I posted a video this week that, by my standards at least, went viral. At the time of writing, nearly 60,000 people have watched it.

If you're one of the people who found me because of that video, welcome. And thank you for subscribing. There are quite a lot more of you here than there were a few days ago.

I found the video earlier this week. It made me really emotional, and I thought it would be worth sharing with my fellow Substackers. It seems to have affected quite a few other people in a similar way.

Watch the video

A dad is standing with his three children. Mum is behind the camera asking them questions. Each time the answer is yes, they take a step forward.

“Take one step forward if your dad has ever taken you to the park.”

The children move.

“Take one step forward if your dad has ever taken you on a vacation.”

They move again.

The questions continue. Did your dad go to your graduations? Did he live with you? Do you remember him taking you to school? Do you remember him hugging and kissing you when you were a child?

The children keep moving forward.

Dad doesn't.

At first they don't seem to notice how far ahead of him they've gone. Then they start looking back. By the end there is a big gap between them and their dad. All three children turn around, walk back towards him and hug him.

It's incredibly emotional.

There is sadness for the dad because you start wondering what he may have missed. There may be sadness for some of us watching too, because the questions make it difficult not to think about our own childhoods and the relationship we had with our parents.

There is happiness there as well. Whatever this man experienced as a child, his children seem to have experienced something different from him. They can take those steps. He can't.

And that gives the whole thing an enormous sense of hope.

We know very little about this man's childhood from a short video. We don't know his father, what happened in their family or why some of those experiences appear to have been missing. I don't think we need to make his dad the villain of a story we don't know.

The part we can see is what happened afterwards.

A man who appears not to have received some of these things from his own dad has somehow managed to give them to his children.

How?

Our childhood isn't our children's destiny

We all arrive at parenthood with a history. Long before we have children, we've already been learning what dads do, what parents do for us and to us, what anger looks like in a family and how affection gets shown. We've learned whether adults apologise after getting something wrong, who does the caring, what happens when children make mistakes and whether it feels safe to disagree with a parent.

We've also picked up much smaller messages. Did we feel valued mainly for what we achieved, or did we get a sense that we were good enough simply because we were us? When you were upset, did another person act towards you in a way that showed they were comfortable or uncomfortable with those feeling? those feelings or scold the person that? Was home somewhere you could relax, or somewhere you needed to keep an eye on everybody else's mood?

Most of those lessons weren't taught to us in words, nobody sat there and explained them to us. They were simply happening around us while we were growing up, and we absorbed them, we felt them and before we were old enough to think very much about whether we agreed with them.

We didn't choose that environment that we grew up in but once we become parents, our position changes. We are now one of the people helping to create the environment somebody else is growing up in.

That doesn't mean our childhood suddenly loses its influence. You can be absolutely certain that you'll never speak to your children the way somebody spoke to you and then, when you're exhausted and angry, hear a familiar sentence coming out of your own mouth. I can remember that first time when i said to myself i sounded like my dad and maybe you’ve had a similar experience?

Maybe you can want to be affectionate and discover that affection feels awkward because it wasn't something you saw very often. You can desperately want your children to talk to you and still have no idea what to do when they tell you something difficult.

Knowing what we want to do differently doesn’t automatically give us the skills to do it. It does, however, give us a starting point. We can begin to work out the kind of parent we want to be, the behaviours we want to change and the things we might need to learn.

Your childhood can influence the way you parent without becoming the childhood your own children are destined to have. We have choices now that we didn’t have when we were young. We can notice what we’ve carried with us, decide what we want to keep, recognise what needs to change and learn things nobody ever taught us.

That is one of the reasons I find the video so hopeful. You can see the effect his childhood has had on him. He isn’t pretending it never happened by shutting it in a box or that it hasn’t shaped him. But he is doing something different with his own children. They get something from him that he didn’t get himself.

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Where did he learn something different?

The obvious story in the video is about this man and his dad because every question is framed around their relationship.

But his father wasn't the only person who shaped him.

What did his mum give him? What about his grandparents? Was there an aunt or uncle he loved being around? A teacher who really noticed him? A coach? A youth worker? A friend's dad whose house felt completely different from his own?

We have no way of knowing the answers, but I think those questions are really important to think about.

Perhaps somebody hugged him. Maybe somebody listened when he talked. Maybe there was an adult who was genuinely pleased to see him when he walked through the door. Someone may have corrected him without humiliating him, apologised after getting something wrong or showed him that a man could be warm and affectionate with children.

We sometimes talk about childhood as though our parents hand us one blueprint for relationships and we spend adulthood either following it or trying to tear it up. Real life is probably much messier and much more hopeful than that.

Lots of people contribute little pieces to who we become.

Maybe your grandmother taught you kindness. A teacher might have been the first adult who made you feel that your opinion was worth hearing. A football coach might have shown you that you can expect a lot from a child without frightening them. Perhaps your mum taught you how to apologise, or a friend's dad was the first man you ever saw hugging his teenage son without making it awkward.

Someone doesn’t need to give us a complete model of the parent we want to be. Sometimes they just show us one thing that we later find ourselves doing with our own children.

Who gave you some of those pieces?

Who made you feel safe? Who took an interest in you? Who made you laugh? Who listened properly? Who could be angry without making everybody else frightened? Who was there when they said they'd be there?

We can spend so much time examining the things we don't want to repeat that we overlook the good things we've already learned from people who showed us another way of doing things that fit’s in with the sort of person we want to be.

We can find those people now too

The people who influenced us aren't limited to childhood.

Look around at the parents you know now. There are probably people doing things you admire, even if you've never told them.

Maybe your friend listens to his daughter in a way you wish came more naturally to you. Perhaps your brother is brilliant at playing with his children. You might know a dad who stays surprisingly calm when everybody else is losing it, or somebody who is openly affectionate with his teenage son.

Maybe you've watched a friend apologise to his child and noticed that he didn't spend the next five minutes explaining why the child was partly responsible for making him angry.

These are things we can learn from.

We can be strangely private about parenting. We have children and somehow expect ourselves to work out one of the most complicated jobs we'll ever do without looking over somebody else's shoulder occasionally and asking, “How do you do that?”

We don't approach many other difficult things that way. We watch people who are good at something. We ask questions. We practise. We borrow ideas. We get things wrong and try again.

Parenting can work like that too.

You can see something happening in another family and think, I'd like some of that in ours.

Then you can work out what the person is actually doing that creates it.

Breaking a cycle is only part of the job

We hear people talk about “breaking the cycle” a lot.

There is something important in that idea, but I think we sometimes underestimate how difficult the second part can be.

If nobody apologised in your house when you were growing up, where were you supposed to learn how to apologise to a child? If your dad never showed affection, what model do you have for staying physically and emotionally affectionate with your son when he's 15? If anger meant shouting, threats or silence in your childhood, deciding that you won't repeat those things still leaves you needing to learn what to do with your anger instead.

Telling ourselves what we won't do can only take us so far. At some point we need something to take us forward.

That may come from watching another parent. It might mean talking properly with our partner about the home we're trying to create. It could involve reading, asking for support, understanding why certain things our children do provoke such a strong response in us, or practising a different response until it stops feeling quite so unfamiliar.

Sometimes it is as ordinary as stopping halfway through something you've said and trying again. Sometimes it's apologising. Sometimes it's recognising that you've repeated something for years and deciding that you don't want to keep doing it.

That requires more than good intentions. Looking properly at ourselves can be uncomfortable. Admitting that something from our childhood is still influencing the way we behave can make us feel exposed. Trying to respond differently when the old response is automatic takes practice.

That's why I think dads who manage to change these things deserve more credit than they sometimes give themselves.

What's in your childhood?

None of this means looking back at childhood only to find what was wrong.

There may be lots that you want your own children to have.

Maybe Dad was always at the side of the pitch. Perhaps Mum made home feel safe. Maybe your grandparents always had time for you. Perhaps your family laughed a lot, you always had dinner together at the table, birthdays felt special, affection came easily or a promise really meant something.

Those experiences are part of what shaped you too.

So it might be worth thinking beyond simply asking, What don't I want to repeat?

What did you receive that you want to pass on?

Who gave it to you?

What did you miss that you want your children to receive?

Who showed you another way?

Who can you learn from now?

And what are you still trying to work out?

Those questions give us more to work with than simply trying not to become somebody we don't want to be.

What is it like to grow up with me?

The video also makes me think about the experience our children are having from us right now.

What is it actually like being around me when everybody is tired and patience is running low? What happens when my children make a mistake? Can they disagree with me? Do they know that I'm interested in what they think, even when I don't agree with it?

Do they experience affection from me? Can they tell me something difficult without first having to work out what mood I'm in? Do they see me taking responsibility when I get something wrong? What will they remember me turning up for?

Some of my answers will probably make me feel good. Others may be uncomfortable.

If I find an answer I don't particularly like, I can still do something with it. Is there somebody I could learn from? Something I need to practise? A conversation I need to have? Something I've been blaming on my childhood for long enough?

There is hope in being able to ask those questions while our children are still growing up.

Their experience of us isn't finished.

Neither are we.

If you want to take this a bit further

I've built a free exercise called The Dad You Want to Be.

It gives you space to think about the dad you want your children to experience, what you want to carry forward from your own upbringing, what you want to do differently and what that might actually look like in your family.

Work through The Dad You Want to Be →

What do you want to do differently?

One of the best things about sharing the original video has been reading what people have written underneath it. People have talked about their own childhoods, the things they've deliberately changed with their own children and the parts they're still struggling with.

