By attending to our messy feelings, we found room for empathy
This essay originally appeared in The Globe and Mail.
I had never let my children see me cry before. I had this tough-guy notion it would make me look weak. But one morning, messy emotion got the best of me.
My eldest son was not feeling well. Although ill, he was looking forward to spending a day with me at home. My . . .
My son and I contemplate life as we stare at the ceiling
Bedtime with our children used to be heavy on stories. As they get older, our rituals inevitably change. They still like it when we read to them, but it’s not a big deal if we skip it. Eldest often prefers a chat instead. He sometimes shares more about his day, when turning in for the night.
We have a good chat one evening, . . .