I started posting on socials this week — and it’s been unexpectedly fun. As many of you know, art has become a big part of my healing. Especially after major life shifts like separation, I’ve found that making things — with my hands, heart, or voice — helps me connect to a deeper, more stable part of myself. A part that’s always been there, quietly waiting to be nourished and grown.

This week, I’m beginning to document the process of making my first proper art piece. It’s not just about the final result — it’s about capturing the becoming. I’ll be filming parts of it for YouTube, and if you’d like to come along for the ride, I’d love to have you there.

The first piece involves hand casting which I have found really fun and interesting. I will share more once the channel is up and running.

While working on the opening scenes, a question popped into my mind:

And honestly… I don’t think it would change much. I’m not performing — I’m making for me. But if I really imagine the absence of any observer, I’d say my emotions and movements would still be fully there — raw, honest, unfiltered. I’d just stop thinking about the room altogether.

So, what about you?
If you were alone in a room, creating something — and no one was watching — what would you make?

I’d love to hear.

Today, after five years of estrangement, I am travelling to see my family. I reached out, they welcomed me back, and now I find myself stepping into a moment I never thought would come. I have no expectations—only a willingness to show up, to stand in whatever emotions arise, and to see where this path takes me.

Revisiting the past is never easy. It takes courage to turn towards what once hurt us, to acknowledge the weight we still carry from childhood, and to make peace with what was. A lot of us have had difficult relationships with our parents. Some wounds linger beneath the surface, shaping how we move through the world. The fear of going back to face it all is real. And yet, here I am, choosing to do just that.

Through this journey, two things have become clear to me:

1. Be Kind—You Never Know What Someone is Carrying

Childhood traumas don’t just stay in the past—they live in us. They shape how we love, how we trust, and how we respond to the world. And many of us, including the people we meet daily, are quietly carrying those wounds. The suffering is real, even if it isn’t spoken.

We live in a world that often asks us to ‘move on,’ but healing doesn’t work that way. So if someone is distant, struggling, or reacting in ways that don’t make sense—pause. They might be fighting a battle you can’t see. Be kind. Recognise their humanity. That kindness matters more than you know.

2. Healing is a Community Job, Not a Solo Mission

So often, we treat healing as an individual pursuit—as if it’s up to one person to ‘fix’ themselves. But real healing doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in the presence of love. It happens in safe spaces where we are seen, held, and given the room to work through the things we never got to process.

I’ve realised that facing childhood pain isn’t just about me—it’s about the people I surround myself with. The ones who remind me I am more than what happened to me. The ones who walk beside me as I navigate the emotions that arise. Healing isn’t just an internal process—it’s a collective effort. And finding the right people, the right community, changes everything.

So as I take this journey today, I hold these two truths close:

• Be kind, because many are carrying wounds they never talk about.

• Healing is not a solo act—it takes a village.

If you’re on your own path of healing, I see you. You are not alone. And no matter how long it takes, there is always a way forward.

With love,
Mahdi

Hello, Dads.

I’m writing this for you. Let me begin by acknowledging you—for being who you are and for trying to be the best dad you can be. I see your struggles, your doubts, and your fears. You have a beautiful little person to care for. You want to model a life for them; you want them to become the best version of themselves. You long for their happiness. Above all, you want them to be free of suffering.

You think about your own upbringing, reflecting on what you may not have had in abundance. Perhaps you didn’t feel loved, or maybe your feelings were neglected when you were small. You wonder where you’ll find the love you need to give your child. You think of how deeply you love your child and then reverse that love onto yourself. The moment you do, you may feel a wave of grief for the love you never received as a child. Perhaps your parents never told you they loved you.

Perhaps you’ve started reflecting on the little person you once were. Can you feel that child inside your heart? Bring them to mind. Maybe even look at an old photograph. What do you see? How do you feel about that little person? Do you miss them? Do you want to hold them close, give them a big hug, and remind them how loved they are?

It’s difficult to find joy in life when the playful, curious little person inside you has been exiled.

How Can You Love If You’ve Never Been Loved?