I'd love to continue that conversation here.

What is one thing you've deliberately done differently from the way you were parented — or one thing from your childhood you've deliberately chosen to give your own children too?

And if there's something you're still trying to change, I'd genuinely be interested in hearing about that as well.

Tell me in the comments.

I suspect there are far more people doing this kind of work than any of us realise.

Help this reach somebody else

If someone came into your mind while you were reading this, send it to them.

And if there's a paragraph here that says something you've struggled to put into words yourself, share that paragraph to Notes. I'd love to see this conversation travel beyond the original video.

The responses to the video have shown just how many people are thinking about what they experienced growing up, what they want to keep and what they want their own children to experience differently. The more of those stories we hear, the less alone people are likely to feel while trying to change things in their own families. We should all parent outloud and talk about our mistakes more. There’s too much pressure out there nowadays that paints all too perfect pictures of daily family life. We can all help each other by admitting our failures and insecurities.

If the video is how you found me, I'm glad you're here. I write about the ordinary reality of being a dad: what gets difficult, what we bring with us and what we can still learn and change.

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On the final drive home, the car stacked full of our belongings and the sun beginning to dip, I noticed a dad I'd clocked as one of the new families on the site. I'd never really paid him any attention before. When you're only there for weekends, in and out visiting places, you don't always catch everyone at the right time for a chat. Him and his wife were sat out on the yellowing grass by their caravan ( travel trailer for those over the pond), dry and pale after a long summer of good holiday weather and barely any rain, with chairs out for the five of them. Their son was in a chair with his rugby ball, and the two girls were just about to head off on another adventure on their bikes. I looked at them and thought, you are so lucky to have all of this ahead of you. I was so envious of all that time, spread out in front of him.

We've decided to sell the caravan. It's been a harder week than I expected, and seeing that family with everything still ahead of them was the moment it properly hit me. I didn't think I'd get this emotional about selling what amounts to a tin can on wheels, but we are where we are.

It's a decision we always knew was waiting for us somewhere down the line. The kids are getting older, and my daughter has exams on the horizon, which means we'll need to be home more to support her through the study sessions the school has put in place. It's something me and Mrs W have talked about for a while, turning it over, wondering when the right moment would be. It turns out the right moment is now.

It's also about recognising something harder. My own kids are reaching for their independence, pulling further and further away from us, which is exactly what they're meant to be doing. Their appetite for heading down to west Wales is fading right along with it. Hard as that is to feel, it's something we have to respect too.

There's a practical side to it as well. If we're going to sell, doing it now makes sense, while there's still a bit of summer season left and we might get a better price. It's the sensible thing to do, and us men do like a logical reason, don't we. The trouble is that none of the logic touches the emotion behind it, which is that this feels like the end of an era. It feels like the end of a part of childhood that we've shared together.

Having the caravan has been one of the few things we've all been able to do as a family, really together. A small space, for a weekend, sometimes weeks at a time, all of us close and comfortable with each other. The mornings when we'd get up and walk down to the beach with the dog, climbing over the rocks, looking in the rock pools for crabs and snails. Wandering up to the old-fashioned sweet shop for toffee bonbons, then ice creams, frisbee in the field, kicking a ball about, fish and chips, bacon sandwiches cooked on the beach. Board games and cards of an evening, Monopoly Deal, Uno, Dobble, or a bit of quiet with everyone sat with their own book. Chatting about stupid stuff, nothing you'd ever call important, and yet the reality is it's that kind of stuff that binds you together. It got us out doing more than we ever seem to manage at home.

That's the bit that's hard to sit with. At home it's too easy. We've got the big telly, the streaming services, all of it, and the reality is we probably don't spend as much time with each other as we should. The house is bigger, everyone has their own space, so everyone kind of retreats into it. The caravan never let us do that. It was the one place that put us all in the same room and made us actually connect.

Talking to the kids about it has been the hardest part. My daughter has been fairly nonplussed by the whole thing. She sees her life stretching out in front of her, she wants a job, she's already halfway out the door in her head. My son is a different story. He rang me yesterday while I was finishing things off and asked me, please, not to sell it. His five-foot-nine frame doesn't match the little boy still inside him, and there was such guilt in hearing him plead to keep it while knowing full well he wants his own independence just as much.

I've spent this week questioning whether it's the right call. Emotionally, it isn't. Emotionally I want to keep it forever. Mentally, I know it is. Both of those things are true at the same time, and I'm having to come to terms with the cognitive dissonance.

When we bought the caravan, my two were six and four. It doesn't feel that long ago, and now look at us. We've had special times in it, wonderful times, happy times. Now that I've been sorting through what comes out of it, the little things keep catching me off guard. There are games in there we bought and barely played, and maybe we'll finally play them now, or maybe they'll end up in the charity shop, and that thought makes me a bit sad. There's a cricket set the kids were keen on once that we somehow never got round to using together. That time has gone now, and we don't get it back.

In the end, the caravan went off to a dealership to be sold. I handed the keys over and drove off, and there was no big moment, none of the finality I'd braced myself for. It all felt strangely anticlimactic, all those years ending as quietly as that.

What's the point of any of this to you, though? The moment you're in right now, reading these words, is one you'll never get back. You will never have more time with your kids than you do today. Make the most of them now, while you can, because it changes, and it changes quicker than you'd ever believe.

What do you want to remember with your kids?

If you can't answer that straight away, don't worry, it's not an easy thing to work out on your own. I've made a free course called The Dad You Want to Be that walks you through exactly that, getting clear on what actually matters to you as a dad. You can start it over at beasuperdad.com/courses/the-dad-you-want-to-be.

Hi everyone,

I've been quietly building something for a while, and it's finally live. Be A Super Dad has a proper home now, at beasuperdad.com. It's for dads who love their kids and still don't always know what to do next, which is most of us, most weeks.

The part I most want to tell you about is free.

It's a short course called The Dad You Want To Be. It starts with a simple question: when you're 80, what do you hope your grown-up children will say about you? From there we turn that hope into things they can actually see and feel this week, work out one pattern worth watching, and get you ready for the next time it shows up. Five short lessons, at your own pace, and your answers stay on your device. You finish with a one-page Dad Plan: the values you want to live by, the pattern to watch for, and the words you can use to repair when you get it wrong.

There are a few other free tools on the site too, and none of them need an account. The Dad Reset gives you ten minutes to slow down one hard moment and prepare for the next repeat. The Pressure Pattern Check takes about two minutes and shows whether pressure tends to come out as shouting, going quiet, giving in, or carrying everything on your own. And there's a short repair guide, After You Shout, for the apology that holds the boundary and drops the defensive "but".

Have a look when you get a ten minutes, and start with whatever feels most important. If it helps, the kindest thing you can do is pass it on to one other dad who's finding things heavy right now.

More soon,

Gareth

Me and Mrs W did the first cohort back in 2020, and from that summer on, our two have watched us sit down at the kitchen table every month for our finance meeting. We’ve been transparent about what we’ve been doing. That, I’ve come to think, has taught them more than any course ever will. They’ve learned that money is a priority.

We’ve loosely talked about them doing the course before, but what changed this summer was a conversation with friends. They’d sat their kids down to talk about future careers, opening up honestly about what university actually costs. We know a family whose son will carry around eighty thousand pounds worth of debt before he has earned a single day’s wage. Ours are old enough now to sit through the course themselves, and twenty five pounds each to have them walk into all this with their eyes open looks to me like the best investment we could make.

We want them to have a good education and real opportunities. If the price of that is starting life behind the line, we owe it to them to ask whether the trade is worth it. They’ll choose their own path, that isn’t in question but in a world where AI has arrived and nobody is quite sure which careers are still standing in twenty years then it needs to be worth it.

So I’ve had a pile of bullet points sat in my notes app about this for a long time and with the family doing this course together it’s about time I put them to work.

Your kids are learning about money by watching you

Think about how you learned to be a parent. Nobody handed you a manual, did they? You watched your own parents thousands upon thousands of times, and you absorbed it. Some of it you kept, and some of it you’ve spent years trying to put down. That’s how humans learn the big things, it’s called procedural learning by watching, never by being told.

Now run the same film forwards. Your kids are recording you right now. How you talk about money, or whether you don’t, how you argue about it or whether the mention of a bill changes the mood. They’re taking it all in, and it’s quietly becoming their values. More is caught than taught.

There’s no shortage of tips out there, is there. Pocket money charts, savings jars, apps with cartoon pigs on them. The problem was never a lack of tips or tools that solve problems, the same way getting fit was never a lack of exercise plans. Our kids aren’t learning money from the tips or the tools, they’re learning it from us.

None of that means the education doesn’t matter, because it does, and they’ll need every bit of it. What I’d say is that the education goes in far more easily when the right values have laid the foundations. Values form early and they form quietly, out of what a child sees at four and hears at six, and they set like concrete. Teaching a nineteen year old how a credit card works takes an afternoon. Undoing what he decided about money at six takes half his adult life, sometimes longer, sometimes never.

The real question isn’t how do I teach my kids about money. I wonder what changes if you ask it this way instead: how do I become a better money role model?

Most parents I meet assume this is a job for school but what if we thought of ourselves as the headteacher of our children’s financial education? Everything changes when you take on the job. Why leave this to chance or other people if it’s so important.

What money sounded like in your house

Before you look at what your kids are learning, we need to go back a bit further, because you learned it somewhere too.

