Nostalgia, fatherhood, and the road back to self-compassion.

How Many Summers Do We Have Left?

The Art of Being Gentle With Yourself After Trauma

Photo by Anton Mislawsky on Unsplash

Listen to your heart When he’s calling for you Listen to your heart There’s nothing else you can do

I don’t know where you’re going And I don’t know why But listen to your heart Before you tell him goodbye (Roxette)

Out of nowhere, this Roxette song played on my radio today.

Back in primary and high school, I listened to them passionately. Even today, thinking about Joyride, Marie Fredriksson’s incredible voice, and those iconic music videos still gives me goosebumps.

But as Listen to Your Heart played, a movie began to roll in my mind. I couldn’t help but realize just how much time has passed.

I started to Look at how far I’ve come. Looking at everything that has unfolded over the last twenty years, and the sheer volume of memories I’ve collected along the way.

Sadly, Marie passed away a while ago, and it happened almost quietly in the background of my own life. Back then, I was caught up in the whirlwind of my twenties — university, exams, traveling, first loves. It felt like that’s just how things had to be.

But looking back now, my perspective has shifted. My own children are growing up.

We don’t read bedtime stories anymore. As teenagers, they have already built their own distinct worlds. Of course, they still let me in, but it’s no longer the same as it used to be.

Where did those evenings go, when the three of us would tickle each other on the bed, sharing what happened during our day and giving thanks for the beautiful moments?

Where are the nights we prayed together about the things that scared us?

I remember my daughter, as a little girl, always asking me to pick out one stuffed animal to sleep by her side. That ritual, too, slowly dissolved into the years of growing up.

“When is the cartoon on?” “Can we watch two instead of one?”

Photo by Jazmin Manchester on Unsplash

Those questions have now made way for a new phase. We are currently watching the series Lost together — a show I watched myself back around 2002. Now, it has completely captured their own worlds and imaginations.

I am incredibly grateful that I can pass down the things I experienced, the stories that once fascinated me. I am always looking for new paths and new ways to keep us connected. Some rituals fade away, but new ones take their place. This weekend, we are having a Lost watch-marathon. I’m really curious to see how it turns out.

Who knows to what power they will upgrade these stories using their own unique gifts and imaginations? In a way, isn’t that the ultimate meaning of parenthood? To pass the torch, to give our children the space to expand, and to have fun and enjoy the ride while doing it.

Listen to your heart When he’s calling for you…

When I was 38 years old and ending the relationship with the mother of my children, I helped myself through that agonizing choice by asking a single question: How many summers do I have left?

By the time I turned 40, I hit a stark realization. I calculated that I might only have about 30 more chances to see the summer sea.

Facing that specific number jolted me awake. It gave me the extra injection of strength I needed to pull myself out of a toxic relationship, allowing me to start a new chapter with my children in a much safer, lighter, and more peaceful environment.

Today, being just a few steps away from my 50th birthday, that remaining number of summers is undeniably smaller.

But strangely, it scares me less now. I look back at everything I have already witnessed, all the places I have been, and I realize more than ever that a meaningful life isn’t measured by a trip to Greece or a long-haul flight to the other side of the world.

What truly matters is knowing that someone loves you. It’s about loving yourself. It’s having the privilege to hold someone tight, or to embrace someone you care about with all your heart and all your strength.

It’s knowing how to slow down and admire a breathtaking view from the top of a mountain after a long hike.

It’s the ability to pause for a few minutes just to enjoy a beautiful flower blooming in the spring weather, radiant in the middle of an open field.

It’s about genuinely trying to listen to my own heart. It’s learning how to be sensitive and gentle with the people around me — and also with myself.

Especially with myself.

This morning, I woke up and realized I had forgotten to buy my monthly train ticket. Because of that, I had to drive to work instead.

In the past, I would have been furious with myself. I would have spiraled into anger about wasting money for nothing, telling myself that if I had only thought ahead the day before, I could have avoided this…

But I am trying to practice being gentle with myself.

The immediate anger we feel during these tiny mishaps is often the echo of trauma we carry from the past.

Dr. Gabor Maté often notes that one of the core consequences of trauma is that we lose our capacity for self-compassion. Therefore, the moment we learn to speak to ourselves in a respectful, sensitive, and tender way, it is a definitive sign that we are successfully processing and healing that trauma.

So, I still return to those old Roxette songs, even if someone might ask why I’m listening to such ancient music. Perhaps that specific period of youth was a time when my mind was still wide open, unburdened and unmarked by the world, allowing those lyrics to settle deeply into my brain.

I don’t know where you’re going And I don’t know why But listen to your heart Before you tell him goodbye

No, I never want to forget how to listen to my heart. But I have to put in the effort to actually stop, slow down, and give it the quiet opportunity to speak.

Hearing a nostalgic Roxette song on my morning drive reminded me that healing isn’t about flying across the world — it’s about finally being kind to yourself.

Thanks for the read!

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