I’ve got some news.
Words I never thought I would say:
Danielle is 21 weeks pregnant. It’s a boy.
I am going to become a father.
The Man You Become
I wrote this poem in April 2025, when we knew Danielle was pregnant, but didn’t yet know the sex of the baby. It’s still a draft, but I’m sharing it anyway. I wrote it in the voice of a man who thinks it's too late for him to grow (a voice I sometimes still hear inside myself), and who hopes to live through his son. But he realises something crucial by the end. It intentionally echoes parts of my favourite poem, Rudyard Kipling's If—.
I wish I could become the man you become
One whose soul could never break
It’s too late for me now; the damage is done
So I’ll give you all I failed to make
You’ll hear my voice saying, “You can do it”
You’ll feel it deep within your bones
You’ll face tough times and work right through it
By yourself, but never alone
It all stops with me, my child
I’ll keep the demons at bay
What I do now, I do for you
So your feet won’t lose their way
I wish I could become the man you become
Because I wasn’t really me
What happened before can’t be undone
So I will set you free
For you to become all that you wish
I must prove you can
And if that means I prove it to myself
Then it’s you who will make me the man.
Presenting the star of the show at his 20-week scan.
We very much planned this pregnancy. We have a deep, instinctive, ancestral, spiritual—call it what you like—knowing that this is right, aligned, and true.
However, for the longest time, things were not this way. I have long had a core belief that bringing a child into this world would be an act of cruelty.
My early years were pretty messy: a dysfunctional family, addiction, manipulation, detachment, unpredictability, and sometimes violence. I grew up feeling unloved and unloving, resenting the world, making one disastrous choice after another, never really knowing who I was or what I was doing, only that I was hurt and angry.
How could I, having become a roaring alcoholic fuelled with pain and anger, possibly bring a child into this world? Morally, I couldn’t create an innocent life only to hand them the pain of existence I felt. And selfishly, I wasn’t willing to shoulder the responsibility of parenting. For all this time, parenthood was unthinkable, even with my soulmate, Danielle.
So what changed?
The short answer is: I became sober. Not just abstinent, but genuinely sober. I worked on the shit that fuelled the addiction, and I’ve put it to bed. That pain, while I cannot deny it may still loom in some shape or another, no longer controls my behaviour. I do. I control me.
Today, I feel more reconciled and aligned than I ever have. In fact, I don’t even really feel the need to label myself as ‘sober’ anymore. I do not see my present essence as someone defined by addiction or even by overcoming it. I’m simply myself, and among the many things I am, one happens to be a person who does not drink. And this self I’ve rebuilt is ready to be a father.
It took time. Over these last few years, I have reconstructed my choices and my beliefs, and I finally feel closer to the person I was always meant to be. The psychologist Carl Rogers might have called it congruence with the self I truly am. The Stoics might call it living in accordance with nature: both my own nature and that of the universe. I think they’re pointing at the same thing. I am no longer at war with myself; I have become myself.
On Stoicism: I feel I’ve genuinely internalised what I now talk about so often. Reflection, repetition, and discipline have become my habits of mind. I’ve strengthened my sense of agency. I am deeply aware of my faculties of choice, reason, and virtue. I’ve learned how to rule my mind rather than be ruled by it. Somewhere in all this practice, I grew composed as a man. I will teach my son what Stoicism can offer him, too.
Of course, this is not just about me.
Danielle is already a brilliant mother. She has raised two splendid human beings, both now on the cusp of adulthood, and it has been a joy to watch them become who they are. Her love is instinctive and fierce; it is her nature to nurture. There is no one I trust more to raise a child with, and no better half-siblings to welcome this boy into the world.
By the time our baby arrives, Danielle and I will have known each other for over a decade. We’ve loved, grown, separated, healed, learned, and found one another again, stronger and wiser than ever before. This is the kind of tested foundation I believe in.
Where I bring structure, she brings softness. Where I bring my scars, she brings her beauty. Where I bring self-discipline, she brings the freedom to be exactly who you are.
Together, we balance: the masculine and the feminine. The father and the mother.
So, what do I think it means to be ready?
To me, readiness is not only a state of mind but a quality of character. It means being present, engaged, and resilient. And yes, protecting and providing, but above all else, loving unconditionally.
My own childhood showed me by its failings how not to parent. I have lived the consequences, examined the wounds, and now, even though I do not know exactly what to do, I know what must never be done.
So I promise this:
No child of mine will ever have to earn their parents’ love.
They will belong and feel safe, simply because they exist.
They will know I am there, even when I am not.
One day, my son will come to face his battles. The world is not a kind place, even to the best of us.
But he will know how to stand through those storms, or trust that he can, because he will feel, in his bones, that he is loved, capable, and worthy.
Sealed in Gold
Last but not least
Thank you to my keyworker from rehab, J.
You saw through the wreckage and helped me see through it, too. I wouldn’t be writing this, let alone living it, without the part you played.
Many people contributed, but you changed my life. You taught me the power of choice in a way that truly sank in.
I met you at the cliff-edge of my life, and you showed me, with compassion, clarity, and the occasional kick up the backside, how to begin finding my way back home.
I know I’ve done you proud.
Thank you for reading.
Catch up on Omnia Vincit Amor: an article about my journey back to Danielle.
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Beautiful. Couldn’t be happier for you brother and what an amazing oath you’ve just created for your son, Danielle, and yourself.
Sometimes things align when you’re ready, hey?
You showed up and did the work!