What did money sound like in the house you grew up in? Was it a raised voice through a wall, silence at the table, a subject that never appeared at all? What did you learn about people who had it? What did you learn about asking for it?

I can remember my own parents arguing about money when I was a boy. A school trip to Switzerland came up, the final payment was due, and I hid the letter rather than hand it over. When they found it, the question was, why didn’t you tell us. I’ve often wondered what would have changed if they’d asked themselves a harder one: why did our son feel he had to hide it?

When I asked what something cost, I got told ‘money in fair words’. I still don’t know what it was supposed to mean, other than don’t ask. Nobody was cruel about it but nothing was explained either, and I grew up understanding that the cost of things and money itself were dirty words and shouldn’t be uttered.

I can also remember shame being a way to teach me a lesson about money, and I wonder whether that contributed to not feeling good enough, to not feeling enough, and was the push for me to buy those nice things as a way to make myself feel better.

Years later, an adult with credit cards and a problem, I said nothing to anybody. I put my head in the sand like an ostrich and let it grow, month after month, until it was the size of a house. Is that any wonder, when you follow the line back? A child taught that money is conflict and secrecy grows into a man who cannot say the words I’m in trouble out loud.

That’s what money conflict teaches. The lesson is never about budgets, it’s that money is dangerous to talk about, so they stop bringing it to you. What are you teaching yours, that money is a tool they’ll one day pick up, or something to be frightened of?

Then have a look at where all that left you. Some of us cannot open the banking app. Some of us count every pound and can’t enjoy one of them. Some of us say yes to everything our kids ask for, because nobody ever said yes to us, and we call it generosity. Some of us don’t tell our partner what’s in the account. Every one of those is a child’s clever solution to a childhood problem, still running, decades later, in a grown man’s house.

It is not your fault that money makes your hackles come up. Nobody sat you down and taught you, and you didn’t get to choose the house you learned it in. What happens next is yours to carry though. Once you notice a pattern you’ve given yourself a gift, because now you get to colour the picture in the way you want, instead of acting on autopilot and your kids get to benefit from this too.

Are we buying our kids things out of our own guilt?

Here’s where it gets uncomfortable, and where I’d ask you to stay with me rather than close the tab.

A dad who had nothing growing up buys his kids everything, and calls it love. A dad who works late buys his way back into the room. The toy going into the trolley is doing a job, and I wonder whether the job has much to do with the child at all.

Have a look around the house. Is it overrun? Do they get things simply because they asked? What does a toy mean to a child who has never once had to want for one, or wait? What value do they place on the things they own and what has your contribution to that been?

I say this to every group I work with. You cannot spoil your kids with love, it is absolutely impossible, no preconditions, no ceiling on it. Things are different, because things run out of meaning the moment they stop being rare. The dads who mix those two up are almost always the ones trying hardest.

You already know what a child feels on Christmas morning after a year that has been one long Christmas. Whether you’re comfortable with that is a question only you can answer, and it’s worth answering honestly, because they will be an adult with money for a lot longer than they’ll be a child with toys.

Do you buy things to make them behave?

The sweets at the till. The game so we get a quiet Sunday. We’ve all done it, I’ve done it, and it works, which is precisely the trouble.

A child who is bought out of a feeling learns that feelings are things you buy your way out of. Sit with that one for a minute. Wanting is uncomfortable, waiting is uncomfortable, and if a small person never has to sit in that discomfort, I wonder what happens when they’re twenty three, they want something, they haven’t got the money, and a screen offers them buy now, pay later in two clicks.

I can’t prove the sweets at the till become the credit card at twenty three. I’d ask you to wonder about it though, because the wondering will change what you do this weekend more than any evidence I could hand you.

The identity you’re handing them

Were you ever told you were bad with money? Careless. Useless with it. A soft touch.

Labels seep into identity. You’re terrible with money becomes I am terrible with money, and how does anyone get better at something they believe is their character? A man who was told that at nine is now, thirty years later, three sentences away from saying it to his own kids. That loop closes in an afternoon if nobody pays attention to it.

Have a think about the seesaw for a minute. On one side of it sit all the money decisions your kids get wrong, the impulse buys, the tenner gone in an afternoon. On the other side sit the ones they get right, the saving up, the walking away from something, the choosing the cheaper one so there’s enough left for their sister. Which end is touching the floor? Most of us notice the waste every single time and let the good decisions go past without a word, and our kids draw the obvious conclusion, that money is a thing you get told off about.

Notice it out loud when they get it right. I saw you put that back. You waited three weeks for that, didn’t you.

Keep it about the decision, never the person. Instead of that was a waste of money, wonder out loud with them. I wonder how you’ll feel about that in six months? Will you have enough left for the rest of the holidays? Then let them buy it anyway if they choose. A tenner wasted at nine is the cheapest financial education they will ever get, and the same mistake at twenty nine, with a credit card behind it, costs a fortune. Let them spend the lot on a toy and find there’s nothing left for an ice cream, because that lesson costs them an afternoon. Hold the shackles tight for eighteen years and the same lesson arrives the week they get a student overdraft, and it costs them a decade. I wonder how balanced you are between the two.

The same goes for their dreams. When yours announces they want to be a dog walker as an example, the easy move is, you don’t want to do that, it doesn’t pay enough. Every time we do it, they learn to stop telling us things. Nobody wants judgement every time they talk about what’s in their head. Try, tell me a bit more about that, and see where it goes. Learn about why they fancy that vocation. Say that it sounds interesting, say that it would be fun. Say ‘I wonder how much they earn? Have you thought about what kind of life you want to live and how much that will cost? I wonder if that will pay for that lifestyle?’ Most important of all say it without the critic coming out of your mouth and ensure it sounds neutral.

Stop saying we can’t afford it

Two dads, same till, same child, same toy.

The first says, we can’t afford it. His child walks off with questions he’ll never ask out loud. Are we poor? Is money running out? Should I be worried? Say it often enough and money starts to mean fear.

The second says, we could buy that, and we’re choosing to spend our money on the holiday or the trip to the zoo instead. It’s the same outcome, no toy, yet an entirely different lesson. Money becomes a choice you’re in charge of rather than a monster at the door.

You’ll get it wrong, changing your language when you’ve had it drilled into you is hard. I get it wrong, and I do this for a living. When it comes out sideways, go back and repair it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that, what I actually meant was. Do it until it becomes a habit, because the repair is the most important. They learn that a rupture over money can be mended, which is a thing a great many adults have never once seen done.

The small stuff, once the big stuff is right

Get them guessing the total at the till on the weekly shop, closest one wins. Cook a favourite pudding together and work out what it actually cost against the shop bought one, using the flour you used rather than the whole bag. Help them sell the toys they’ve outgrown, and let them keep the money. Teach them to spot the words while you’re out, credit, overdraft, buy now pay later, interest free, an advance on their pocket money. Set aside a bit of whatever comes in before anything gets spent, and let them watch you do the same, so paying yourself first becomes a habit rather than a lecture. Sit an older one down with a compound interest calculator and watch their face when they see what money left alone for forty years turns into. Ours were amazed, honestly. Let them see your monthly money meeting, pancakes on the table, so talking about money in this house is simply normal.

None of that will do much if the soundtrack underneath it is stress and silence. It all gets easier once they’re watching a parent who has made some sort of peace with money, or is at least trying to in front of them.

Homework, if you want it

Answer these on your own, or better, with your partner.

What is your last month of spending teaching them about what matters?

Whose voice comes out of your mouth when you talk to them about money? Where did you first hear it?

Which of your parents’ money habits did you keep? Did you ever decide to keep it, or did it just come with the furniture?

When you buy them something, is it for them, or is it doing a job for you?

If your child ends up exactly as you are with money at forty, is that alright with you?

One change for this week

Just the one. Catch yourself the next time we can’t afford it is on its way out, and swap it for the choosing sentence. We’re choosing to spend our money on something else. Say it enough times and you’ll notice it isn’t only the kids who start to believe it.

This is a long game, remember, years rather than weeks. You don’t need to be sorted with money to raise kids who are good with it. Aim for the bullseye and you’ll hit the board, and the board is good enough. If money is a real pressure in your house right now, free confidential help exists through MoneyHelper, StepChange and National Debtline, and getting your own foundations right is the most powerful lesson your kids will ever watch you learn.

We talk about generational wealth as though it’s the house we leave them rather than the financial education. Ask yourself whether, if a large sum arrived in their lap tomorrow, they’d have the first idea what to do with it. I know which of the two I’d rather hand over, and it isn’t the house. I wish I’d had these foundations when I was their age.

As for paying my kids to sit through Rebel Finance School, a free course that taught us most of what we know, I’m under no illusions. The course isn’t the thing that will teach them. Watching their parents choose to keep learning about money, year after year, that’s the bit that goes in.

Frequently asked questions

At what age should I start teaching my kids about money? Earlier than most of us get round to it. A three year old doesn’t know what a mortgage is, and she already knows whether the word money makes the room go quiet. Whatever age yours are now is the right one to start.

Am I spoiling my child? You can’t spoil a child with love. Things are a different matter. If it’s a question you’re asking yourself, have a look at what usually decides the answer when they ask you for something, whether it’s their need or your own discomfort at saying no.

Should I tell my kids how much I earn? A lot of parents find it helps, as long as the number arrives without anxiety wrapped round it. If saying it out loud makes your chest tighten, that’s worth looking at before you say it in front of them.

