I’d heard it before. Not about a zoo, but about a store. 

Our kids feel what we feel

This past May, my wife founded an online store dedicated to non-food vegan goods. Yet, like any new business, the store came with many challenges. At one point, while our kids were watching TV, Rachel told me she was frustrated.

“I’m worried that no one will come,” she’d said. “I built a great store, and we work really hard, but how do we get more visitors?” 

Inadvertently, we’d transferred our stress about starting a new business to our son with him internalizing it as his own worries about a future career.

This is not surprising, according to Dr. Shannon Renner, a school psychologist at Pine Bush School in upstate New York.

“Kids are sponges, they have big eyes and big ears that are always watching and listening,” she said in an interview.

But hiding our adult emotions in front of our children isn’t the answer.

“The most concrete plan a parent can have is to simply name and explain their emotions or the events, in an age-appropriate way, and model how they are going to problem solve when a child witnesses the stress,” Renner said. “For example, ‘My plan is not working, but I am not going to give up. I am going to try and come up with a new plan to get friends to visit my store.’” 

With this advice in mind, my wife and I talked to our son together. We told him we realized he was concerned about our store and that it’s OK to feel stressed at times. With that, the three of us came up with a plan focused on his needs — his zoo.

Explain, plan and beat stress as a family

We found ourselves in a similar situation recently.

This time, my son was excited about something he’d planned. He’d been writing long lists and wanted us to help him make a countdown. It turned out he’d planned to turn our backyard into a pond. When we gently told him this wasn’t going to happen, he got very upset.

Yet, we again realized he’d picked up on our stress.

We had recently lost the childcare provider for our 3-year-old daughter, flipping our lives in an unexpected direction. So, again, we had to discuss our feelings, our emotions, and our plans. We discussed needing to pivot when one set of expectations didn’t work out. And now, just as we were working out a plan about childcare, we worked with our son on coming up with a plan for something else to get excited about.

It’s not easy. Kids leech the emotions around them. And those stresses will keep coming. Be ready to share what you’re feeling and devise a plan with your kids. Hiding stress won’t help, but naming it might.

Photo: © Ella / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2014.

I attended my brother’s funeral recently. Cancer took him, just as it’s taken other members of my family and just like it tried to take me.

While I stood there, trying to comfort my family members and reflecting upon my own memories, I couldn’t help but reflect on all that cancer has taken from us – some of the strongest and most vital men and fathers I’ve ever known (right along with our mothers, sisters and children). It’s easy to say that we’ll take a stand right now – to end cancer, and I do believe it’s important to aggressively pursue better diagnostics, treatments and lifelong follow-through for all types of cancer.

But, right now, I’m just thinking about the human factor. All the names (and faces) we’ve lost.

I started blogging as a letter to my son because, given my history (and my family’s history) with cancer, I wanted to give him something that would stay with him, some small consolation. But, I also firmly believe that cancer is NOT all.

• Cancer can’t take family. Yes, we’ve experienced loss, but at times like this, we see family come together. We realize – perhaps more than ever – what we mean to one another. And, we see how precious our community of family and friends really is.
• Cancer can’t take experience. We still have the memories of what we’ve shared. Those we’ve lost have left marks on our lives. We will never be the same.
• Cancer can’t take hope. I know the idea of hope is such an elusive concept. How do we define that thing that (for some) is the very reason for carrying on? Hope that things will get better … that the loss will mean something … and that (somehow) tomorrow will be a better day.

I’m still figuring it out as I go along. I’m a newbie as a father, and I often feel that my son is teaching me more than I ever could impart to him.

I want him to know, though, that he’s stronger than he knows, and he can survive any losses that he will experience though I will fight to the death to protect him from any pain I can spare him.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

St. Louis native Don Jackson is co-founder of the Albuquerque Dads Group. The three-time cancer survivor is a father of two. A version of this first appeared on his blog, Daddy Newbie.

Main photo: © Vasyl / Adobe Stock.

The house had been quiet for half an hour, the air so still I could hear the high-pitched motor of the condensate pump in the downstairs utility closet humming through the air vents upstairs. The only hint of life came from the occasional swoosh of traffic out on the street. A sense of calm settled over me.

