Breaking the Silence: Grief, Identity, and the Journey to Self-Acceptance

A few weeks ago marked the 29th anniversary of my son’s death. He was just an infant when he passed, but the impact of that loss has echoed through every chapter of my life. For years, I carried a weight that no parent should bear—the belief that I was responsible for his death.

On the day he died, I tried to perform CPR. I wasn’t successful. That moment haunted me for the next 17 years. I convinced myself that his death was a punishment from God for being gay—a truth I hadn’t yet shared with anyone. The guilt was relentless, and the shame unbearable.

One of the most painful triggers came unexpectedly. A year ago, I was helping set up a CPR class at work. Everything was fine until I saw the baby mannequins. In an instant, I was transported back to that traumatic day. The grief surged, raw and unfiltered.

It wasn’t until I came out in 2012 that I began to confront the layers of pain I had buried. I started seeing a therapist—something that was stigmatized in the community I grew up in, especially if the therapist wasn’t affiliated with a church. But I knew I needed help, and I was fortunate to have insurance that made therapy accessible. Those sessions became a lifeline.

Through therapy, I learned that I did not cause my son’s death. I began to unravel the guilt, the shame, and the internalized fear that had kept me closeted for so long. I had spent years imagining a devil and an angel on my shoulders, each whispering conflicting messages. After my son died, people told me he might have lived if I had prayed more. Those words cut deep and forced me to reevaluate the role religion played in my life.

The grief was overwhelming. I would visit his grave and sob uncontrollably. Sometimes, I found myself in very dark places. Before coming out, I struggled with how to reconcile my identity with the expectations of my family, friends, and community. I even contemplated ending my life to avoid the shame I feared would come with being honest about who I was.

But eventually, I chose to live authentically. Some called it selfish—that I prioritized myself over my marriage and daughter. But I knew that hiding any longer would destroy me. Coming out was not just about claiming my identity—it was about reclaiming my life.

Therapy helped me understand that God loves me as I am—not as someone molded to fit a congregation’s idea of a man. I learned to process my anger, to embrace self-care, and to forgive myself. The phrase “self care is health care” became more than a slogan—it became a truth I lived by.

I share this story now because I know I’m not alone. If you’re carrying guilt, shame, or fear—please know it’s okay to put yourself first. It’s okay to seek help. It’s okay to be true to who you are. Don’t wait 17 years like I did. You are worthy of love, healing, and peace.

I haven’t shared this story widely before. But today, I choose to be part of the movement to break the stigma. I choose to be #exposingdad—not for attention, but to encourage others to speak their truth and seek healing.

Thank you for letting me share mine.