What if I’m bad with money myself? Then be honest with them about it. That’s worth more than a tidy balance sheet you never talk about. What they need is to see that the subject can come up without everything going quiet. Explain in an age appropriate way some of the decisions you’ve made and what you should have done. Talk about what you are doing to fix it.

Does giving pocket money for chores work? Pocket money that is simply given every week teaches them it’s owed. Money earned for real jobs teaches earning. Either can work, how about a mixture of both so that they learn to manage a budget but understand that work gets them money?

Morning all,

If we are honest with ourselves, how many of us actually feel like we’ve nailed life. I haven’t met one person. Yet we treat our kids like they can’t make a mistake, when making mistakes is how they grow. Parenting is on the job training, just like being a child. No point blaming ourselves or our kids. Blame just stops us seeing what’s important.

That’s the heart of my book. Twenty-five years of sitting with dads, written for the dad in front of me.

It’s 99p on Kindle until 7th July.
[UK link]
[US link]

If you’ve read it already, send it to one dad having a rough run. Worth more to me than the 99p.

Gareth

P.S. The Dad Reset, a free five-part course for dads, lands later this month. Early warning.

Picture this week. You’ve been up since the baby woke at half five. Work was a write-off. You walk in the door and your partner hands him straight over, because she’s had her own day of it. He’s grizzling. You try the bottle, he turns his head. You try the bouncer, he arches his back. You walk him round the kitchen for the fifteenth time and he screams right in your ear, and something in you goes: he’s doing this on purpose. He knows I’ve got nothing left.

Maybe you don’t say it out loud. Or maybe you do. Maybe your body language communicates it? Maybe it comes out on the sofa later. “He’s having us on. He only kicks off when I’ve got work in the morning.”

“He’s just doing it for attention.” This is the one phrase I’ve heard more than any other in all my years working with dads. Honestly, I’d love a pound for every time I’ve heard something along these lines. It’d buy me a great holiday and give my face a rest from all the cringing.

But before I go on, this isn’t me telling you you’re a bad dad. It’s normal. When you’re struggling, when you feel like you’ve tried everything (you never have, btw, but to your knowledge you have)… once you think you’ve exhausted every avenue, there’s only one place left to go. It must be the child. Who else is left to take responsibility for everything that’s going on?

The problem is it’s like putting blinkers on a horse at the Grand National. The horse stays locked on what’s in front of it, so the noise and movement either side don’t pull its focus. But a dad who’s already decided his child is the problem stops looking at himself. It becomes a one-way mirror. He can see out, but he never catches his own reflection.

And blame is powerful. It has such a big impact. It tells someone we think there’s something wrong with them. That they’re the problem. When our kids hear it, it doesn’t stay a comment about one moment. It becomes part of who they think they are. It tells them we see them as difficult, as naughty, as someone we don’t much like or love. Blame on top of blame becomes shame. There’s something wrong with me, I’m bad, I’m naughty, I’m not good enough.

Is that an identity you’re happy for your child to carry?

So what actually lies underneath your own use of blame? I wonder if any of these phrases live in your own head too. Did you hear any of them yourself growing up, and how did they shape the way you see yourself? It’s worth asking, quietly, what’s underneath it for you.

Because if you stopped blaming them, there’d suddenly be room to stand in front of that mirror. And we need that. The self-reflection is where the growth is. It’s the only way we start doing things differently.

Think about it this way. If your boss blamed you for everything, day in day out, would you feel good about going in? Would you fancy distancing yourself from them? I know I would. Now think about what that same dynamic sets up between you and your child.

There’s real power in looking in the mirror instead. It changes the whole thing. Not just how you see your children, but how you see the world.

Because blame is toxic to a relationship. Think about a time you were blamed for something, especially something you didn’t feel was your fault. Did it bring you closer to that person? What did it do in your body, the anger, the resentment? And what does that do to a relationship over time?

Then ask yourself the questions that actually matter. What kind of relationship do you want with your kids? How do you want them to see you?

Far too often I hear the same things from the dads I work with. Different words, same thing. The child framed as the problem:

• He’s just doing it for attention.

• He’s only crying the second I put him down.

• You’ll spoil him if you pick him up every time.

• He’s making a rod for my own back.

• He’s got me wrapped round his finger and he knows it.

• She’s too clingy / needy / demanding.

• He’s being lazy.

• He’s doing it on purpose to keep me awake.

• He just needs to learn to self-settle.

• He’s playing games in the night.

• He’s a good baby / she’s a bad baby.

• She’s got a temper on her.

• She’s hard work / a handful / the difficult one.

• He’s the naughty one.

• He knows exactly what he’s doing.

• He’s doing it deliberately, to spite me.

• He’s testing me / seeing what he can get away with.

• He’s trying to wind me up / get a rise out of me.

• He’s trying to push my buttons.

• He waits till we’re in public to start.

• Crocodile tears, there’s nothing really wrong.

• She’s milking it / making a meal of it.

• He knows how to play me.

• He’s playing us off against each other.

• He only does it when there’s an audience.

• If I ignore it he’ll stop.

• He’s doing it because he knows I’ll give in.

• He’s manipulative.

• He’s a little so-and-so.

• She’s stubborn / strong-willed / defiant.

• He thinks he runs the show.

• He’s doing it to win / get one over on me.

• He’s challenging my authority.

If you use any of these, or something like them, check yourself in the mirror. How does saying it out loud change things between you and your child?

Here’s another way to look at it. The fire alarm goes off. You don’t climb up, pull the battery out because it’s making too much noise, and go back to bed. Of course you don’t. You take notice. You think about why it’s screaming at you. You pay attention to what caused the fire alarm to go off in the first place.

So why do we do the opposite with our kids? The behaviour is the alarm. The crying, the screaming, the slammed door, is the noise. Turning it off, calling him naughty, telling him to pack it in, that’s not dealing with the fire. It’s just silencing the thing that was trying to warn you that there were things going on underneath.

So no. You’re not a bad dad. And it’s not just that you’re shattered, though you probably are.

It runs deeper. Most of us blame because it’s the script we grew up with. We heard these phrases ourselves. They’re in our heads before we’ve even thought about it. Sometimes it’s shame doing the talking, that worry that we’re getting it wrong, and blame shifts that feeling off us and onto them. And a lot of the time it’s just that nobody ever told us what was really going on.

For the record.

A baby can’t wind you up on purpose. He can’t spite you, test you, or play games at 3am. He doesn’t have the capacity. Think about it, you’re their key to survival, it’s in their interest to keep you close. Why would they choose to annoy you and push you away when they need you for the basics like getting fed.

And the older ones? By the time they can do those things, it’s still not what’s actually going on. The kid who’s answering back, kicking off, pushing every button you’ve got, that’s not someone who’s out to get you. It’s your child telling you something they haven’t got the words for. The behaviour is never the whole story. It’s just the bit you can see.

The crying, the screaming, the slammed door, none of it’s a plan. It’s the best they’ve got to show you something’s wrong.

Remember - All behaviour is communication.

So next time you catch the thought, he’s doing it on purpose, don’t give yourself a hard time for it. Just get a bit curious. Stop and ask: what are they actually trying to tell me? What do they need from me?

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So I’ve written a book. It’s called Be a Super Dad. Not because I think I’m one. But because I know how much effort it takes to even try. I’ve poured in the stuff I wish I’d known earlier, the things I’ve learnt from working with dads, from listening to their stories, from my own mistakes. There’s a bit of Circle of Security in there, a bit of me, a bit of every dad I’ve ever worked with.

It’s not a guide to perfect parenting. It’s not about smashing it every day. It’s about paying attention. Asking better questions. Noticing when we’re repeating things we didn’t even agree to. It’s for dads who want to break old patterns and build something stronger for their kids.

And because I want more dads to get their hands on it, it’s free on Kindle this weekend, today and Monday. So I thought I’d share the first few chapters here. You don’t need to read it all now. Just dip in, have a think, let it sit.

If it hits home, download the full thing for free while it’s available. If it doesn’t, no drama. But if you’ve ever had that gut-pull of, I want to be better than the example I had, then maybe this is for you.

Let’s not pass down what we never asked for. Let’s start choosing what we hand on.

If you just want to download it for free,

Buy my Book For Free - Amazon UK

Buy my Book For Free - Amazon US

Also available in other Amazon stores.

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

Why This Book?

I still remember the day I became a dad, as if it were yesterday. I was 36, and it felt like I’d been preparing for that moment forever. It wasn’t a smooth entrance for our daughter; there was a brief moment of panic, a rush of staff into the room, and then a ventouse delivery. But there she was—healthy, beautiful, and ours.

The room was quiet. Still. That strange hospital stillness that makes everything feel slow and unreal. I held her, dazed, barely breathing. I’d just met the person who would change my life forever, and I couldn’t believe how something so small could hold so much meaning. Then, as if the universe wanted to mark the moment, Guns N’ Roses started playing: “Sweet Child o’ Mine.” I can’t hear that song now without being transported back, her warmth, the hum of machines, the flood of tears. The good kind. The overwhelming kind.

That wasn’t just a turning point. It was the beginning of a whole new chapter. That moment reshaped my life. It led me to coach other dads, build a project that champions fatherhood, and eventually write the book I wish I’d had. I’ve spent nearly 30 years working with children and families, from residential care and behaviour change programmes to early years fatherhood work. So what’s in here comes from the heart, time spent in the field, and real-life mistakes—mine and those of the dads I’ve worked with. Some of it is grounded in theory, but it’s the kind of theory tested, questioned, and shaped through everyday experience. It’s hard-won learning, turned into practical, reflective guidance to help you become the dad you want to be.