I was experiencing something unusual for a parent: a moment to myself.

For the first time in what felt like months, nothing and no one demanded my time and attention. There was no calamity to contend with, no housework to be done, no emails or texts in need of reply, no bills immediately due, no homework to be done, no dinner to be cooked, no child to be shuttled to and fro, no appointments to schedule, no phone calls to return, and no honey-dos to, well, do.

The world of endless demands had come to a temporary halt. I was damn near giddy.

My wife had left for work that Monday morning, taking our daughter with her to drop off at school. I stayed home, grateful for the privilege to telecommute, and another full half hour before I had to plug back into The Matrix.

Like the character Neo from the movie franchise, I began to see my thoughts as binary code forms of zeros and ones rather than their surface-level appearance. A moment of clarity seized me.

I’d been saying yes when I should have said no.

I didn’t just need a vacation. I needed a sabbatical.

It wasn’t just being tired from adulting; I was burned out as a caregiver.

Relieve the everyday stress, every day

It’s a byproduct of multiple stressors. Raising a special needs child with little family support. Supporting a spouse through long stretches of unemployment. Having a fulfilling yet demanding career. Joining the ranks of the “sandwich generation,” those 30- and 40-somethings who are raising children while caring for aging parents. You make sacrifices over the years to shoulder the load, to carry on, to do all that needs to be done, only to realize you’ve neglected to prioritize the most important component in the equation: you.

It reminds me of the ubiquitous Internet quote from author Alexander Den Heijer: “You often feel tired, not because you’ve done too much, but because you’ve done too little of what sparks a light in you.”

Why do some of us in our roles as fathers, husbands, parents and caregivers find it so difficult to practice self-care? I don’t just mean the glitter-speak notions of yoga, spa days, and walks in the park (I’m game for those, by the way). I mean the practice of taking time to simply exist with no expectation of doing something or getting something done. What has happened to the habit of pausing the busyness of our lives long enough to examine how we ended up with so much to do in the first place?

This is especially true for men. Research released in 2021 showed: 

• 23% of men spend less than 30 minutes a day on activities that relax, de-stress and recharge themselves.
• 44% of men report “they could do a better job of taking care of themselves.”
• 83% of men agree that they do not worry about self-care since they don’t think it’s important.

Researchers and experts say men think of self-care practices as either feminine or unnecessarily self-indulgent. This prevents men from reaching an optimal level of healthiness, mental and physical, to help them meet the demands parenthood, work and life bring.

The moment I realized

So, like death and taxes, the exhaustion of life comes for us all — man or woman, parent or childless. But this unexpected hour of stillness helped me tune in to what sustains me.

There I sat at my home office desk, looking at the photos lining it. These snapshots are of the people, past and present, family and friends, who anchor my life.

There’s my cheerful daughter posing pretty in pink in a second-grade portrait. There’s my lovely wife flashing a smile as we walk through a nature park in Jamaica. Just over from her, I see my uncle Johnny, the pigeon fancier, in a loft tending to his birds. Next, I see my mother embracing 7-year-old me from behind as we stand in front of a grocery store display. Over there is my fraternity brother at his MBA graduation with his beaming parents. And there’s my grandmother in her younger years, footloose and fancy-free, strutting her stuff at a club. Reflecting on these memories tapped into the abundance of love in my life.

Filled with a deep sense of gratitude, I opened my work laptop and logged in.

I again felt ready to re-enter The Matrix.

Take a moment photo: © Antonioguillem / Adobe Stock.

I’m a bit of a pessimist. When I type that sentence, I’m at war with the feelings no one will ever read it, no editor will accept it and no writer will respect it. This defeatist inner monologue is annoying when trying to be creative, but it’s dangerous for a father of young children.

If I were to list all the reasons why I prefer my children to never leave my home, I’m confident I’d smash my word limit entirely too soon. As a parent, you don’t need me to detail the threats looming just outside the door. If the Netflix documentaries I torture myself with are a reflection of reality, for some kids, those threats come from within the home. Then there are the constant threats from strangers and people we trust, from foreign agents and domestic despots. How do any of us let the soft hands of our children slip our grip and find their own way?

