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“With all time held, but before that time, silence fuels the pain and the hurt.”

They say time heals everything. It’s hard to believe that when the days feel endless, when pain feels permanent. But then—one day—it happens. The weight lifts. The air feels lighter. And life tastes just a little bit sweeter.

This episode, I’m alone—fresh back from one of the most emotional trips of my life. After more than ten years, healing finally came.

Pain is a strange companion. It grips you deep inside, whispers that it will never leave. In that way, it’s like love. The two dance together—pain and love—spinning endlessly through the ballroom of life. But sometimes, the music stops. And with it, one more dance of pain ends.

Last year, my father and I healed. This year, for the first time since our long silence, we saw each other face to face. I am a father now, but I’m still a son. He is a grandfather, but also still a father. We are different people, shaped by different roads, yet at the end of the day, we both want the same thing: love.

In this episode, I talk about loneliness—the kind that comes with being a parent, but also the kind that comes with being a child. We don’t often talk about that. We hide our wounds, afraid someone might throw salt on them, afraid vulnerability makes us weak. But I’ve learned this: the strongest people cry. They show who they are. They wear their hearts openly, not to prove anything, but simply to be—and to help.

No one is truly alone unless they choose to be. We started this podcast for parents who felt isolated. But now I see it’s not only about parenting—it’s also about being a child who grew into a parent. It’s about carrying scars, while trying to raise someone who won’t have to carry the same.

Because even as parents, we are still children inside. We still need hugs. We still need to hear, “I love you. I’m proud of you.” And when we raise our own kids, we have to remember what we needed—and give it to them.

I know I will stumble. I’m far from perfect. My son will one day tell me I hurt him in ways I didn’t see. And that’s okay. What matters is that he knows he can always come to me, he can always say, “I’m sorry.” But that only works if I show him how—by asking for forgiveness myself. By looking at my own pain, understanding where it comes from, and owning the ways it spills out.

We can’t expect our children to say, “I’m sorry,” if we don’t first show them how.

This episode is about emotions, power, rawness, tears, laughter, life—and time.