Courageous Curiosity
Sneak Peek
The Hug
When you’re at your lowest, sometimes all you need is a hug from a tiny human
I’d failed. And I knew it the instant the words left my mouth. Heart pounding, voice shaking, I forced out what little I had left. “What can I do to make it right?” I was kneeling, eyes stinging, scared to hear her response.
It was a few days before Christmas 2024, and everything—my body, my mind, my spirit—was crumbling. I had a fever. My whole body throbbed. Every breath hurt. My head, my throat, my chest were raw and ragged.
That morning, my sense of taste and smell had vanished, so the eggnog I’d been waiting for all year became nothing but cold sludge.
I stared at the tiny pile of presents under the tree, a physical, undeniable reminder of how badly I was failing. We’d run out of savings weeks ago. I’d been laid off in early September, and another rejection email had just landed, another slammed door. The cars were sitting on empty. The mortgage was overdue. And we only had cash in the bank because my parents had floated us a bridge loan.
Every day I told myself, I just need one yes. Just one. That’s all it takes. Then, Stella, our youngest daughter, sneezed without covering her mouth, and I lost it.
“SEE, STELLA? You didn’t cover your mouth! That’s why we’re all sick, because you can’t be bothered to COVER YOUR MOUTH!” My voice rose, sharp and bitter. “None of you ever get sick when I do! But the second one of you are sick? I’m doomed! WHY? I work so hard to keep you all healthy. WHY does nobody care if I get sick? Why can’t ANYONE in this house think about anyone but themself?!”
Emily, just as sick, if not worse, glared at me. “Dude. She’s three.”
Stella disappeared toward her room, quietly crying. She knew better than to make noise when I was like this.
I grabbed the dishes and scrubbed like my life depended on it. I just wanted to control one thing. I wanted a job. I wanted to call the mortgage company with good news. I wanted to stop feeling like a failure. By the third dish, I paused and just resigned myself to the universe.
Fine, I thought. I’ll just give up trying to get anything done tonight. It’s useless. I’m useless.
That last rejection had hit me hard. I’d wanted it so badly, it hurt. And I’d really thought I’d had it. I’d been the runner-up. Second place. I’d thrown so much into those interviews. And with that rejection, we were going to run out of money. I’d have to apply for a loan. We’d probably have to sell our house, pull the girls out of school, and move somewhere else.
As I picked up and continued to scrub that third dish, it start creeping in. The thought. The life insurance policy.
For a second, it almost seemed rational. Clean. A single decision that could fix everything. Then, just as fast, I recognized it for what it was. The invisible hand. I was fabricating shame, I had to lean into it. I had to push through. I had to ask a stupid question. And as soon as I realized that, I could only think of one thing.
Stella; the look on her face. What had I done?
I dropped the dish so fast, it almost broke. It started as a sprint, but I slowed to a brisk walk to her room. Before I opened the door, I heard Emily in there, helping the kids get changed into their pajamas. They were all joking and laughing as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t yelled. They’d moved on in minutes.
But I hadn’t.
Stella was putting her shirt on when I asked, “Can I talk to you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Daddy.”
I took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. That was wrong.” She rolled her eyes again. I kept going. “Daddy’s just really upset right now. I’m having a really hard time, but it was wrong for me to take that out on you. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.” And I knew I had to ask something. Something I was afraid to. So I asked the only thing I was truly afraid of was what the answer might be. “What can I do to make it right?”
She rolled her eyes again. And, without taking those precious little fingers out of her mouth, the fingers she puts there to soothe herself, she said, “It’s okay, Daddy. You can go do whatever you want.”
So, I asked for a hug. And as we hugged, everything—the weight, the failure, the shame—lifted.
She knew. She knew I wasn’t the things I said or did when I was breaking. She knew I was Daddy, and that I always would be. And in that moment, I knew it too.
Stupid questions aren’t about learning. And they’re definitely not about stupidity. They’re about connection, about reaching for understanding with others instead of retreating into shame.
I’d spent years pondering stupid questions; the power they hold, the pathways they show us, the discomfort they demand. But this moment made one thing abundantly clear: knowing their power wasn’t enough. I had to do more.
The next day, I sat down and started writing this book. In the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it could help someone else choose courageous connection over silent shame.