Sometimes, I try to satisfy my parental anxiety by quoting statistics. The chance of anything really terrible happening to any one person, at any one time, is extremely low. I accept the truth of the math, but when I constantly feel like I’m white-knuckling a cross-wind landing with a couple of hundred other people, I’m not comforted. Nor am I comforted by the math when I’m kissing my kids goodbye. However small the chance may be, there is a chance I’ll never kiss them again.

I told you I was a pessimist.

Paralysis from parental anxiety costs your kids

I can always find a reason not to go to the zoo — and I love going to the zoo. Traffic is a chronic concern. What’s parking going to be like when we finally get there? We live in Florida, so it will be hot and uncomfortable and the kids will inevitably complain. We won’t stay nearly as long as I want, considering the effort it takes to mobilize our family of five. It’s too expensive to get in. It’s too expensive to purchase anything once inside. The place will be filled with annoying people. People who don’t watch where they’re walking. People who wear purposefully provocative, politically themed T-shirts just to see who might react. There will be rides for the kids, but the lines will be too long. Besides, when was the last time that ride has been serviced? How attentive is the bored teenager operating the controls? And you know what? That polar bear really, really looks eager to swallow a toddler.

A variation of the above paragraph flashes through my mind the instant my wife casually asks, “Hey, wanna’ go to the zoo today?” I often wonder what it’d be like to be normal, or at least open to the possibility that something good could happen.

These defeatist inner monologues are dangerous because the parental anxiety it arouses in me directly impacts my children.

Maybe they’d be signed up for dance, gymnastics or a team sport if I wasn’t so fearful of all the potential pitfalls.

What if the lessons they are missing out on about navigating the complex social dynamics of a team could allow them to be an effective leader when they’re older?

What if my parental anxiety keeps them from falling in love with the pursuit that could define their future?

The amount of untold damage my fears and worries could inflict upon my children is staggering. While I grudgingly accept I’ll likely screw them up somehow, I’d really love to not infect them with this oppressive mind virus that has haunted my entire existence.

Just go do it

If you’re not resonating with the above struggles, then use my words to help you see the silent struggles of many. If you resonate with my words, if this post about parental anxiety is giving you anxiety, then we are kindred spirits, and perhaps, with one sentence, I can help.

Just go do it. Whatever IT is, just go do it.

Listen, if that sentence came from someone who hasn’t been professionally diagnosed with chronic and crippling anxiety, you’d be right to reject it. The mantra of the ignorant is often to simplify the complex. But I have, so I’m offering you something different.

With that simple sentence above, I’m providing you the freedom you’ve craved, and a lifeline for your kids, who, whether able to articulate it or not, are desperate to experience more – more of everything.

The hard part about navigating complex mental health issues is that the solutions are often simple. So simple, they’re rejected. But just because a solution is simple doesn’t mean it’s easy. I know it’s hard to go do the thing. It was hard for me to admit I needed help. Hard for me to confess these feelings to my wife, and harder still to walk through the door of a licensed therapist for the first time. I just had to do it.

I’m not diminishing the effort. I’m not trying to make it sound easy. It’s not. But as dads, we have no choice. We have to go do it – whatever the “it” is for you. There’s no magic mantra. No special utterance. Appropriate pharmaceuticals are helpful for some, but they aren’t cures. They’re aids. You, yes you, have to do the work. You just have to go do it.

I’d like to say that over time my pessimism has been cured, but it hasn’t. I’ve accepted there is no cure for all this parental anxiety, but you know what? Things have gotten easier. It’s easier to get out of the door, to say yes to my kids when they want to try something. It’s easier to go to the zoo, and even easier to believe my children will return home safe after school. And as I overcome more and more obstacles, I get closer to believing tomorrow will be easier than yesterday.

Just kidding. I’m still pessimistic, and it’s all still hard. But I’m just going to go do it anyway, and so should you.

Photo: © PoppyPix / Adobe Stock.

If you have suicidal thoughts, emotional distress, or a substance-use issue, help is now only a three-digit number away: call or text 988.

The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, introduced nationally in mid-July, replaces the 11-digit National Suicide Prevention Lifeline number. Authorities hope the easy-to-remember shortcut — similar to using 911 for medical or public safety emergencies — helps more people reach trained counselors in a moment of need.