Before becoming a dad, I worked with children and their families daily. Holding my daughter made it real, raw, and personal. I grew up in a loving home with a gentle dad and an emotionally available mum. I had a quiet sense that being a dad would be part of my identity. I just didn’t realise how deeply it would shape everything I became.

But not every child gets that kind of start. Working with children in care, many of whom had experienced neglect, trauma, and loss, opened my eyes. Reading their case files, filled with grief and harm, made me stop and re-evaluate my upbringing. It gave me perspective. I saw how easy I’d had it. It made me want to do more for those kids and for the dad I hoped to become.

Early in my career, I was mentored by a man named Tony Matthews. He taught me to look beyond behaviour and ask, “What need is this child trying to meet?” That question changed everything. However, it also meant unlearning old ways of thinking and confronting some uncomfortable truths.

I remember one evening at the children’s home. It was 9 pm bedtime. I turned the telly off, just like always. The kids got restless. Stayed up. Played up. I felt frustrated; I’d followed the rules, hadn’t I?

The next day in supervision, Tony gently helped me unpack it. “What do you think it felt like for them?” he asked. And then I saw it. I had the keys. I had the control. They had none. Without meaning to, I’d mirrored what they already knew too well, power being used on them, not with them.

That moment stuck with me. It shifted how I saw everything.

From then on, I stopped doing things to the children and started doing things with them. I gave warnings, offered choices, spoke kindly, brought drinks upstairs, and held boundaries without holding power over them. I didn’t have the language at the time, but this was the beginning of trauma-informed practice, what I now know as helping children feel safe, seen, and supported. It transformed not just my work but also how I parent.

As I grew professionally, I grew personally. Tony’s guidance didn’t just shape how I worked. It shaped the kind of man and dad I would become. That’s what this book is here to support you with, too. Over time, I transitioned from frontline care to helping parents, running a dad project, and coaching dads full-time.

The dads I work with? They want to surpass their fathers. They want to break cycles. They want to show up. And often, they’re scared they’re getting it wrong.

I’ve lived that fear. The whisper that says, “You’re not enough.” It echoes in my head after long days and short nights.

Despite my experience, I’ve been overwhelmed, exhausted, and uncertain. So, I leaned into learning. I read, watched, and asked questions. And, of course, I got it wrong many times.

Like the night I got up at 2 a.m. to change my daughter’s nappy. I fed her. Dressed her. Nailing fatherhood. Except I forgot the new nappy. Cue a complete outfit change, a bath, and the kind of 2 a.m. laughter that only comes after you’ve cried.

Another night, we realised we hadn’t planned for bottle-feeding. We thought breastfeeding would work, but it didn’t. I stood there half-asleep, squinting at formula instructions like they were written in ancient code. At the time, it felt huge. Looking back, it was just one more sentence in the messy, joyful, bewildering story of learning how to be a dad.

That’s just it, isn’t it? You leave the hospital with a baby and no instructions. Every job I’ve ever had came with training or an induction. Parenting? You get a car seat, instinct, and maybe a bag of nappies you’re unsure how to use.

There is no manual, but you’re writing one daily, guided by your kids. Every day, they show you what they need. Every ‘Daddy, will you play with me’, the bedtime refusals, the meltdowns in the supermarket, the cuddles and the ‘I Love You’s’ are pointers to the chapters and headings in your book.

All this learning happens quietly behind closed doors while we’re bleary-eyed, figuring it out. That’s why the comparison game cuts so deep when we scroll and see smiling families in matching pyjamas, home-baked sourdough, and picture-perfect parenting. Meanwhile, you’re burning toast and hoping you’ve got enough for the zoo trip. I’ve been there. I once saw a post of a dad proudly taking his kids out, and that quiet question crept in: Am I doing enough?

That doubt? It’s everywhere. Our dads didn’t have to live with this constant stream of curated perfection. We do. And it messes with our heads.

I wrote this to cut through the noise and bring you back to what matters—not the highlight reel, but the reality: cuddles, mess, tantrums, and connection. That’s the good stuff.

If scrolling makes you feel worse, switch it off for a few days. Come back to your real life. That’s where the magic is.

You don’t need to be perfect. You need to be present. Honest. Willing to grow. That’s what your kids need.

And if you’re wondering where to start, you already have. You picked this up. That says something: You care. You want to grow. You’re ready to look inward, and that takes real courage.

This book isn’t for perfect dads. It’s for real ones. Messy ones. Tired ones. Dads who lose their temper, doubt themselves, and still get up and try again.

This isn’t a manual. It’s a mirror, held up with care, so you can see yourself, not to judge, but to understand. It won’t give you all the answers, but it will offer questions. It’ll nudge. Challenge. Reassure. And maybe help you do one thing differently tomorrow.

We only get 936 weeks from birth to 18. If your child’s 12, that’s 624 gone. You’re three-quarters through. I’m not saying this to panic you. I’m saying it because now is always the best time to reconnect.

Shut the laptop. Turn toward your child. Create something ordinary that you both look forward to. That’s where love hides. For us, it’s bedtime stories. Every night. No matter what. That’s been our anchor.

What’s yours?

If something you read here stirs something in you, please email me at beasuperdad@gmail.com. Sometimes, being heard is all we need to keep going.

You’re doing better than you think.

You’ve already started. Now let’s keep going together.

Buy My Book For Free

CHAPTER 2

How To Start Where You Are

You're Not Alone

Last week, I went for a walk with a group of new dads and their babies. One of them handed me his two-month-old daughter and said, “Meet Gareth, he taught me how to be a dad.” I laughed. Lovely compliment. But the truth? I’m still figuring it out. I’ve never parented a 14-year-old before, and I’ll have to learn how when I get there. That’s the reality of fatherhood: it doesn’t come with levels, it resets with every stage. We’re always beginners in the chapter we’re in.

That’s the heart of all our fatherhood journeys. None of us ever feels fully prepared. If you’ve picked up this book, I’m guessing you think that too, that mix of determination and doubt, hope and hesitation. Maybe there’s a quiet voice inside saying, I want something different from what I had growing up. Or perhaps you feel that you were given the tools to create a strong foundation and want to explore it further. Either way, your intention matters: to become the dad your kids deserve.

But as I learned in those sleep-deprived early months, good intentions aren’t enough. They need action.

Why Insight Matters

There have been moments when I didn’t show up as I hoped. I snapped. Shut down. Reacted instead of responded. But there were also moments where I paused. Breathed. Chose differently. That pause came from understanding myself, noticing patterns, and learning how my brain reacts under stress, often in ways that echo my childhood. That insight didn’t fix everything, but it helped me show up with more awareness, and that made all the difference.

That’s what this book offers you: *choice through an ability to see yourself in a different light. *

Once you truly see something about yourself or your child, something shifts and that shift changes how you parent. You start to notice more, pause more, and choose better. That awareness creates a moment of decision: Is this helping me be the dad I want to be, or pulling me away from it?

In the Circle of Security programme I deliver, three things matter most:

• Knowing what works with children.
  
  

• Reflecting regularly on our parenting moments.
  
  

• Gently noticing how we’re doing, without judgment.
  
  

This book shares what I’ve learned—from listening, stumbling, reflecting, and trying again. Not as some perfect father figure (my kids would have a good laugh at that notion: 'You call yourself a Super Dad!'), but as someone walking the same path you are, still figuring it out, making mistakes, and trying to do better.

If something in these pages doesn’t feel right for your family, trust your gut. This isn’t a blueprint. It’s an invitation to build your own.

How to Use This Book

You don’t have to read cover to cover. Pick the chapter that fits what you’re facing now. This isn’t a book to read and forget. It’s an ongoing conversation, me on the page, you in your life, figuring it out as you go. Let it leave marks, both on these pages and in your daily life.

Here’s how to make it yours:

• Go slow. Focus on one section per week. Real change sticks when it’s slow and steady.
  
  

• Speak it aloud. Share a line with your partner or a mate. Saying it out loud can be surprisingly powerful.
  
  

• Write in it. Circle the hard truths. Highlight what makes you pause. Let it be messy.
  
  

• Set prompts. A simple monthly phone reminder—“Dad Check-In”—can help keep you grounded.
  
  

• Reflect your way. Voice note what worked. What didn’t? What will you try next time?
  
  

• Get your kids involved. Some questions work beautifully around the dinner table (tweaked for their age).

Pick just one idea that feels right this week. That’s enough. You’re already doing the work just by being here.

Seeing Yourself with Compassion

A dad once told me, “I wish I could see myself through my child’s eyes. I think I’d parent differently.”

He was right. Most of us would.

As part of my training, I filmed myself during a supervision session and watched it back. It was hard to see myself from the outside; every pause, every awkward moment stood out. But my mentor kept drawing me back to what was working. “Notice the connection,” he said. “What made that land?” That shift, from judgment to reflecting with curiosity and looking for things that worked, has stayed with me ever since.

That moment changed my approach. It stopped being about right or wrong and became about seeing clearly, with curiosity and kindness. It helped me develop a new way of seeing, with curiosity rather than criticism.

Ask yourself:

• When my kids push back, how do I tend to react?
  
  

• When I’m tired or stressed, what happens in my parenting?
  
  

• That moment I listened—how did my child respond?
  
