Healing with Dad
Updated: Sep 4
Getting older has a way of changing everything.
Your body changes. Relationships change. The way you see yourself changes. And sometimes, if you're fortunate, the way you see your parents changes too.
My dad and I have had an interesting journey. There have been seasons where we didn't see eye to eye, seasons filled with friction, and seasons where laughter came easier than understanding. We don't get to choose our parents, and despite their best intentions, they don't get the final say in who we become.
I don't think either of us had "Doctor of Acupuncture" on the bingo card for my life.
This summer, my dad and I took what was probably our first real father-son trip together. We traveled to the beautiful island of St. Maarten. There were crystal-blue waters, unforgettable sunsets, unlimited drinks, an ATV ride around the island, and an oxtail platter that I'm still savoring.
But the greatest part of the trip wasn't any of that.
It was the opportunity to be present.
Not pretending the past never happened. Not erasing years of hurt, misunderstanding, or disappointment. Just allowing those experiences to become something different—something that no longer had to define our relationship.
Resentment is heavy. We often mistake carrying it for strength, when sometimes we're simply carrying it because we've forgotten we can put it down.
At 35, I'm still growing. Still learning. Still healing.
One of the greatest gifts from that trip wasn't resolving every old wound—it was making new memories. Adding new threads to our tapestry instead of staring only at the places where it had begun to fray.
Like being called up to be a part of the juggling act, or him "thinking" my tank top was his, or him being surprisingly good at the Casino.
At one point we started talking about bowling, one of my dad's favorite subjects. If you know him, don't ask him about bowling unless you have some time. As he proudly demonstrated his form, I noticed him wincing through the movement.
So I asked if he'd let me treat him.
It was his very first acupuncture session.
Watching someone you love experience your medicine for the first time is hard to describe. As the treatment settled in, I watched his body soften. His breathing slowed. His eyes looked brighter and more present. The tension he'd been carrying seemed to quiet itself, even if only for a moment.
It reminded me why I chose this work.
Healing isn't only about reducing pain. It's about creating enough space for someone's nervous system to remember what ease feels like.
Trauma doesn't always end with the person who experienced it. We inherit more than eye color and family recipes. Sometimes we inherit ways of surviving—silence, hypervigilance, emotional distance, or the belief that we always have to be strong.
Researchers continue to study how these patterns are passed through families, relationships, and even biological pathways. But what resonates with me most isn't simply that trauma can be passed down—it's that healing can be passed down, too.
As a Black Doctor of acupuncture, creating spaces for healing isn't just my profession, it's part of my purpose.
Black men deserve more places where healing is expected instead of questioned. More opportunities to slow down. More spaces where it's safe to talk about what's happening in our minds and our bodies. We deserve places where our nervous systems can finally exhale, where vulnerability isn't weakness but wisdom. Healing shouldn't feel like a luxury—it should feel like a birthright.
Organizations like Men At Work Healing are helping make that possible by creating spaces where men can experience acupuncture, community, and care together. Their work inspires me because it's rooted in the same mission I hope to continue: helping people reconnect with themselves and with one another.
Treating my dad reminded me that healing moves in every direction.
When we help someone else heal, something in us heals too.
And when we heal ourselves, we make it easier for the next generation to do the same.
Healing doesn't erase the past.
But it can change what we carry into the future.
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