This process didn’t turn me into someone else. It brought me back to myself. It reconnected me with the version of me I had lost.

Most of the time, I was a great dad. I was dependable. Present. Loving. I handled the
mornings. The diapers. The walks. The lunches. The dishes. The routines. I got things
done. You could count on me.

But what I couldn’t handle was bedtime. The kids' emotions were bigger. Louder. Longer. And I didn’t have the tools to hold any of it. There was one night that pushed me over the edge.  I walked down the hallway, away from their room, and punched a hole in our bedroom door. I was shaking, Crying. Gutted with shame and helplessness.

This went on for months. And as things got harder at night with the kids, I started drinking more. Not in celebration - just in survival. To take the edge off. To numb the shame. To get through the evening. The emotional load was growing and I was running out of room.

That’s when my wife found Andrew Lynn. 

I didn’t hesitate. I had no reservations. Because I had already tried everything else.
I worked out. I meditated. I read self-help books. I dialed back at work. I did less chores
at home. I took quiet moments in the car before picking the kids up from school. I tried
to stay present. But nothing worked. Nothing stuck. I was hobbling along, holding myself
together with duct tape and whiskey.

So I reached out. And that’s when everything started to change.

The process was strange and unfamiliar, but also deeply compelling. I didn’t fully understand what had happened, but I was fascinated. And I wanted more. I was eager to try it again. Eventually, that practice became part of my daily routine. Then it became twice a day.

That moment changed everything - I had come to Andrew with one goal—survive bedtime but now, I was solving problems I didn’t even know I had.

One of the first things I noticed after I started this work was subtle, but powerful—my
kids were warmer toward me. They wanted to be near me. They lit up when I walked in the room. They even started fighting over who got to sit next to me. It was such a quiet, warm feeling. And it gave me the confidence to keep going. To keep showing up.

The next shift came with my wife. She had always carried a lot. Her job is demanding. Our kids are intense. And for a long time, I couldn’t see how overwhelmed she really was, because my own pain took up all the space in the room. I didn’t mean to dominate it, but I did. And once I started healing, there was finally enough space to see her too.

My relationship with alcohol shifted dramatically. I didn’t white-knuckle it. I didn’t create rules or count days. 

This process didn’t just help us survive. It gave us the space to parent with presence
and realize how much we love watching our children grow in their own unique way.

But the truth is—I had no idea how good I could actually feel. Every day. From the
inside out. This process didn’t turn me into someone else. It brought me back to myself. It reconnected me with the version of me I had lost.

And if you’re a man who’s hesitant to look back, to dig into your past, to feel what’s
under the surface—I get it. You’ve been holding everything together for years. You’ve
got people who count on you. You’ve got a system that works. Sort of.
But I’ll tell you this: there’s another level of peace that you can only reach when you
stop pretending you don’t need it. When you stop trying to outrun the stuff that shaped
you. When you finally sit still long enough to listen to the part of you that’s been
whispering all along.

Ben - USA