When I was in college, I raced motocross on weekends. My parents only came to see me race one time. That happened to be the day I had a nasty crash and was flown to the hospital in a helicopter. My parents didn’t come to the emergency room, and they never called to check on me.

You’d think that memory would be so painful it would drive me crazy. But until I was writing From Broken Boy to Mended Man, I didn’t remember. For self-protection, I had developed a sort of emotional amnesia. Literally, for decades, I was in denial. My brain couldn’t handle the truth, so it chose to deactivate the memory. It was just too big of a pain point. But once I did remember, it hit hard. I had to grieve that painful truth and, frankly, re-grieve other childhood wounds.

What is grief? Grief is defined as “keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.” It’s the opposite of denial. If the purpose of denial is to forget, the purpose of grieving is to remember. Denial stores up pain; grieving lets it out.

Is there a memory from your childhood that, when honestly faced, creates so much pain that you would rather forget than remember? That memory might lead you to conclude one or more of the following:

• “I didn’t feel deeply loved or cared for.”
• “I didn’t know if my parents were proud of me.”
• “I didn’t receive enough verbal affection and affirmation.”
• “I didn’t receive enough physical affection.”
• “My parents didn’t have enough time for me.”
• “I didn’t feel prepared to become a man, husband, and father.”
• “I suffered from emotional or physical abuse or neglect.”
• “I feel like I must perform to be accepted.”
• “I’m not sure how a healthy relationship is supposed to work.”
• “I still don’t feel valuable and wanted.”

It’s painful to remember, isn’t it? But to truly heal we have to go through our pain, not around it.

You—and the men you know—are not responsible for what happened to you as a child. It’s not your fault. Now, however, as men, we are responsible for what happens in the future. Here is a brief overview of five ideas that can help us grieve, heal, and move forward.

1. Grieving starts with self-care.

Self-care comes first. If you take care of your own healing first, the process of healing relationships—or helping men you may be discipling heal—can be an act of joy from a place of strength, rather than merely an exercise in self-discipline. It’s the principle of putting on your own oxygen mask before assisting others on a flight.

The good news is that grief shrinks over time. Just as your body will restore a broken bone with proper medical attention, so your soul will restore a broken heart over time, as you apply the Bible’s healing process. There’s no need to rush, but no reason to delay either. The sooner you grieve, the sooner you’ll heal.

2. Know what to expect.

Experiencing pain and grief are in the DNA of human experience. However, grief over father or mother wounds is in a league of its own. Expect your grief to come in unpredictable waves—sometimes as a ripple, sometimes as a swell big enough to swamp your boat, and sometimes as a rogue wave out of nowhere that turns you into a wreck.

The stages and emotions of grieving—anger, sadness, mood swings, outbursts, withdrawal, tears, depression, bargaining, acceptance—can’t be charted on a graph. In fact, sometimes you’ll feel several of these emotions at the same time, and everything hurts. All of this is normal.

3. Pour out your heart to God.

Certainly, the Bible doesn’t sugarcoat the truth that parents create childhood wounds. The Bible is filled with stories of pain and grief; yet it also provides a road map for grieving—like Google Maps for your soul.

Through prayer and meditating on Scripture, we, too, can pour out our hearts to God. In fact—with the caveat that what I’m about to say must be experienced and not merely explained—thoughtful, prayerful reading of the Bible will release supernatural power into all aspects of your life, including the process of mourning.

4. Talk to someone you trust.

In my vocation, I listen to many men during one-on-one conversations. When men feel stuck, I always ask them if they have a friend or small group with whom they can share what’s really going on. I cannot remember a single instance of a hurting man ever saying yes.

Isolation magnifies pain and desperation, and loneliness makes us especially vulnerable to the voices in our heads that spew out shame, false guilt, hatred, and inferiority.

If that’s you, who can blame you for holding all that in? I know that I was, and still am, embarrassed about some of my emotions. But to heal properly, I needed to tell someone what I was going through, and the same is true for you.

Sharing your emotions as you grieve is a standard, indispensable part of the healing process. Whatever is stirring inside you, share it with someone you trust—your spouse or partner, best friend, family member, small group, or, depending how deep the wounds are, a professional counselor.

5. Write your own prayer.

Finally, like the psalmists, express your grief to God by writing a prayer of your own to cap off the gusher of grief you’ve been living with. Your prayer doesn’t have to be perfect, or the last one you write. But as the saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step.

You can be raw in your prayer—in fact, you should be raw. Honestly tell God in writing how you feel—even if that includes anger at Him for allowing your wounds to happen in the first place. And ask Him for help to heal.

There’s more that could be said, but use these five ideas as a starting point to grieve and mourn what should have been. Getting grief out makes space for healing to come in. In a sense, it’s the act of exhaling, and in next week’s article, we’ll focus on inhaling.