#110 - What I Learned When my Dad Died {Reflections}

The moment that voicemail played in the dark car, everything we’d been holding back broke open. Grief hit like weather—sudden, total, impossible to outthink—and what followed became a lesson we didn’t know we needed about how to let emotions move without letting them take the wheel. We walk through the days around losing a beloved stepfather, from sleepless nights on a pull-out couch to a birthday that didn’t quite fit, and the strange clarity that arrives when you’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired.

We talk about the thin veil that fatigue creates and why HALT isn’t just a recovery saying but a practical compass for emotional honesty. The heart of the conversation is a simple image: your life as a road you value, you as the driver, and your emotions as passengers asking for a seat. When you refuse them—especially sorrow, fear, and regret—they block your lane and push you into the weeds where frustration, numbness, and collateral damage grow. When you let them board, they can speak, settle, and ride along while you keep steering toward the person you want to become.

You’ll hear a real-time account of tears that arrived uninvited, why that release mattered, and how to find places and people who can hold space with you. We name the tension of being public-facing yet human, and we offer practical ways to feel safely: time-bound permission, grounding, and asking for help from those who love you. If you’ve ever been told to be strong at the cost of your inner life, this conversation reframes strength as presence, not performance, and invites you to grieve in a way that keeps you on the path of right living.

If this resonates, share it with someone who needs permission to feel. Subscribe for more reflective conversations, and leave a review with one takeaway—what emotion needs a seat on your bus today?

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