I acknowledge your hurt, the pain of not being seen. It’s a wound that runs deep. Yet, amidst those powerful emotions, something small stirs within you—a gentle invitation. It’s as though a quiet voice is calling you to explore, to reach out to that little person inside you. To embrace them, soothe them, and whisper that they are loved. That you are there for them.

You find this invitation beautiful and intriguing. There’s an energy to it, but it’s not the kind of energy you’re used to. You’ve grown familiar with the red-hot intensity of fear and anger—loud, immediate, and overwhelming. But this little invitation feels different. Its energy is soft, cool, and calm, like the vast sky on a warm summer evening. It doesn’t dazzle or blind; it simply invites.

Perhaps all the pain and doubt, the relentless questions, have evoked this presence. You notice that when you’re harshly critical of yourself, it whispers that you’re “OK.” You wonder how it knows you so well.

Doubt lingers, but so does this presence.

The Little “Something”

The more attention you pay to this little “something,” the more present it becomes. It gently guides you through your day, inviting you to explore the questions you’ve been wrestling with. You start to welcome its help.

You begin reading, reflecting, and listening to anyone who might offer wisdom about your struggles. You’ve realised that when you fall, this little “something” helps you get back up. It gives you courage, though you still long for clearer direction.

Your struggles remain real but hidden. You don’t talk about them with loved ones or friends for fear of being judged, questioned, or labelled. The idea that your role as a father might be scrutinised makes you feel small. But the little “something” reassures you. It whispers that you are enough and invites you into its vast, calm space. Yet you hesitate—you’re unsure how to step into that space.

The Journey of Discovery

Months pass on this journey of self-discovery. You feel frustrated and restless. Your mind is crowded with thoughts, and at times, you lose sight of what you’re searching for. Who is the seeker, and what is the subject of your search? You feel lonely, often defeated.

Yet, the little “something” does not abandon you. It continues to nudge you, urging you to stay curious and present with your pain. It reassures you, much like how your mum might have held you when you were small—her fingers running gently through your hair, making you feel instantly beautiful and whole. You remember that feeling: pure joy, playfulness, and completeness, as if there was nothing about you that needed fixing.

You long to bottle that feeling, to keep it close.

One evening, after finishing another book about how childhood shapes fatherhood, you search online for your next read. A suggestion pops up: “Readers who liked this also read…” One title catches your eye: How to Hold a Cockroach: A Book for Those Who Are Free and Don’t Know It. The name intrigues you. Cockroaches reminded you of your childhood curiosity about small creatures.

The little “something” nudges you: Let’s read this book.

The Book That Changes Everything

When the book arrives, it’s small—a quick read. As you open it, you’re immediately drawn into its heart. It speaks, not to your mind, but to your heart.

The story follows a little boy disturbed by a cockroach while eating dinner. Although his parents have told him cockroaches are disgusting, he lets his curiosity guide him. This begins an exploration of his fears and beliefs—his life’s “cockroaches.”

As you read, you feel an intense relief.

In that moment, you realise that the love and acceptance you’ve been searching for have been within you all along.

You feel an intense joy.

You rest in the knowledge that the little “something” is always there—a part of you that loves, accepts, and sees you.

You feel a deep sense of acceptance.

You recognise that exploring your fears and beliefs with curiosity is the key to peace.

Your steps feel firmer.

A warm, beautiful feeling envelops you: this little “something” is yours. It’s a place of rest, always present, always ready to love you—so that you may know how to love.

Your outlook shifts. You begin to see the world around you through the eyes of love.

Acknowledgement and links

And in this moment of clarity, I find myself deeply grateful to Matt Maxwell, the author of How to Hold a Cockroach: A Book for Those Who Are Free and Don’t Know It. His work is a gentle, profound reminder that curiosity is not only a way through our fears but also a path back to ourselves. It is a book that doesn’t just teach—it transforms, opening the door to the love we’ve always carried within.

To buy the book in the UK go here.

For those of you who are interested in going deeper, Matt does provide coaching which has benefited me enormously. Read more on coaching on my post on LinkedIn.