  

Whilst this isn’t about getting it right all the time, it is about seeing ourselves clearly, with the kind of kindness we’d offer a friend.

Blame and the Way Forward

Many of us grew up in homes where blame was the soundtrack.

“You should know better.”
“You're making me angry.”

When we’re under pressure, those same lines creep into our voice.

Blame narrows our thinking. It shuts down our curiosity. It keeps us stuck.

I still fall into it, blaming my kids, blaming myself. It never helps.

So I’ve started shifting:

I realised I was reacting from habit, not reflection. The shift started small.

• From "You're winding me up" to "What’s going on for them right now?" and “What’s going on for me right now?”
  
  

• From "I'm a rubbish dad" to "What triggered that reaction, and what might I do differently next time?"
  
  

These small shifts in thinking create space for understanding, for connection, and for becoming the dad we want to be.

Your Well-Being Comes First

Let’s be honest, modern fatherhood can stretch us thin. Work pressures, sleepless nights, the weight of trying to get everything right, it builds. I've had seasons where I felt like I was running on empty. Maybe you’ve felt that too. And when we’re drained, it shows in how we show up for ourselves and our families.

If you’re nodding along here, thinking, That’s me, then you already understand the cost of carrying too much without pause. When we continually push without taking care of ourselves, something eventually gives. For some fathers, it manifests as anger. For others, it’s silence, withdrawal, or losing patience over things that don’t usually matter. Whatever form it takes, it’s a sign. And the most courageous thing we can do isn’t to carry more, it’s to stop, notice, and ask for what we need.

We say it often: You can’t pour from an empty cup. But how often do we act like it’s true?

Self-care isn’t indulgence, it’s infrastructure. The scaffolding that holds you up when life feels heavy. Too often, we say it, but don’t act like it’s true. You can’t show up for your kids if you’re running on fumes. Self-care isn’t selfish. It’s the oxygen mask that lets you show up with patience, perspective, and presence.

Your children don’t need a superhero. They need you, present, steady, and willing to feel, not just fix. That starts with you taking care of yourself.

Your Fatherhood Check-In

Before you go further, pause here. Let these questions breathe. Don’t rush. These aren’t tick-boxes. They’re a chance to tune into the dad you are and the one you’re becoming.

• Who are you trying to become as a dad?
  
  

• If your child described you in 20 years, what would you hope they’d say?
  
  

• What moments in your parenting already make you proud?
  
  

• What patterns from your childhood show up in your parenting?
  
  

• Which values do you want to carry forward? And which ones stop with you?
  
  

This isn’t just about avoiding what you don’t want to be. It’s about becoming who you do want to be.

Questions for the Road

• What challenge or hope brought you here?
  
  

• Where can you find just five minutes a day for more intentional fatherhood?
  
  

• What legacy are you building, beyond the daily routines?
  
  

• How can challenging moments become learning, not just for your child but for you?
  
  

• What would realistic, sustainable self-care look like this month?
  
  

Your answers will change. That’s not just okay, that’s how growth works.

Start Here, Start Now

Today: Think of one parenting moment you wish had gone differently. Don’t beat yourself up. Get curious. What was going on for you?

This week: Choose a 10-minute window each day for undistracted time with your child. Phone off. Just presence.

Right now: Take a breath. What part of this stirred something in you? Start there.

Keep in Touch

Writing this book felt like dropping notes in bottles, hoping they’d find the right shores. If something here speaks to you, if it gives voice to a feeling you haven’t had words for, please get in touch. Your stories remind me why this work is so important.

We’re learning together. Dad to Dad. Day by day.

Key Takeaways

• Good intentions need action.

• Insight gives you a choice.

• Observation beats judgment.

• Self-care is a foundation not an afterthought

• Small, incremental shifts create lasting change.

Buy My Book For Free

Chapter 3

Embracing Imperfection

Fatherhood often feels like one big balancing act between what society expects from you and your inner voice whispering, “Get it right.” The pressure to have it all together, to always know what to do, and to never make a mistake can be overwhelming. Perfection has never been part of the parenting job description. Every dad has moments of self-doubt, frustration, and uncertainty. What truly matters isn’t getting everything right, but showing up with love, resilience, and a willingness to learn. When we embrace the imperfections that come with fatherhood, we give ourselves the space to grow and, more importantly, we teach our kids one of life’s most valuable lessons: mistakes are a regular part of the journey.

Every dad is making it up as he goes. Even when we think we are doing okay, kids just keep growing into different stages of development that require different dad skills. Being a dad isn’t a final form. It’s a lifelong evolution.

None of us has a perfect plan. Fatherhood is on-the-job training. Every stage brings new challenges, and every dad is figuring it out, one day at a time. Give yourself some grace. The important thing is that you’re showing up and trying, and that’s what matters.

Laugh gently at your mistakes. They soften when you do—and so do you.

Let’s face it, sometimes we cling to the illusion of getting everything right. Whether it’s making sure the house stays tidy or juggling all the little tasks on our to-do list, it can feel like these things matter a lot in the moment. But years from now, what our kids will remember most isn’t whether the floors were spotless, but the love, support, and time we shared with them. So, when you feel yourself getting worried over the small stuff, take a deep breath and ask yourself, “Will this really matter in the long run?” That’s a question worth keeping on a Post-it near the kettle. It’s a quick way to shift focus back to what counts, those meaningful moments with your children.

Parenting isn’t about winning every day. It’s about staying in the ring, showing up again. Letting your child know you’re in it with them. Our kids need to see us in both the highs and the lows, so they can learn that life comes with its share of ups and downs. It’s during the messy, imperfect days that they begin to understand the value of resilience and patience. You don’t have to be a flawless parent. What matters is how you handle the tough days, and your kids will learn a lot from watching you navigate those challenges.

Your child is already enough, and so are you. Not because of what you do, but because of who you are. When things get frustrating or you feel like you’re falling short, think about how you react to your own mistakes.

Are you kind to yourself? Would you speak to a friend the way you speak to yourself? By embracing your imperfections and celebrating your child’s uniqueness, you’re teaching them the self-acceptance they need to grow into confident, resilient adults.

It’s easy to see crying or failing as something to avoid, but we know those experiences are part of growing up. Think back to a time when you were allowed to make a mistake or cry. How did that contribute to who you are now? Let your child experience these moments without shame, knowing that it’s through being encouraged to be vulnerable that real resilience is built. By supporting them through tough times, you’re showing them that it’s okay to embrace their struggles.

Failure is a natural part of learning. Nobody just jumped in a car and was good enough to pass their test on the first try. Help your kids recognise that when they make mistakes, they are closer to getting things right.

We don’t have to shape our kids into little versions of ourselves. The aim is to focus on being present, offering support, and providing a safe space for them to explore their identity. Celebrate the differences between you and your kids. Their quirks and unique traits are what make your relationship with them special.

Children are always doing their best with the knowledge and skills they have. When it feels like they’re pushing your buttons, it’s often because they haven’t yet learned how to effectively communicate or get what they need.

If you start labelling your kids as “bad” or “naughty,” they may begin to internalise that identity. It’s essential to address their behaviour, but be careful not to make it about who they are as a person.

Consider what your children believe they need to do to earn your approval. The things you praise and value in them help shape their identity and how they see themselves.

Life is the sum of all the choices we’ve made, the good ones, the bad ones, and everything in between. The real challenge is learning to embrace it all. That means accepting the pain, grief, mistakes, and regrets, because without those, we wouldn’t fully appreciate the joy and love that life has to offer. When you can accept your entire journey, you allow yourself to live more fully and embrace every part of who you are.

When you’re pursuing a goal, don’t just focus on the outcome. Ask yourself what challenges you’re willing to face along the way. Actual growth happens in those struggles. What difficult moments are you prepared to overcome to achieve your goals? It’s about recognising that the process, not just the result, is where the fundamental transformation occurs.

Recognise patterns, like snapping when the kids won’t listen or when you're rushing out the door. These patterns hold clues, a picture waiting to be noticed. And once seen, they can be changed.

The best outcomes come when we make the most of whatever life throws our way. Being adaptable and resilient is key, especially in fatherhood. Life is unpredictable, and our ability to roll with the changes helps us grow and be the dads our kids need.

Modelling humility by admitting your own mistakes is a powerful lesson for your kids. When they see that it’s okay to mess up, they learn that failure is nothing to fear; it’s just part of learning. Imagine how freeing it is to know even Dad makes mistakes. It’s a massive relief for them to see that making mistakes is normal.

When you lose your temper, it’s important not to blame your kids. You’re not bad for feeling angry. But you are responsible for what you do with it. Owning it sets a powerful example of emotional control and maturity. By taking charge of your reactions, you’re teaching them that it’s okay to feel frustrated, but it’s also crucial to manage those emotions healthily.

How much of your emotional potential are you accessing? Too many dads only wait for a crisis to discover what they are capable of? Push yourself beyond your comfort zone, be more present, more loving, and more intentional in your actions. The strength, empathy, and connection you need are already inside you; it’s just a matter of accessing them daily.

It’s easy to fall into autopilot, living life the way society or your peers expect: university, marriage, mortgage, kids, retirement. But you don’t have to stick to that script. There are countless ways to live a fulfilling life. Take a moment to look beyond your bubble, see how others live, and be open to creating a path that feels meaningful to you. Don’t be afraid to choose a life that’s true to who you are, even if it doesn’t match the typical mould.

