Dare To Speak: Difficult Conversations That Change Everything
Sep 4, 2026 · 32 min · 10 segments
**Episode 39 - Parenting Challenges and Honest Conversations with Young Adults** How do you stay connected to your young adult when conversations begin to feel more difficult? In this special…
Eve StanwayHost
A year before he passed away, a good friend urged me to interview him, to sit with him, record his story and ask the questions I never found the courage to ask.

On July 2025, we listened to my father talk for five and a half hours whilst gazing out over the boats at Tolsbury Marina.

While people were going about their business, I sat mesmerised as my father gave his telling of my life in words I had never heard before.

I've spent my career helping people have the conversations they were afraid to have, sitting with parents who couldn't reach their children and children who couldn't reach their parents, helping them find a way through deadlocked conversations.

And then I found myself sitting across my father with a recorder between us and realised that this conversation might have never happened at all.

He raised my brother and me entirely alone after my mother left when I was seven years old.

However, he was also emotionally volatile, quick to anger and utterly convinced that his version of our lives was the correct one.

He had clear ideas about who I should become, what path I should take, and he pursued those ideas with a determination that left very little room for me.

I resisted him, quietly at first, so as not to draw his rage, and then with more determination as I got older, uncaring of the damage to him, me, our relationship.

Eventually, I realised that he couldn't separate his plan for me from his love for me.

So when I refused the plan, it felt to both of us as though I was refusing him and his love of me.

That is an awful burden to bear when we're young and still trying to work out who we are.

A year before he passed away, a good friend urged me to interview him, to sit with him, record his story and ask the questions I never found the courage to ask.

On July 2025, we listened to my father talk for five and a half hours whilst gazing out over the boats at Tolsbury Marina.

While people were going about their business, I sat mesmerised as my father gave his telling of my life in words I had never heard before.

I've spent my career helping people have the conversations they were afraid to have, sitting with parents who couldn't reach their children and children who couldn't reach their parents, helping them find a way through deadlocked conversations.

And then I found myself sitting across my father with a recorder between us and realised that this conversation might have never happened at all.

He raised my brother and me entirely alone after my mother left when I was seven years old.

However, he was also emotionally volatile, quick to anger and utterly convinced that his version of our lives was the correct one.

He had clear ideas about who I should become, what path I should take, and he pursued those ideas with a determination that left very little room for me.

I resisted him, quietly at first, so as not to draw his rage, and then with more determination as I got older, uncaring of the damage to him, me, our relationship.

Eventually, I realised that he couldn't separate his plan for me from his love for me.

So when I refused the plan, it felt to both of us as though I was refusing him and his love of me.

That is an awful burden to bear when we're young and still trying to work out who we are.
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