What My Father Taught Me About Emotions

A communication lesson from dad on emotions and composure

My father is one of those genuinely happy people, open, deeply caring, endlessly thoughtful about others. If I have an emotional core, which I do, it came from him.

We are told that men are tough. They don't cry. They are the steady, unshakeable presence in the family. Yes, there is some truth in it.

But what I learned from watching my dad is that the toughness is often at the surface. Underneath, fathers have a heart that is soft, wanting the best for you, not knowing how to show they care.

With my dad, a poignant scene in a film or the the sight of someone struggling on the street was all it took to bring tears to his eyes. He never hid this. He let me see that a strong man could also be a tender one.

So I grew up unafraid of my own sensitivity, because he had shown me it was not a weakness.

But he also gave me one piece of advice that I have carried for the rest of my life.

I was at the airport, sobbing, saying goodbye when I moved to the US at the age of 21, to pursue my doctorate in cell and molecular biology.

He looked at me and said gently, "Your tears are precious. They are not for everyone to see."

I was embarrassed and angry. Why would he tell me that at a time I was going away to a new place far away across the seas.

Now I know that he was not telling me to hide my feelings. He was telling me they were sacred. That vulnerability is a gift, and a gift is given with discernment, to the people and the moments that have earned it.

That distinction has shaped how I live and how I teach.

Students often ask me a version of the same question. "Is it okay to cry in front of my boss?"

My answer surprises them. If someone has made you cry, then your tears are not for them to see. Not because your emotion is wrong, but because that moment, with that person, is rarely the right room for it.

I know this not as theory but as someone who lived it.

During my PhD, there were meetings with my supervisor or colleagues that left me holding back tears. I did not let them fall in the room. I would walk to the restroom, let it out fully, and then return with my composure and a smile.

At the time it felt like hiding. Looking back, it was something else. I was honouring my father's words. My tears were precious. That room was not the place for them.

The skill is not suppressing what you feel. It is learning to gather your composure in the moment, and to honour the emotion later, somewhere safe.

Here is what I do, and what I teach.

Breathe.

Ask yourself, quietly, what is this situation making me feel, and why?

Name the underlying emotion. Just naming it loosens its grip.

Acknowledge it. Tell yourself you are placing it gently in a box, and you will open that box later, when you are somewhere safe to feel it fully.

Then breathe again. And smile.

This is not about becoming unfeeling. It is the opposite. It is about respecting your emotions enough to give them the right time and the right room, rather than spending them on a moment that cannot hold them.

My father gave me that, without ever calling it a framework.

His belief in me did something else too.

At a time when many Indian families were arranging marriages for their daughters, he sent his across the world to study in the United States. He trusted me to pursue a PhD far from home, to build a life on my own terms. That trust became the foundation of every bold thing I have done since.

And here is what I have come to believe about fathers more broadly.

Becoming a father softens people. I see it in my husband, in the way he cares for our children. I see it in my other family members and my male friends.

Beneath the steadiness our culture asks of them is a tenderness that often runs deeper than they let the world see.

Today, I am grateful for the fathers who hold strength and softness at the same time. Who teach their children that emotion is not the enemy of composure, and that composure is not the absence of feeling.

My father taught me both.

What is one thing your father, or a father figure, taught you that you still carry today?

Happy Fathers Day to all my friends here on LinkedIn.

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I'm Dr. Lakshmi Ramachandran, PhD, PCC , a leadership communication coach and keynote speaker with a life sciences PhD. I work with leaders who excel in their fields and are ready to transform that brilliance into influence.

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