How you respond to small mistakes sets the stage for how your kids will approach you in bigger moments. If they spill the milk and you react with anger, they’ll associate mistakes with fear and shame. But if you stay calm and patient, they’ll learn that mistakes are a regular part of life and that you’re there to guide them through it, not punish them. Over time, this builds trust. They’ll feel safe coming to you when they mess up because they know you’ll respond with understanding. It’s not about avoiding consequences, but creating a relationship based on trust and support, where they know they can rely on you no matter how big the problem.

We can’t always control what happens to us, but we can control how we respond and what we do next. Failures aren’t just roadblocks. They’re growth opportunities. Think about the lessons your mistakes have taught you over the years. How have they shaped who you are today? When we reflect on those moments, we can see how they’ve nudged us toward being better, stronger versions of ourselves.

When we recognise how we might be making life harder for those we love, we become easier to live with. It’s about improving our relationships by being self-aware and making small, meaningful changes.

In any relationship, it’s not about avoiding conflict altogether. The real quality of a relationship is in how well you repair things afterwards. You will make mistakes; what matters is how you make amends. Focus on making things right instead of trying to avoid slipups in the first place.

And when it comes to apologies, remember that any apology with a “but” attached isn’t an apology. If you feel the need to justify your actions, it’s probably best to wait until you can fully own your mistake. A sincere apology means acknowledging the hurt you’ve caused without shifting the blame.

One of the biggest parenting superpowers? Not taking their behaviour personally. They’re not out to attack you; they’re just trying to figure out the world, testing limits, and exploring boundaries. Responding calmly and not seeing their actions as a reflection of your worth gives you the clarity and patience to guide them with love, helping them grow into who they’re meant to be.

Your kids need the opportunity to experience failure in order to build resilience. Shielding them from every setback may feel like protection, but it doesn’t prepare them for the real world. Let them stumble, and when they do, be there to help them understand the lesson hidden in the fall.

The ability to bounce back is one of the most valuable life skills you can help them develop.

Children learn how to handle emotions from us. If we respond to frustration with aggression, they’ll pick up on that. But when we model calm and self-control, we’re teaching them a better way to manage their feelings. The way you respond in those tough moments shapes how they’ll handle their challenges later on.

Ask yourself: Are you truly interested in your child’s world, or are you trying to pull them into yours? Instead of pushing your interests on them, take time to explore what excites and inspires them. Learning about what fires them up allows real connection to take place.

Celebrate the moments when you’ve done well as a dad. It’s easy to dwell on what didn’t go right, but don’t forget to acknowledge your wins. Parenting is tough, and recognising your successes not only builds your confidence but also helps you stay motivated.

Every mistake you make is a lesson wrapped up as a gift. Record a 30-second message to your future self. What do you want to remind yourself of when you’re feeling like a failure?

Asking your kids, “Why did you do that?” is often a wasted question, because they may not even know the answer. Instead, try saying, “I wonder why/what…” to help them reflect on their actions without feeling pressured or defensive. It opens the door to a more thoughtful conversation.

Avoid Fact Tennis, when you’re volleying back and forth, each trying to win an argument as opposed to understanding. Being right isn’t the goal; understanding your partner's perspective is. Let go of the need to be right and focus on strengthening your connection.

There’s a model that shows children’s behaviour as just the tip of the iceberg. What you see on the surface doesn’t always show the whole story. Below the surface and beneath their actions are feelings and emotions that need to be understood. Take time to look beyond what’s visible and explore the bigger picture of what’s going on inside them.

Your kids aren’t the project—you are. Continue working on yourself, and your growth will have a ripple effect on those around you. When they see you learning, improving, and striving to be better, they’ll benefit from you leading by example.

You don’t need to have all the answers. Showing your kids that you don't know but you seek out the answers is a great way to be a role model.

Be cool. Don’t be a fool. Cool doesn’t mean cold. It means calm when it counts. Life and parenting will test your patience, but staying calm, even when things get tough, helps you navigate those moments with clarity and grace.

You’re never really lost. Sometimes, your current direction and destination just don’t match up.

Parenting is work. Whether you’re staying at home with the kids or heading into the office, raising children is emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausting. Just because there’s no paycheque doesn’t mean it’s not hard work. Recognising this helps you manage your time and energy better.

There are no silly questions. Every journey of self-discovery begins somewhere, and becoming a more intentional father starts with asking the right questions, even if they seem basic at first. Keep questioning, keep growing.

When someone annoys you, take a moment to reframe their behaviour. Try to imagine what they might be going through, and respond with compassion. It’s a slight shift that can make a big difference in your reactions.

That thing you can’t do? You just can’t do it yet. It's also important that your kids know this, so give them the power of yet.

Managing your emotions isn’t about controlling how you feel, but how you respond to those feelings. It’s not the emotions themselves that people fear; it’s often the behaviour that comes with them, especially with anger. Show your kids that it’s possible to feel something deeply without losing control.

Coach your child how to resolve conflicts calmly. Let them know it’s okay to disagree, but that respect always comes first. Apologies aren’t a sign of weakness; they’re a sign of strength and help rebuild the connection after a dispute. This lesson will stick with them far beyond childhood. Are you modelling that to them, even when it’s hard? Your calm won’t always fix things, but it will always leave the door open for repair.

If you make a mistake, own it. Accountability builds trust. How often do you do this?

Social media can be a potent tool for good, but too often it leads us to make comparisons with others that we see on there. If you want to make a comparison with someone else that helps make you a better dad, then do it with yourself. The aim isn’t to be better than other dads, it’s to be better than the dad you were yesterday.

Reflection Questions:

1. When I feel like I’m not doing enough as a dad, what’s the real source of that feeling? Is it external pressure, or is it something I can let go of?

2. How do I handle my own mistakes? Do I show myself the same grace I hope my children will give themselves?

3. When my child makes a mistake, how do I respond? Am I helping them learn from it, or am I letting my frustrations get in the way?

4. What patterns do I notice in how I react when I’m tired, hungry, or overwhelmed?

Practical Challenges:

1. Self-Compassion Check: The next time you catch yourself being self-critical, pause and reframe the thought. Challenge yourself to talk to yourself the way you’d talk to your best mate, kindly and with understanding.

2. Focus on Connection: The next time things don’t go as planned, whether it’s a messy house or a forgotten task, choose connection over perfection. Spend 10 minutes playing with your child or talking with them instead of stressing over the small stuff.

3. Allow for Failure: This is yor chance to teach your child about resilience. Over the coming week, take a step back when your child makes a mistake. Stay calm, support them, but resist the urge to fix it for them.

4. Celebrate Differences: This week, Acknowledge your childs individualism and show them that their quirks are something to be proud of. Spend some time thinking about what makes them unique and celebrate it.

Closing Motivation:

Remember, being a dad isn’t about perfection; it’s about being present. Your kids don’t need you to be flawless; they just need you to show up, even on the messy, imperfect days. Every time you embrace the imperfections of fatherhood, you’re teaching your children that life is full of ups and downs, and that’s okay. You’re giving them the tools to face challenges head-on, with the confidence that they don’t need to be perfect either. So keep showing up, keep learning, and trust that your presence, more than perfection, is what makes the difference.

Buy My Book For Free

So... I wrote a book.

That sentence still feels strange to say. Growing up, I never imagined it. My English teacher would be in shock. But over time, this itch kept growing—an urge to pull together the threads of all the mentoring, supervision, and life lessons I’ve collected from working with dads, children, and families over nearly three decades.

I wanted to write something that felt like me. Something that reflected the values I try to live by—and the conversations I keep having with dads who are trying to break the cycle, show up differently, and raise kids in a home full of love, not fear.

So here it is:
Be A Super Dad: Reflective Advice for Fatherhood.

I wrote it for the curious dads. Who are willing to take a second look at the blueprint they inherited? Who wants to parent in technicolour rather than black and white? Who wonders whether the rules they were taught—about discipline, emotions, roles, and responsibility—are still serving them. Or their children.

It’s not a book full of instructions. It’s a space for reflection.

I’ve had the privilege of being supervised by some brilliant minds—psychologists, psychotherapists, and mentors who helped me unpack my own parenting patterns. I’ve poured that same reflective process into this book, so you can ask yourself the kind of questions that lead to change. The kind that builds emotional safety, strong relationships, better futures and be the dad your kids deserve.

And if you’re a mum reading this with curiosity, this book might speak to you too. It’s really about becoming more conscious of how we show up for our kids, no matter what role we’re in.

If you’ve ever thought, “I’d love to buy Gareth a coffee,” this is your chance—and it might even be cheaper than a latte.

But more than that, your support helps the mysterious Amazon Algorithm Gods notice the book. Every download, every review, every share sends a signal that this is something that might help another parent. Another dad. Another family.

So, search for:
Be A Super Dad: Reflective Advice for Fatherhood
on Amazon.

And if you can't find it, here’s a direct link: Amazon.com Amazon.co.uk

Thank you for being part of this journey. I truly appreciate your support and love you all for it. Feel free to share the hell out of this as much as you like.

Welcome to Dear Dad

"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. This week's letter is from Mark Williams who shares some advice to Dads based on his own birth trauma.

If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say?

Share your thoughts in the comments."

Introduction by Gareth Wall

"Mark didn’t just survive birth trauma and depression — he built bridges for other fathers to find their way back to connection, hope, and family."

When I asked Mark Williams to contribute to Dear Dad, I knew he would bring not just his expertise, but something far more valuable — his heart, his honesty, and his lived experience.