More than 1.2 million people attempted to kill themselves in 2020, resulting in nearly 46,000 deaths, according to the most recent statistics from the national Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. This makes suicide the 12th leading cause of death in the United States. The suicide rate among men is nearly four times that of women.

The COVID-19 pandemic contributed significantly to increases in depression and anxiety, especially among teens and young adults in the United States, according to the American Psychological Association. Suicide is now the second-leading cause of death for people ages 10 to 14 and 25 to 34.

City Dads Group has long supported the cause of improving mental-health care among men, especially fathers.

How does 988 work? 

Calls and texts to 988 are routed to a mental health professional at one of the more than 200 crisis centers in the U.S. 988 network. (This hotline can also be reached through a chat feature on the hotline’s website.) Callers are routed to a center closest to their phone number’s area code.

A mobile crisis team of mental-health experts and peer-support counselors will be dispatched if a person needs more help. Mental-health or residential facilities may also be contacted for longer-term care and support.

Unlike 911, no ambulances, police or firefighters will be automatically dispatched to the caller’s location. “The vast majority of those seeking help from the Lifeline do not require any additional interventions at that moment. Currently, fewer than 2% of Lifeline calls require connection to emergency services like 911. … [T]he 988 coordinated response is intended to promote stabilization and care in the least restrictive manner.,” states a government FAQ about the 988 website.

The change to 988 is part of a $282 million federal effort to increase suicide prevention and crisis care work, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

It’s funny. We always complain about not having enough time to rest and relax yet, when we get a day off, we feel like we have to do something.

That was me on the Fourth of July. I usually would be more than happy to just hang around the house and do nothing. However, since I’d been traveling the previous two weekends, I felt I owed it to the kids to make this holiday extra special.

As special as can be for a 3-year-old and 6-month-old.

I thought a trip to the zoo would be a fun, family outing. So after I convinced my wife, I let my son know about the plans for our “adventure.” As excited as he was to go see the animals, I was just as excited to have this experience with them.

This was the first type of outing like this for us as a family of four. And while I tried to make sure I planned accordingly, what I didn’t factor in was the logistics of transporting two kids through the streets of Washington, D.C., and ultimately through the zoo. In 90-degree heat, I might add. Only packing one stroller was a major dad fail. Thankfully, the Smithsonian’s National Zoo provided extra strollers, cooling stations and plenty of food options.

As with any trip, the reaction from the kids, particularly my 3-year-old boy, was hit-and-miss. He loved some of the animals, was scared of the others and, in between, was pretty much indifferent. The highlights of the day, for my son at least, were the frogs and riding in the cool, blue rental stroller. Our baby girl just napped or watched people.

Father put on alert for family’s safety

About midway through our adventure, I received a text alert about the shooting in Highland Park, Illinois. Seven killed, dozens injured, by a lone shooter taking aim at people lined up to watch a Fourth of July parade.

These types of alerts have, unfortunately, become pretty common, almost to a point of being expected. But this one hit a little differently. With it being a holiday, I’m sure the folks up there were just trying to get out of the house and enjoy a fun-filled day with their families. Just like we were at the zoo.

And that’s why it was different.

In the middle of trying to enjoy a family outing, my mind shifted into a defensive mode. I scanned my surroundings. I wondered what would happen if a shooting took place in this open area filled with hundreds of people.

How would I protect my family? Would we be able to take cover? How would I explain to the kids what had taken place?

That’s where we are now. It’s our reality, not based on any political leanings, just factual data. It’s yet another thing we have to worry about as parents. This is the world our children are growing up in.

Fortunately, my kids are at the age where they’re oblivious to the evils of the world. We have a few more years until we won’t be able to keep them in their little bubbles any longer. And then, I’ll have to be prepared to talk, to have some tough conversations.

For now, I have to deal with my own emotions. The concerns I have as a dad. Concerns about the world my kids will grow up in and how I can protect them for as long as possible. It’s a never-ending worry, and one that’s magnified whenever ever those breaking news alerts pop up on my phone. I hope I will never have to experience a tragedy of that magnitude. And, hopefully, the day will come when we can go out with our families and not have to worry whether we’ll make it home safely.

