The Myth of Getting It Right, Part II: The Dinner Toast That Broke Me
A reflection on childhood wounds, fatherhood, and the quest for safe connection
In Part One of this two-part series, I shared how a moment of being witnessed cracked open a deep, old wound.
Today, I return to the possible origin of that wound: a tiny moment, long buried, that somehow shaped how I moved through the world for decades.
I share this not just for me, but for anyone who still carries the shame of being “too much,” “not enough,” or just… wrong.
A Memory Etched in Silence
My fingers feel stuck even before I start typing this. Little Nathan doesn’t want to go here again.
It’s curious how the smallest moments -imperceptible to others- can shape the trajectory of a life.
We generally ate dinner together as a family. One of my most cherished memories: all of us gathered around the dinner table, laughing, shouting, sharing food and company.
Whenever we had guests, my father would make a toast. I always felt so proud to be included in this ritual of connection. So special.
Twelve-year-old me, eager to follow in my father’s footsteps, and show him how well I was learning the lessons he taught, raised his glass.
“I’d like to make a toast to—”
“No, Nathan, I make the first toast,” my father interjected.
He carried on with his toast. Leaving me crushed under the wheels of his bigness.
The heat of shame burned in me. I shrank into myself, wishing I was invisible. I had tried so hard to get it right. And instead, I had gotten it so wrong. Again.
Is it strange that such a seemingly small moment had such a big impact? I suppose is was the cumulative impact of countless moments like this.
(and, no judgement to my parents, they did they best they could…and far better than their parents! Thanks Papa, thank you Mum.)
Legacy, Parenting, and the Fear of Repeating Patterns
Now, I’m 41, my wife pregnant with our first child, and I reflect on these small moments of big wounding. That singular memory still makes me squirm in my chair.
And I ask myself:
How many unknown wounds will I pass on to my beautiful, innocent child?
Through my own ignorance, my own blind spots, how might I trample their towering, delicate dreams?
Parenting in our disjointed, disconnected society is deeply confronting. It demands more than intention; it demands transformation.
Gabor Maté and the Regenerative Question
I recall a poignant moment shared by Dr. Gabor Maté. During a live event, someone in the audience asked something along the lines of:
“How can I bring a child into this world, knowing I will inevitably hurt them… even if I don’t want to?”
Dr. Maté responded with a question:
“Do you believe you will hurt your child less than your parents hurt you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well then…”
There’s reassurance in his implication: healing is generational, and progress is real. Still, something in me resists. Why are we aiming to do less harm? Why not aspire to do more good?
I’m reminded of a regenerative farmer who critiqued the sustainability movement for its limited goal of “smaller footprints.” He argued we should strive instead to leave the largest regenerative footprint possible - to actively contribute to positive transformation, not merely reduce our negative impact.
This feels aligned with my own question: not how can I hurt less… but how can I love more fully?
Coaching, Men, and Connection
As I write this, I wonder how this story intersects with the work I now do.
I have recently committed to helping successful men (who are often outwardly successful, but inwardly lonely) to rediscover real connection. To stop performing and start experiencing intimacy with themselves and others.
So how does this story of childhood shame and parental anxiety serve those men?
Here’s how:
This is the origin story of performance.
This is where the belief formed that love must be earned, that presence must be perfect, that masculinity must be measured.
This is more than a personal memory. It is a cultural inheritance.
The Only Answer I Can Live With
As I prepare to step into fatherhood, one question echoes louder than the rest:
What can I do to support my child in experiencing love, acceptance, enoughness, belonging… and, above all, safety?
The answer that rises is simple, and humbling:
I can prioritise what brings me more love, acceptance, enoughness, belonging, and safety.
That’s all any of us can do.
And we’re not meant to do it alone. We are designed to co-regulate. To heal in relationship, not in isolation!
It’s why I coach men. Because so many are carrying the lone wolf story. And once that story begins to unravel, everything starts to shift.
In Closing
I’m here for the whole journey. The questions, the wounds, the reclaiming.
What are your thoughts, dear reader?
Warmly, and with love
Nathan
I’m learning that the only way to support my child in feeling safe, accepted, and enough… is to keep doing that work for myself.
And it’s the same path I walk with the men I coach.
If this story resonates with you -if you’re tired of performing for love, and ready to meet yourself more honestly- I invite you to reach out. Or just reply and share your story. I’m here.
I really love the work you are doing to help men heal this severed connection to their heart. Beautiful and important. Have you ever read Bell Hooks' "Will to Change"? If not, I can only recommend it.