The Most Honest Relationship I Have

I’m proud of a lot of things in my life — but nothing comes close to the relationship I have with my son.

It’s built on honesty. Not just the easy kind — the kind that comes when you’re well-rested and regulated — but the kind that holds even when you’re tired, when the questions keep coming, and when it would be easier to deflect.

My son is intelligent — just like I was. He catches details. He tracks inconsistencies. He remembers what I said a week ago and matches it to what I’m saying now. And he will ask: “Wait, but you said…”

And I don’t feel annoyed by that.
I feel proud.

Because it means he’s thinking. It means he’s learning that it’s okay to ask questions. That it’s good to challenge something when it doesn’t sit right. And that the people who love you don’t get angry when you seek clarity — they invite it.

And he’s learned this because I’ve stayed honest. Always. Even when it’s hard. Even when it would have been easier to lie or soften the truth. He knows he can trust me — because I’ve made that trust real through my actions, not just my words.

Sometimes, when I’m messing around with him and pretending to wrestle or wind him up, I’ll do something a bit dramatic — like jokingly pretend to throw a punch. And he doesn’t even flinch. Not because he’s fearless, but because he knows my heart. He knows I’d never hurt him. He knows my energy, even when I’m chaotic.

And honestly? That’s one of the proudest things in my life.

Because what that shows me is that I’ve broken a cycle.
I’ve taken the pain I inherited — the lack of safety, the inconsistency, the emotional absence — and turned it into something he can trust.
Not perfectly. But with care. With intention. With love.

My dad couldn’t do that for me.
But I can do it for my son.
And that means everything.