When our son Luke was diagnosed with a rare brain condition before birth, I began writing updates just to survive the chaos. I didn’t realize at the time that those words were doing something far deeper—shaping my brain, calming my body, and connecting me to a community that helped hold our fear.
Neuroscience now shows why storytelling has this power. The stories we bury in silence don’t disappear—they live in our bodies, affecting our health and relationships. But when we speak them in the presence of someone who truly listens, healing begins.
This is about Luke’s story. And yours. Because these are the stories that heal us.
Most husbands want to get it right. They try hard to be supportive, thoughtful, and reliable. But sometimes, focusing on being a “good husband” can unintentionally get in the way of real connection. There is a subtle but crucial difference between performing love and offering presence.
“I became wary of anything that felt promising or joyful. Like joy was a distraction I couldn’t afford.”
“I was hoping to find, in someone else, something that could settle the ache in me. And when they couldn’t—when they were distracted, limited, or simply human—I felt let down.”
“Jesus becomes the character who legitimizes our narrative, rather than the Friend who disrupts it with love.”
“When we let go of the need to perform, we gain the freedom to love without an agenda.”
“There was a time when uncertainty felt like a threat. But something has shifted. What once caused anxiety now brings relief—not because I stopped seeking truth, but because I began to trust that truth is not something I must conquer, but something I am drawn toward.”