Let me close with this beautiful poem by (@David Whyte "Blessing for the Morning Light" by David Whyte. It is included in his poetry collection The Bell and the Blackbird, published in 2018)

May you see what is hidden in you,

as a place of hospitality and shadowed shelter,

may that hidden darkness be your gift to give,

may you hold that shadow to the light,

and the silence of that shelter to the word of the light.

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Today’s letter is about making choices when life places them in your path. As we journey through life and grow older, we inevitably face decisions—some personal, some professional, and some that deeply affect our loved ones. These decisions can range from the seemingly trivial to the profoundly life-altering. There will be choices that are easy to navigate and others where the stakes feel impossibly high. Some decisions may even close doors that are difficult, if not impossible, to reopen once they’ve shut.

When it comes to making decisions, we have two guiding forces: the heart and the thinking mind. The heart is often clear and resolute, attuned to what it truly desires. On the other hand, the thinking mind is a product of years of conditioning. It is shaped by societal norms, cultural expectations, and the values we absorb during our upbringing. The thinking mind is clouded by judgements, fears, and the inner critic that tells us what we "should" or "shouldn’t" do.

Reflecting on life, it becomes apparent that many of the major elements that define us—our parents, our birthplace, and the circumstances of our upbringing—are not within our control. These foundational aspects significantly influence the way we approach decisions, whether we realise it or not. They form the programming that underpins our choices. In this sense, the idea of free will, as it’s commonly understood, might be closer to a comforting illusion than a tangible reality.

However, while we cannot change these foundational aspects of our lives, we can choose how consciously we approach decision-making. By avoiding the trap of blindly following pre-set beliefs and ingrained patterns, we reduce the risk of amplifying our suffering. Instead, we can turn inward and listen to the quiet, honest voice of our heart. This voice often aligns more closely with our true values and desires, leading to choices that resonate deeply with who we are.

Techniques for More Conscious Decision-Making

I want to share two effective techniques that I’ve recently explored, which can help you make decisions more aligned with your true self.

1. Discovering Your Innate Values
Here’s an exercise I found immensely helpful, and I encourage you to try it—perhaps even use it as a journaling prompt. Start by picking an experience that stands out to you, such as your favourite place to eat, your best job, or a moment that brought you significant joy. Write these experiences down and reflect on why you chose them. Why that particular restaurant? Why that specific job? Why that moment over countless others?

As you examine your answers, you’ll uncover patterns that reveal what truly matters to you. These reflections highlight your core values—those intrinsic priorities that guide your choices, often unconsciously. By bringing them to light, you can use them as a compass to ensure that your decisions align with your authentic self.

2. Exploring the Path You’re Avoiding
The second technique involves reflecting on a specific decision or path you’re considering. Often, the first choice that comes to mind is informed by the conditioned mind—an instinctive reaction based on your ingrained beliefs and habits. While this initial choice might feel logical or safe, it’s worth taking a moment to pause and consider the alternative.

Ask yourself: What is the path I’m avoiding? That avoided option might be the very path that leads to growth, alignment, or fulfilment. By stepping back and examining the resistance, you may discover that the road less travelled is the one you’re truly meant to take.

Final Thoughts

Life’s decisions, whether small or monumental, have the power to shape our journey in profound ways. By listening to your inner voice and approaching choices with awareness, you can break free from the grip of conditioning and move towards a life that feels true to your essence.

Take the time to reflect on what matters to you, and don’t be afraid to challenge the narratives that no longer serve you. In doing so, you create space for decisions that honour your values and guide you towards a more authentic, fulfilling path.

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As dads, we often carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, trying to stay strong for our children while navigating our own emotions. If this piece has spoken to you, I’d love for you to join me on my Substack journey.

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Last week, I wrote about difficult emotions and what it’s like for many of us as separated dads. We explored how we can awaken our senses to become more conscious of these emotions and find healthy outlets for them. This week, I want to delve into the roots of suffering—why it happens and how we can find freedom from it.