Photo: ©vchalup / Adobe Stock.

“I want to apologize for my generation and the world we have created for you.”

A mentor of one of my teen daughters made this statement a few years back. When my daughter first told me about it I understood his mindset. His apology was well-intended. It had been an especially crazy media week featuring stories of environmental disaster, civil strife and political rancor.

But then I thought again: No! Don’t model such pessimism for the next generation! That just makes us part of the problem. If adults can’t envision a better future, how can we expect children to have hope?

Finally, a larger question emerged: How did we get to this defeatist point?

Neverending news cycle wears us down

No doubt one culprit is the media saturation many of us have allowed our families to experience. On the national level, the onslaught of the 24/7 news cycle is hard to tame. On the personal level, the onslaught of social media, texts, e-mails, snaps, posts, tweets, etc. is also hard to tether — especially for teens. In a sense, many of us are becoming human media outlets stuck in a forever “breaking” news cycle of our own lives. Even new brain metaphors like “my mind doesn’t have the bandwidth for that” and “my mental batteries need recharging” show the technological seepage.

The result? We end up living way too much in the present, with no time for reflecting on the past or envisioning the future. Hence the anxiety of my daughter’s well-intentioned mentor.

So what can today’s parents do? I discovered some answers in Madeline Levine’s recent book, Ready or Not: Preparing Our Kids to Thrive in an Uncertain and Rapidly Changing World.

Levine notes “it is the velocity of change that we find truly head-spinning” in today’s media-dominated culture. Consequently, anxiety “is now the number one mental health disorder for both adults and children.”

“Old” solutions to the media saturation problem

For Levine, one road to a better, less anxious future for children leads to the past. “For most kids, having something resembling an old-fashioned childhood — playing outside, meeting challenges without constant parental interference, being bored, having chores, taking some risks — is far more likely to build the kinds of competencies kids have always needed and that will be particularly important in the future,” she writes.

Another way of thinking about such “old-fashioned” remedies for media saturation is to divide them into body and mind strategies. Physically, parents can try to foster more non-tech, slowed-down family time. These strategies include:

• age-appropriate chores
• projects
• volunteering
• nature walks
• arts and sports.

Granted, technology has many beneficial uses at home. However, children need boundaries. Boundaries help their physical development beyond looking at screens.

Psychologically, Levine recommends parents revisit a tool from the past.

“While it may sound profoundly old-fashioned, never underestimate teaching your kids the value of a good attitude,” she writes. “That means teaching and appreciating optimism, empathy, gratitude, self-reflection, humility, and enthusiasm around challenges and diverse points of view.”

She calls for parents to model an optimistic “explanatory style,” or “the manner in which we habitually explain to ourselves why things happen and what they mean.”

In addition to expressing optimism, parents should provide context. This helps “reframe” media narratives for children to provide more balanced perspectives. For example, in our house we have talked about the eventual endings of the 1918 flu pandemic and the 1960s nuclear gamesmanship as ways to cope with recent scary headlines. Reflecting on historical traumas that eventually passed helps lessen everyone’s anxiety about the present and future.

The “new” power of increasingly involved fathers

Late in her book, Levine models optimism for the future by noting the positive impacts of increasingly involved fathers. The continued redefinition and expansion of modern fatherhood — whether working or at-home — bodes well for all families.

“In a popular quip, the scientist Alan Kay said, ‘The best way to predict the future is to invent it,’” Levine notes. This quote reminded me of years ago when I attended the Annual At-Home Dads Convention, which I highly recommend. At the conference, one of the presenters joked that full-time at-home dads are like “fathers from the future.”

It’s ironic that Levine offers some old-fashioned advice to “future-proof” today’s families. But in a statement that contrasts with my daughter’s well-meaning mentor, she practices the “good attitude” she preaches.

“We want our children to run toward adulthood eagerly, not cringe from it or burrow down in our spare room for years,” Levine writes. “We want to reassure them that, even in our unpredictable era, there’s always a way forward to a fulfilling life.”

In other words, “the future isn’t a tide that’s going to crush us, it’s a wave we’re a part of.” Don’t let media saturation make your family forget that.

Media saturation photo: ©photoschmidt/ Adobe Stock.

