Opinion - This Father's Day, remember the invisible weight that many dads carry

Yahoo

8 hours ago

This Father's Day, many families will fire up the grill, hand out neckties or whiskey bottles, and celebrate the steady presence of the men who raised them. We honor the sacrifices dads make — their hard work, protective instincts, quiet love. But for many fathers, especially those who've served in uniform or carried other unseen burdens, the greatest gift might be something simple but rare: a moment of real understanding.
I was 24 years old when I led an infantry platoon into Iraq. We breached the berm on the Kuwaiti border and pushed into cities where the future of a war — and our own identities — was uncertain. When I came home, I moved into a career on Wall Street, grew my family, and tried to become the man I thought a father should be: strong, silent, dependable. But the weight I carried — the invisible injuries of war, the trauma of a home invasion, the slow unraveling of self — never quite left me. I tried to bury it. And for a while, I did.
But what gets buried finds its own way back to the surface. Sometimes in anger. Sometimes in avoidance. Sometimes in moments when your child looks at you, needing you to be fully present — and you realize you're not even in the room emotionally.
I tell that story in 'Downriver: Memoir of a Warrior Poet,' not just to make sense of my own past, but to show how trauma doesn't just haunt soldiers. It follows them into fatherhood, into careers, into marriages, and into quiet moments at the dinner table. PTSD isn't always loud. Sometimes it's a subtle distance. A hollow stare. A coldness you can't explain.
And it isn't limited to veterans.
Over the last 25 years, American families have lived through an almost unrelenting series of shocks: 9/11 and the wars that followed. The financial collapse of 2008. A global pandemic. Social unrest. A mental health crisis that's no longer creeping but roaring into every corner of American life. While much of the public conversation around mental health focuses — rightfully — on teens and younger adults, there's a whole generation of men, many of them fathers, who were taught a different rulebook: don't flinch, don't cry, don't break.
For years, I followed that script. I had it all under control. I led men in battle. I briefed corporate executives. I kept moving. But inside, I was unraveling. By the time I sat down across from a counselor in 2011, I didn't know how to say the simplest words: I'm not okay.
And yet, saying those words was the beginning of a new life.
I'm not here to argue that all dads are silently suffering. Many are thriving, giving love and wisdom and presence to their families. But I know too many men — good men — who carry burdens they never speak of. Some have seen war. Some have battled addiction. Some were shaped by absent fathers of their own, and now quietly wonder if they're failing their kids in invisible ways. Others simply feel lost in a culture that doesn't ask how they're really doing — only whether they're getting the job done.
That silence has consequences. When pain goes unspoken, it often leaks out in the wrong places: in strained marriages, in absentee parenting, in emotional distance. But it doesn't have to be that way.
Father's Day is a celebration. But it can also be an invitation — to start a conversation, to check in with the men we love, to offer them more than a thank you. Offer presence. Offer curiosity. Offer permission.
Ask Dad how he's doing — really. Ask what he remembers about growing up. Ask what parts of himself he's still working on. Ask what he's proud of. Listen, even if it's awkward. Even if he deflects.
Because healing doesn't start with fixing something. It starts with seeing it. With making space.
When I wrote my book, I wasn't trying to be a perfect example. I was trying to be an honest one. I wanted my children to know that I had struggled — and that I had come through the other side. That there's strength in breaking, and deeper strength in rebuilding.
And I wanted other fathers to know: you're not alone. You don't have to carry it all by yourself. Whether you wore a uniform or just wore the weight of the world, your wounds are real. And they are worthy of care.
This Father's Day, honor the dads who've shown up. But also hold space for the ones who are trying — sometimes silently — to keep going. There are cracks in all of us. That's not weakness. That's life. As Leonard Cohen wrote, 'There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.'
Happy Father's Day — to the men who've held the line for their families, and to those finally learning how to lay their burdens down.
Ryan McDermott is an Iraq War veteran, recipient of the Bronze Star medal, and author of the award-winning and critically-acclaimed book, 'Downriver: Memoir of a Warrior Poet.' His views do not reflect those of his employer or any affiliated organization.
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