For many of us dealing with strong emotions, it’s often hard to decipher what exactly we’re feeling. Is it sadness, frustration, anger, or fear? Sometimes, the sheer intensity of these emotions can blur the lines, leaving us feeling overwhelmed and lost. I’ve noticed that even close friends, family, or therapists can sometimes struggle to provide comfort when we’re in the grip of these powerful feelings.

Perhaps you’re going through a messy divorce, with your children’s care and future hanging in the balance. You feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. Or maybe you’ve moved on from your old life, and things seem to be going well, yet you still feel unable to find happiness. You don’t know how to point yourself toward a path that brings satisfaction, and you find yourself asking, Why is this so hard?

The Two Roots of Suffering

Much of our suffering stems from two core principles:

1. Living in the past or the future, rather than the present.

2. Clinging to the idea of permanence in a world where nothing lasts.

Living in the Past or the Future

When we dwell on the past, we relive old memories—the good times feel euphoric, but the bad times bring a deep sense of sadness. These memories often arise unbidden, much like dreams, where you are always the central figure. On the other hand, when we focus on the future, we spend our energy planning, strategizing, and overthinking. We tell ourselves we need to pick up the pieces and start building a better life, but this forward-looking mindset can easily become a source of anxiety.

If we’re not careful, the past can drive our future, causing us to carry old baggage into every new chapter of our lives. Until we learn to let love—not fear or resentment—guide our decisions, we risk making choices that perpetuate our suffering. Even those of us who try to avoid living in the past might dwell on the future, imagining challenges that feel insurmountable. This overthinking can lead to procrastination, physical tension, and emotional exhaustion.

Children, especially young ones, live almost entirely in the present. If we’re caught up in the past or future, we’re unable to be fully present with them. I know from experience how much anguish this can cause. Being physically with my son but mentally elsewhere has often left me feeling guilty and self-critical.

The way to calm the mind’s pull toward the past or the future is to embrace the present and let go of the struggle.

The Analogy of my Dog - Nando

I was reflecting on this idea while walking my little furry buddy, Nando, this morning. Nando, a Samoyed, is a natural puller—strong and determined, much like the thoughts in our minds. I realised that the way we manage a pulling dog is a perfect metaphor for handling the mind.

When Nando pulls, I gently guide him back to the centre and keep walking. But then there are the squirrels. Ah, the squirrels—those sudden distractions that send him lunging with all his might, entirely forgetting the path. We all have our own "squirrels" in life: unexpected triggers, random thoughts, or enticing distractions that derail us and consume our attention. And just like Nando, we chase after them as if they’re the most important thing in the world.

The key is to handle these "squirrels" with kindness and humour. When Nando sees one, I don’t scold or yank him back harshly. Instead, I let him feel the moment, then gently guide him back to the path. The same goes for our minds. Thoughts and distractions will come—sometimes small and manageable, sometimes as captivating as a squirrel darting across the road. The goal is not to fight them but to acknowledge them, let them pass, and return to the present.

With practice, Nando has learned to pull a little less, and the same happens with the mind when we practise mindfulness. The thoughts won’t stop entirely—just as Nando will always have his instinct to pull and chase—but the struggle diminishes. The harder you pull against the dog (or the mind), the more stressed and frustrated you become. Let it be. Allow life to unfold naturally.

Even if you wander off the path for a while—whether chasing squirrels or lost in your thoughts—remember, the path is always there, waiting for you to return. The path lies within you. Trust your inner voice, even when you feel lost.

Nothing is Permanent

The second root of suffering is our resistance to the impermanence of life. Nothing in our lives lasts forever—neither the good nor the bad. When we strive endlessly to create a life free from disappointment, hurt, or change, we set ourselves up for frustration and misery.

This yearning for permanence is deeply human. We want to build something that outlives us, to create a sense of security and control. But the truth is, life is ever-changing. Many Buddhist traditions teach us to find joy in the present moment, to immerse ourselves fully in whatever we’re doing, no matter how small or ordinary it may seem.

