When You See Their Trauma and Can’t “Fix” It

You see it in their eyes.

The fear. The panic. The flinch that tells you someone hurt them before you ever showed up.

And something in you breaks.

Because you want to fix it.

You want to reach inside and pull that pain out.

But you can’t.

That’s the part no one tells you:

Sometimes love can’t fix — it can only stay.

And that’s what I’ve learned to do.

I stay.

In the room.

In the silence.

In the tension.

Because that’s where healing begins — not in fixing, but in faithfulness.

And every time I stay, I’m telling them:

“You’re worth it. Even when I can’t take the pain away — I won’t run from it.”

That’s fatherhood.

That’s Jesus.