I challenged myself to go a full year without social media in March 2021.

At the time, I was recovering from the brutality of the first full pandemic year with all the polarization and fear it brought from doomscrolling through newsfeeds. I found myself constantly consuming content I wasn’t seeking; scrolling endlessly throughout many moments of my day for something to spike my dopamine levels enough to evoke an emotion.

Then I watched The Social Dilemma on Netflix. It’s an enlightening documentary about how social media is designed to hook and manipulate us. This made me contemplate all the effects it had on me. That’s when I knew I needed to take action. 

Risks, benefits of going cold turkey

However, as someone who has been active on social media since the days of Myspace and who needs to stay updated on platforms for my career’s sake, I kept finding excuses to avoid limiting my social media use.

Finally, I decided — I’d go cold turkey. For a year.

I was expecting FOMO — Fear of Missing Out. I readied myself for anxiety from being away from constantly updating feeds. But I knew in the long run, it would be good for me.

And it was.

Stopping my social media consumption gave me back so much time for myself. It made me feel liberated. And, I can’t believe how much better it made me for my family’s sake.

During the first week, I noticed how my fingers would automatically click on the folder where my apps once were on my phone, only to not find any. Similarly, I found myself typing in facebook.com on my browser throughout many times of the day. I soon realized I didn’t know how to properly be bored anymore. Any chance I got, I was spending it on consuming content.

Sleep, independence, clear-headedness

Over time, I began to do more of the little things I enjoyed. I started doodling a lot more, reading in-depth articles on things I truly enjoyed and reading more books because I would scroll less in the mornings. My sleep is better probably due to the lack of blue light from my phone. I was enjoying and controlling more of my own time.  

Another benefit for me was my sense of independence. Maybe it was the lack of unsolicited news content or an echo chamber of like-minded thinking, or even an urgency to send out virtue signaling, but I have never felt like such an independent thinker. I no longer feel aligned with any party or thought process. The decisions I made for myself and my family were truly mine. I felt free to have my own opinion, and since I can’t post, I don’t have to worry about sharing it with people that I otherwise wouldn’t be talking to on a day-to-day basis.

The adage that “ignorance is bliss” did play true here and, honestly, I really like this bubble I’ve created. It’s free of external judgment and I no longer seek virtual validation of my opinions. 

With all these changes, my mind was also clearer. I was more intentional, and with that, a better person for my family. No longer did I ignore a beautiful moment when my daughter is dancing in front of me because I was busy reading an article or editing a picture. I took incredible in-the-moment pictures because I wasn’t worrying about how it would look when I posted them. My conversations with my wife were so much more creative, aspirational and exciting as we moved away from discussing current events and topical news. I felt much more present.

Stay without social media or return to the apps?

Even though I originally felt I wasn’t THAT MUCH engrained in social media, removing myself from it showed me just how much it was seeping its way through my life. 

So what are my next steps? As much as I have enjoyed this journey, I don’t know if it’s sustainable for me.

One key thing that was missing was the sense of connection I felt with some people. Although much of the “social” part of social media has been lost, some people I connected with on social media were not people I could just call or text with. As much as I could say I didn’t need surface-level connections with people in that way, it wasn’t the case. I found myself wanting to know what was going on in their lives, their families and their adventures. I missed out on celebrating major life moments for others. Ironically, the motivation for self-improvement I received from some really inspiring people was also now missing in my life. 

So now the hard part has come:

• How can I go back to social media without losing all the benefits I gained without it?
• How can I use it for the true social aspect without consuming it like I did before? Is that even possible?
• I loved how I have felt this past year, so have I really weighed the pros and cons of returning?
• In my field of work, it could be dangerous to not understand the social environments I can market in and how they evolve if I am not a consumer of them. But is that enough of a compelling reason to return?

It’s difficult. I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. Because of that, I’m figuring out just how I will return and to what extent. One thing I do know, though. I need to find the tools and put the parameters in place now to allow me to use these platforms differently than I had before.

Or maybe I’ll just stick to this blissful bubble. I kind of can’t wait until I run into someone I haven’t seen in years and really mean it when I say, “Let’s catch up. 

Photo: ©dusanpetkovic1 / Adobe Stock.