Recognising and accepting impermanence lifts a tremendous burden. It frees us to live more fully in the moment and to embrace the unfolding of life, just as it is.

A Poem to Close

I’ll end with a few lines from beautiful poem, The Journey (from House of Belonging), written for a dear friend of his going through a separation. David’s words are a constant source of inspiration for me, and I hope they resonate with you as well:

Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that

first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.

You can find more of David’s work in his latest book, Consolations II. I highly recommend it for anyone seeking comfort and inspiration.

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As dads, we often carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, trying to stay strong for our children while navigating our own emotions. If this piece has spoken to you, I’d love for you to join me on my Substack journey.

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You’re not alone in this journey. If you know a dad who’s struggling, share this with them—sometimes a simple nudge can make all the difference. Together, we can learn, grow, and support one another through the ups and downs of fatherhood.

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Handling emotions after separation is one of the toughest challenges for us as separated dads. Uncertainty creates anxiety, and separation brings plenty of it. It’s not just about the practical challenges of managing children across two homes—it’s also about the raw, complex feelings that surface.

There’s grief for the relationship that wasn’t, guilt about what you could have done differently, anxiety about the unknown future, and the heaviest of all—the fear that you might not be there for your child in the way you had hoped.

These emotions can feel overwhelming. But instead of shutting them out or forcing yourself to move on too quickly, there’s great value in exploring and expressing them. Interestingly, our children often show us how to do this. They teach us through their play, their art, and their natural ability to embrace emotions without fear or judgment.

Vulnerability as a Path to Growth

In moments of crisis or pain, our natural defences are lowered, offering us a rare chance to connect with our truest selves. This vulnerability can feel frightening, but it is also fertile ground for self-discovery.

As fathers, many of us have been conditioned to believe that showing emotion is a weakness. Yet, suppressing what we feel only deepens the struggle. Instead, we can embrace our emotions—acknowledge them, allow them to surface, and express them creatively.

The Power of Painting

One surprisingly effective way to process emotions is through painting. Painting has the unique ability to bypass the mind’s constant chatter, engage the senses, and provide an outlet for emotions that words might struggle to express.

Children instinctively understand this. Watch a child paint or draw—they don’t overthink it. They dive right in, expressing themselves with complete freedom. There’s no hesitation, no inner critic telling them it’s not good enough. This uninhibited approach is something we can learn from. Here’s a photo of one of my son’s spontaneous drawings to remind us of this natural creativity and emotional connection:

When you pick up a brush—or even use your hands—you create a tangible outlet for emotions that might otherwise feel overwhelming. Here’s a painting I created recently, which I called Tears in Heaven:

I used my hands instead of a brush, throwing paint on the canvas to reflect the range of emotions I was experiencing. The bright colours represent hope and possibility, while the darker tones capture sadness and uncertainty. Painting this was a huge release—it allowed me to see and accept my emotions as they were, without judgement.

But painting doesn’t have to be complicated or polished to be meaningful. You could try painting on paper, scribbling with crayons, or simply splashing colours around. These simple acts connect us to our inner child—the part of us that knows how to express freely, without fear or inhibition.

You might find that the act of creating something visual helps untangle emotions you couldn’t quite name. Sometimes, it’s not even about interpreting what you’ve made—it’s about the process of letting go, of putting your emotions into form and seeing them outside of yourself.

Why This Matters

Recognising and expressing emotions, rather than suppressing them, helps us process what we’re going through and move towards acceptance. Painting is one way to make this journey tangible, connecting us with our inner world and providing a sense of release and relief.

You don’t need to be an artist. This isn’t about creating a masterpiece—it’s about expressing what’s inside you.

A Gentle Reminder

I’ll leave you with these beautiful words from Derek Walcott’s Love After Love:

The time will come 
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror, 
and each will smile at the other’s welcome.

Stay Connected

As dads, we often carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, trying to stay strong for our children while navigating our own emotions. If this piece has spoken to you, I’d love for you to join me on my Substack journey.

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By subscribing, you’ll become part of a community of fathers who understand the unique challenges of separation and the importance of staying present—for ourselves and for our kids. I’ll share honest reflections, practical tools, and creative ways to connect with your emotions and your children.

