As someone who spends a lot of time holding space for other veterans’ stories, it’s rare that I share much of my own. When asked to write about fatherhood and healing, I thought, “Okay, this is perfect.” Maybe because for me, parenting and healing aren’t separate.
My kids have taught me more than any book, therapist, or retreat ever could.
I didn’t fully understand what I was stepping into when I became a dad. I had a vague sense that I’d enjoy it. I didn’t know that it would ask everything of me. That I’d be brought face-to-face with every hidden part of myself.
Psychedelic therapy has been one of the most important tools in my healing journey. The experience, along with wise and grounded teachers, helped me see how deeply conditioned I’d become. How ingrained my reactions were. The programming runs deep.
After a powerful retreat, there’s often a kind of afterglow. A “pink cloud” phase. But eventually that phase fades into something more real and raw.
“It’s not about feeling better, it’s about getting better at feeling.”
When the glow wore off, I found myself more in touch with my moment-to-moment experience. I was feeling more. And while that brought a sense of freedom, it also came with pain. There’s still a voice in my head that can be harsh and relentless, especially when my heart feels tight.
I thought… hoped… imagined that the experience would fix things. Instead, it showed me how twisted and confused I’d become. There have been a lot of tears in this process. The unfolding didn’t come without a deep wringing out.
I have three sons. And I mean it when I say they are my greatest teachers. They show me exactly where I’m still holding on to old identities, control patterns, and expectations about how things should go. But they also invite me, every single day, to begin again. To pause. To choose presence over reaction. To meet life as it is. Gosh do I have a habit of resisting!
My family isn’t just my anchor. They are my path. The support, wisdom, and love of my wife have been foundational. Without her steady heart, I don’t know where I’d be. She sees me. She calls me forward. She reminds me why I’m doing this work in the first place.
After one retreat in particular, I returned home feeling both inspired and deeply humbled. I could see, maybe for the first time, how blind I’d been in certain areas. I saw how much work I still had to do—not to become someone new, but to become more present. More honest. More real.
Since then, fatherhood has become not just a role, but a practice. It asks me to stay when I want to leave. To soften when I feel like hardening. To show my kids what it looks like to feel, to be vulnerable, and to repair when things fall apart.
I’m learning to surrender. Not in a passive way, but in a way that stays engaged. I’m learning to trust the flow of my life. To walk the web of karma and conditioning with humility and grace. To see that every moment with my family is not a distraction from the path. It is the path.
Father’s Day
This Father’s Day serves as a reminder of how important this “parenting-inner-work” truly is. I feel a deep reverence for this role, for the mystery of life, and for all those walking this path. It’s not easy. And I have so much respect for those who are genuinely learning how to show up.
May this day also give my sons a chance to see me as someone who’s doing his best to love well. The man growing alongside them. And maybe they’ll come to feel how much they are shaping me, too.
.……………………………………
How can this be so hard?
This heart that breaks over and over again
In the moment his head touched the air of this world I knew
he would have to breathe
and suffer
and bear the burden of being human
That he might one day endure the same kind of heartache I have
The pain
The hardship
The long journey
Nothing could have prepared me
He will walk his own path
experience life in whatever way is called for
And something beyond my personal depth
Something beyond what I can comprehend
brought this being into the light
Forced him through the canal
out of the safety of the womb
I don’t know
I can’t possibly know
And here he is
Delivered to us
How do we care for something so precious?
So mysterious?
In the early years I could hold his hand
pick him up
squeeze him
love him
protect him
keep him safe
But now he grows
He becomes someone who doesn’t need me in the same way
Do I still need him?
Does our bond ease some broken part of my own heart?
This separation
It wrenches on me
Life keeps teaching me to let go
The lessons bleed me of my ignorance
It hurts like hell
And sometimes I want to stay safe in the womb again
But there’s no going back
I’m out here now
like the rest of us
moving through a fog of confusion
with a heart that cries
Please save me from this
Please bring peace to this place
Please save us all from this madness
It hurts
and it’s scary
And I don’t know if I can bear it
How will my sons bear it?
How can I save them?
spare them
shield them
I can’t
I know that I can’t
In my hands and out of my hands
Trying is futile
Surrender is freedom
God help me
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eric “Moose” Smith - VETS Director of Men’s Programs
He is a devoted husband, father to three beautiful boys, and someone who’s continually learning how to live with presence, honesty, and heart. His journey deepend through the gift of teachers—wise, humble people who showed him what it means to live authentically and to lead with love. Today, Moose offers that guidance forward through meditation, authentic relating, and community connection, especially with fellow veterans exploring new paths to peace. Time with his family—whether they’re hiking, traveling, or simply sharing a quiet moment at home—reminds him of what truly matters and keeps his heart open. Moose believes deeply in the power of psychedelic retreats when held with care and is committed to supporting others as they rediscover wholeness, one breath and one relationship at a time.