Tonight, I could have gone to the LL Bean concert. It would have been easy, light, maybe even fun. But I stayed home instead. Not because I didn’t want to be around people, but because I felt the pull to write this, to sit with myself, to reflect, and to be honest about where I’ve been and where I want to go.

The first post in this series was about stepping back into the dating world as a parent. This one goes deeper. It’s not about how or when to introduce someone to your kids. It’s about the harder truth: the last relationship didn’t work out. And part of that was on me.

My Last Relationship Didn’t Work — And I was half the reason why.

It’s easy, by default, to focus on what the other person did wrong when a relationship ends. But when I look back, I see moments where I shut down when I could have opened up. Times I focused so much on providing and protecting that I forgot to connect. Times I avoided conflict instead of working through it. Times I expected her to read my mind, rather than speak clearly and kindly.

I didn’t mean to pull away. I thought I was doing what needed to be done. Paying the bills, holding the line, making sure everything kept moving. But emotional neglect doesn’t always look like cruelty. Sometimes it just looks like distance. I realized I wasn’t speaking the love languages she needed to hear, just as she wasn’t speaking mine. And the distance that placed between us made the chances we had to connect fewer and farther in between.

Psychologist Dr. John Gottman calls these missed moments “emotional bids”. They are small ways that we reach out for connection, often without realizing it. In strong relationships, those bids are met with attention and care. But when they’re overlooked too often, disconnection grows. I see now how many of those small moments I missed.

Being a dad requires presence, patience, and honesty. It means showing up every day not with all the answers, but with the willingness to learn, to try again, and to admit when I’ve messed up. It means letting my son see that being strong includes saying ‘I’m sorry’ and asking, ‘How can I do better?’

Being a partner requires softness too; openness, vulnerability, and the ability to let someone else in. I didn’t always balance those well. I used to think I had to pick one or the other, either be the steady, reliable dad or the emotionally available partner. I didn’t realize that real strength includes the courage to be open, to admit when I’m overwhelmed, and to let someone in even when it’s uncomfortable. Carrying the weight alone felt noble at the time, but now I see it just kept me at a distance from the very connection I was craving. I see now that real strength is making space for softness too. It’s knowing when to hold steady and when to let someone hold you. I’m still learning how to do both at the same time, and how important that balance is for the kind of love I want to build.

What I Want Now—And What I’m Still Learning

When I met my son’s mom, I wasn’t looking for someone to complete me, but I was looking for companionship, for connection, and for a place to belong. I wanted to be a part of her life, and I thought love would be enough to figure the rest out as we went. But I didn’t fully understand what I needed, or what I was bringing into the relationship.

Now, I’m looking for something deeper. I want to grow with someone. I want to build something real, a partnership that makes space for truth, joy, laughter, and healing. I want to show up fully. I want to be heard, and I want to listen with intention. I want a love that isn’t afraid of hard conversations, and laughter that lasts longer than the moment. A love that evolves with us, not in spite of us. I want to build a relationship rooted in shared goals and values, not one weighed down or defined by unnecessary drama.

I also know that I need to slow down and listen when the person I choose to be with has something important to say. And give them the grace to hear what it is they are really saying, without rushing to interpret or filter it through my own lens. It’s tough sometimes to sit through the noise; we, as humans, aren’t really taught to share our emotions in ways that invite connection and safety. Neuroscience shows that our brains are wired for survival, not vulnerability. When we feel emotionally unsafe, even without realizing it, our nervous systems can go into fight, flight, or freeze. To truly connect, we need to feel emotionally safe, and that requires listening not to reply, but to understand. I’m still learning how to do that.

Fatherhood, too, has changed me. It taught me that presence matters more than perfection. That patience is love in action. That saying “I’m here” means more than any grand gesture. Although I will probably bring home flowers every now and then anyway.

And it’s taught me that who I choose to invite into our life matters deeply. Not just for me, but for my son.

Forgiveness and Forward Motion

I don’t carry shame about the past, but I do carry responsibility. That’s the price of growth. And it’s also the gift.

I’m learning to forgive myself for the moments I missed and to honor the lessons they left behind. I’m not rushing into anything, but I’m not closed off either. I’m open to something beautiful. Something honest. Something worth the wait.

Because I’m not looking for perfect. I’m looking for kind. I’m looking for safe. I’m looking for a soft place to land.

Closing Thoughts

The question of when to introduce someone to my son still matters. But that question comes after this one: Who am I becoming? It starts here, with reflection. With acknowledgment of where I’ve been and how I want to show up differently. And with making sure that when I do invite someone into our life, it’s because I’m ready to bring my whole self to the table, present, open, and aware.

If you’ve been through heartbreak too, what would you do differently next time—not by changing who you are with, but by changing something that needs to grow in you?