When I was a teenager, my dad gave me a bar of soap and told me to always take cold showers. “Trust me,” he said, “it’s good for you.” He never explained much, just repeated the rule like it was law. I thought it was some weird, tough-love dad thing maybe a military habit, or just his way of keeping me disciplined. Either way, I followed his advice without question, even when my friends teased me for it.

Years later, I moved in with my boyfriend. One day, he came into the bathroom while I was showering. He picked up the bar of soap and stared at it, confused at first then his face changed. His hands shook slightly. I asked if something was wrong, and he didn’t answer right away. Then, to my shock, he started crying really crying. I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and rushed over, panicked. “What is it?” I asked.

He held up the soap and said softly, “Where did you get this?” I told him my dad gave it to me when I was a teenager, that he told me to always use it and never explained why. My boyfriend looked at me, tears still in his eyes, and said, “This is military-issue soap. Only given to soldiers who’ve been through traumasome keep it as a reminder. My dad had the same one after coming home from deployment.”

That soap wasn’t about hygiene it was about healing, about resilience. The cold showers were a ritual, a way to ground himself, to cope, and maybe to pass that quiet strength on to me. My boyfriend hugged me, and we sat on the bathroom floor, surrounded by steam and silence. That moment changed how I saw my father forever. He never said much but he gave me everything I needed. And now, I carry his strength with me every time I step into the cold.