Recently, I listened to an episode of the ManTalks podcast featuring Glen Henry, author of Father Yourself First. It shook me to my core. As Glen described the need for fathers to heal their own wounds before they can lead their children, I felt an uncomfortable resonance. His words and my own situation merged into a moment of painful clarity.

​This post is personal. It is not for my usual homesteading audience but for anyone who, like me, has stumbled in fatherhood and wants to do better. I write it for myself, for other men who may be walking a similar path, and with my children in mind. I do not mention names, but I write in the hope that someday they might read these words and understand the journey their dad took to make things right.

One of the hardest realities I live with is that I am currently legally prohibited from contacting my wife and children. The circumstances that led to this protection order are painful and private, but suffice it to say that I failed them profoundly and the law now enforces our separation. If the order is not extended, the soonest I might see them would be Halloween of 2026. There is no guarantee I will be granted that opportunity. Even if it never comes, I choose to hope and to prepare my heart and my life so that if my children ever want to speak to me again, I will be ready.

​Living with this restriction is a daily reminder of the damage I have done. It is also a guardrail against self‑deception. I cannot pretend everything is fine when I cannot even send them a text. I accept the legal boundaries and the consequences of my actions. They motivate me to change because I know that my children will need to see genuine transformation over a long period before they can even consider trusting me again.

Glen Henry often speaks about relational equity—the idea that trust and connection build up like savings in a bank account. Every time we show up, listen, and keep our word, we make a deposit. Every time we break a promise, ignore an invitation, or lose our temper, we make a withdrawal. For years, I made far more withdrawals than deposits. My account with my children is overdrawn.

In a recent interview Glen reflected on his former life as a musician, saying he realized that “the stage and the audience was more important in my living room than it was, the biggest stage I would ever stand on”
crosswalk.com
. That line stunned me. I had spent countless hours working and performing—both literally and figuratively—believing that providing financially and keeping busy would speak for my love. Meanwhile, I missed bedtime conversations, school events, and the everyday moments that build connection. I have learned the hard way that there is no cosmic vending machine where you can insert a grand gesture and get back instant forgiveness. The most important stage is the one in your living room.

​My relational account is overdrawn, and it is my responsibility to repay the debt—with interest—by investing time, patience, humility and consistency.

If the door ever opens for reconciliation, I need to be ready. Inspired by Glen Henry’s recommendations and leaning on wisdom from therapists and parenting experts, I have identified the following steps to rebuild trust. Even without contact, I am practicing these principles internally so that they become second nature.

In his book and interviews, Glen Henry underscores that fatherhood begins with fathering yourself. That means acknowledging your own scars, healing from them, and learning healthier patterns. I am discovering that this inner work is not optional; it is the foundation upon which any hope of reconciliation is built. My spiritual life, counseling, and accountability relationships are helping me identify triggers and unhelpful behaviors so I can replace them with patience, empathy, and integrity.

​Doing this work is also how I cope with the uncertainty of my situation. Whether or not I ever see my children again, becoming a better man honors them and honors God. As Glen put it, the most important stage in life isn’t out there somewhere—it’s right here, in our hearts and homes. My own growth matters because it makes me more capable of loving well, regardless of the outcome.

I have no control over whether the protection order will be lifted or extended. I have no control over whether my children will ever want to hear my voice again. What I do control is who I become between now and then. I choose to live in hope—not a naive hope that ignores the gravity of my failures, but a grounded hope that believes restoration is possible and worth preparing for.

​I think often of Halloween 2026—the earliest date I might see them. That marker is both painful and motivating. It is a horizon line I walk toward without knowing if the path will ever open. Even if it never happens, I want to arrive at that date ready: healed, honest, and capable of loving without conditions. If my children choose to reconnect, I will be ready. If they choose not to, I will still have become a better man for having walked this road.

If you are a father who feels you have failed, you are not alone. Failing does not have to be the end of your story. It can be the beginning of a new chapter marked by humility, growth, and hope. The journey is long and requires patience, but every honest step is worth it.

To my children, if you ever read this: I love you more than words can say. I know you don't believe that right now.  I know my actions have hurt you and broken your trust. I’m sorry. I am working every day to become the kind of man who deserves to be your father. Whether or not we are ever reconciled, know that you are deeply loved and that I carry you in my heart.

To my fellow fathers: Let us remember that the biggest stage we will ever stand on may be in our own living rooms.  crosswalk.com

Let us invest in relational equity with our children, make more deposits than withdrawals, and begin by fathering ourselves first.

​Gratefully,

Scott Alan Westhoff
Create A Great Day.
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