Share with Dads

You’re not alone in this journey. If you know a dad who’s struggling, share this with them—sometimes a simple nudge can make all the difference. Together, we can learn, grow, and support one another through the ups and downs of fatherhood.

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Contribute with Your Art

If you’ve created art during a moment of difficulty, please share it in the comments below. You might be surprised by how many people you inspire.

Leave a comment

Be kind to yourself. Allow your emotions to guide you. And when you’re ready, share your creations—I’d love to celebrate them with you.

Warmly,
Mahdi

I am a dad, first and foremost, to a beautiful boy. When my son was born, my life changed forever. For the first time, I experienced a genuine, unconditional love for another human being. It was a love so powerful that it caused me to reflect deeply on what it meant to be a good father. But being present for my son and my then-wife wasn’t easy.

I worked in an all-consuming role in home care, supporting older people in their own homes—a rewarding but demanding job. My son was born during COVID, and like so many others at that time, we faced a lack of support. I’m sure many of you can relate to how isolating and challenging that period was.

I often found myself reflecting on the love I felt towards my son and, at the same time, grappling with a sense of longing. I couldn’t explain the growing hole inside me—a deep ache that seemed to widen with each passing day.

These reflections became a wedge that opened my heart and eyes to where I truly was in my life. I vividly remember going for a run one Saturday morning, shortly after my son was born, and falling to the ground sobbing. I no longer knew who I was. That moment—raw and unfiltered—was a turning point. A call deep inside urged me to take action. It wasn’t clear then, but looking back, becoming a father set me on a path to discovering who I truly am.

This year, my wife and I separated. She has been, and continues to be, an incredible partner—generous, supportive, and understanding. I am deeply grateful that we co-parent our son with the love and attention he deserves.

Despite this, navigating separation as a father has brought its own challenges. I know that for many, maintaining a positive relationship post-separation does not even feel like an option. Often, there’s little to no relationship left when couples part on bad terms. The emotional impact on both you, your partner and your children in such cases can be even greater.

The emotions involved in separation can be overwhelming, sometimes too tangled to break down. Strong emotions often bring self-doubt, self-judgment, and feelings of failure—that you’ve let your loved ones down, made a mistake, or ruined everything for yourself and others. For me, it was doubly hard because we, as men, are often reluctant to share our troubles, fearing judgment or appearing weak.

If you’re anything like me, and have measured your life largely in the context of business success, you might find it difficult to bring up personal challenges with your peers. Especially in leadership roles, where you’re expected to bring energy and positivity to the workplace, you might feel the need to hide your emotions and struggles to avoid burdening others.

There are practical challenges too: running two homes, ferrying kids around, and taking on responsibilities that your spouse may have handled before.

You arrive at a place where you feel utterly broken. It’s a frightening space—your old self no longer exists, yet your new self hasn’t fully arrived.

I spent a long time in this place. It was dark, lonely, and cold. I want to hold your hand with compassion as you go through, this is as much healing for me as it will be for you - I hope.

But here’s what I’ve learned: this place of exhaustion and fatigue is also where rebirth begins. And I want to tell you, you will be born again. It’s a process of accepting what is, accepting who you are, and allowing yourself to heal.

This journey isn’t linear; there will be setbacks, and that’s okay.

When I searched for guidance, I found very little. Resources for separated fathers, or even tools to explain family changes to young children, were scarce. My ex-wife and I did our best with what we had, but I often felt isolated in my struggles.

This space, Lost and Found Dad, is born out of that experience. It’s a place of support, inspiration, and hope for fathers navigating the overwhelming emotions of parenthood, separation, self-discovery, and the journey forward.

We’re setting out on this path together. You know you’re on the right path when, even if you don’t know exactly where it’s heading, something deep inside invites you to keep going. It’s the voice that has cared for you all your life—your true inner self—the part of you that loves you for who you are and watches over you as you grow.

Warmly,
Mahdi

What Subscribers Can Expect

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