What I also knew — and what I want to share with you before you read his letter — is that Mark’s story is far deeper, far braver, and far more important than these few pages can fully capture.

Mark became a father under the most traumatic of circumstances. During the birth of his son, he almost lost his wife. The experience left him reeling, traumatised, and emotionally isolated. Like so many dads, Mark was praised for being “strong,” but underneath, he was struggling with overwhelming anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and an invisible grief that few people recognised.

In those early weeks and months, he found that bonding with his baby wasn’t immediate. It was something he had to work at, slowly and painfully, while navigating the storm inside him.

Sleep deprivation, the pressure to "be strong," and a lack of emotional support pushed Mark deeper into crisis. He turned to negative coping strategies, withdrew from those around him, and carried a growing burden of depression that went unseen and untreated.

At his lowest point, he experienced suicidal thoughts — a devastating reality for many new fathers that society rarely talks about. Mark often shares how he masked his emotions, presenting a brave face to the world while inside he was falling apart.

But instead of staying silent, Mark chose a different path. He chose to speak. To stand up. To transform his pain into purpose.

Since those early, dark days, Mark has become one of the leading voices for fathers' mental health across the UK and beyond.

He has worked tirelessly to raise awareness that fathers, too, can experience perinatal mental health challenges.

He successfully campaigned for a new neonatal unit in Wales, became an ambassador for maternal mental health charities, and founded International Fathers’ Mental Health Day, which fittingly falls the day after Father’s Day every year.

His efforts have not only helped individual dads — they have begun to reshape the systems and cultures that for too long overlooked half of the parenting partnership.

Mark’s impact on a project I run, ‘For Dads By Dads’, has been profound.

His honesty has made it safer for other dads to open up about their own struggles. His encouragement has created a culture where it’s not enough to simply ask, “How are you?” — we now ask, “How are you really doing?”

That simple but powerful shift has helped build a community where dads can share their fears, their doubts, and their triumphs without shame.

Thanks to Mark’s influence, dozens of dads have reached out for support who might otherwise have stayed silent as he’s normalised their feelings.

Through all his advocacy, Mark remains grounded.

He often describes himself as just a “normal dad from the Welsh Valleys,” but the truth is he has been far from ordinary.

He has stood up where many would have stayed silent. Only this week he was at the Senedd in Cardiff (Welsh Government) and it’s hard to keep track of the number of times he has represented Dads and mums at Parliament in London.

He has championed fathers while also standing firmly alongside mothers and babies, knowing that when one parent struggles, the whole family feels it, and when one parent heals, the whole family grows stronger.

His message, given many times over the years and never losing its power, is simple but life-changing:

It’s okay to struggle.

It’s okay if bonding takes time.

It’s okay to ask for help.

It’s about being better than yesterday.

It’s about getting back up again and again

It’s about being there.

Mark’s Dear Dad letter carries the wisdom of someone who has lived both the darkness and the light of early fatherhood.

It offers encouragement to new dads who might find themselves struggling, and a quiet reassurance that even if the path is hard, connection, healing, and joy are possible.

As you read his words, know that behind them stands a man who has lived what he writes — who has walked through trauma, fought for his mental health, and emerged with a fierce compassion for every father who follows after him.

I’m proud to call Mark a friend.

I'm deeply grateful for his voice in this project, and even more grateful for the thousands of unseen ways his bravery has made life better for so many families.

His journey reminds us that by sharing our struggles, we build bridges for others to cross.

Here is Mark Williams' Dear Dad letter.

Dear Dad,

First of all, I wish you the very best on one of life's most exciting journeys, and one that can also be the most challenging at times. As a dad, a campaigner for better care for dads, and someone who has worked with thousands of fathers over the years, I can tell you one thing: there's no such thing as a perfect father. You will make mistakes, and you will find times hard, but my advice is to be genuine. The more quality time you spend, not just quantity, the more amazing the experience will be.

I found it extremely difficult with my son, who is now nearly 21 years old. My wife was unwell, and I had to work everything out myself. I often felt alone and isolated. Sleep deprivation can also significantly affect a dad's mental health. It's so important that you take care of yourself; this will enable you to better care for your family and your baby.

Many fathers struggle for various reasons, but with hard work and education, thanks to Gareth and many others, it can become easier. It's always great meeting other fathers going through the same transition. It's important to talk to people if you're struggling and not to suffer in silence. I was a dad who kept things to myself, and that wasn't helpful. My wife felt that I wouldn't open up to her. I turned to negative coping skills, which led to me struggling and becoming unwell.

I've worked with healthcare professionals over the last 15 years, and sometimes it can be hard when they don't ask how *you* are doing. Thankfully, many dads now openly share their feelings, and this helps in the long term.

A father plays a major part in a child's development, and there's clear evidence that when both parents are supported, it leads to far better outcomes for the whole family and the child's development. It's okay not to know everything, and there are amazing resources available, like the Best Beginnings apps and books.

There are many reasons why dads may feel overwhelmed at times, and you are not alone, nor are you weak. The quicker you seek help, the quicker your recovery will be. Always make sure you ask health professionals if you are unsure about something, and empower yourself with the knowledge that you know what is best for your child.

I wish I knew then what I know now. I have, and still have, an amazing bond with my son, and I have loved everything about being a dad, which is bigger than any other success I have had as an author and keynote speaker, travelling around the world. I have replaced all the material things with just spending time with the most important people in my life.

I wish you all the best on your journey, and remember, you are a father, and you can give your child the greatest gift in life, which will also help them when they become parents, maybe one day, too.

Mark

Meet Mark Williams

🧑 Who they are: In 2004, he faced his own struggle with depression, enduring years of silence until he sought help through community mental health services. He established International Fathers Mental Health Day and the #HowAreYouDad campaign, aiming to ensure that all parents receive the support they need for themselves and their families. Mark also spearheaded the campaign to restore the mother and baby unit in Wales, which successfully reopened its doors in 2022 after a seven-year closure.

In recognition of his efforts, Mark received the Inspirational Father of the Year and Local Hero awards at the Pride of Britain Awards in 2012, where he was also honoured with an invitation to meet the Royal Family on World Mental Health Day. Additionally, he was presented with the Point of Light Award by the Prime Minister in 2019.

In 2020, Mark published the report titled "Fathers Reaching Out – Why Dads Matter," emphasising the crucial role of paternal mental health in fostering better outcomes for families and child development when fathers are involved.

In 2025, Mark was nominated for the steering group for ‘First 1001 Days Movement’. A group to campaign about the importance of the emotional well-being of babies.

🌍 Where to find them:

Tedx

Book - Daddy Blues: Postnatal Depression and Fatherhood

Fathers and Perinatal Mental Health: A Guide for Recognition, Treatment and Management

Film - Daddy Blues

Intsagram

LinkedIn

💬 What did this letter make you think about? Drop a comment below.

Come and Write Your Own ‘Dear Dad’ Letter?

It’s not just Dads, I'm thinking a few grandads, foster dads, adoptive dads, mums writing to dads would be fantastic to hear from too. So please let me know if you are and you’d like to write a post.✍️ We’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, drop me a DM.

📩 Make sure you don’t miss future letters—subscribe here to ‘Be a Super Dad’ on Substack.

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Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

"Fatherhood is a journey, and we all figure it out as we go. Through my coaching, I help dads build stronger relationships at home, communicate better, and feel more confident in their role. If you're looking for support in your fatherhood journey, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s build the kind of dad you want to be."

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Previous Dear Dad Letters

🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read another ‘Dear Dad’ letter or explore my latest blog posts.

Christopher Lind ‘Dear Dad’ letter,

Tony Stevens

Dr Suzanne Zeedyk

Indian Millennial Dad Letter

Michael Venutolo-Mantovani

Dylan Macinerney

Scott Houghton

Victor Ataraxia

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“I lose it, then hate myself.”

“I’m trying so hard, but nothing feels good enough.”

If any of that sounds familiar, you’re in good company. I hear those sentences from dads every week – men who adore their families yet feel stuck in a loop of doubt and self-criticism. One thing I didn’t realise until I began working directly with fathers is that dads are just as likely as mums to experience post-natal depression. About one in ten new fathers meet the criteria, and plenty more hover just under the radar – functioning, but flat, irritable, or numb.

The silent weight new parents carry

The arrival of a baby is sold as a highlight reel: tiny toes, first smiles, magical family moments. Real life serves a different edit. There’s sleep deprivation, the thump of responsibility, the sudden loss of spontaneous freedom, money pressures, relationship friction, and the knowledge that a small human now depends on you completely. For some mums and dads that cocktail sparks anxiety; for others a grey fog; for others still, sharp jolts of anger or shame.

Most dads don’t talk about it. We throw an extra item into an already heavy rucksack and keep walking, while the inner critic drips poison:

• “You’re rubbish at this.”

• “Look at the other dads – why can’t you be like them?”

• “Your partner’s exhausted because you aren’t pulling your weight.”

• “Real men don’t feel like crying.”
  

Drip, drip, drip. Each hit erodes confidence, patience and joy. Imagine someone talking to your partner or your child in the same tone you often use on yourself. You’d step in instantly, yet you tolerate that voice in your head day after day. It isn’t harmless background noise. It shapes your mood, your energy and your parenting.

Why the way you treat yourself changes everything

Great dads aren’t powered by guilt or brute endurance. They’re powered by self-compassion – the kind that tells the truth, keeps you accountable, and still has your back. When you respond to your own struggles with warmth instead of contempt, several things happen:

• You recover faster after a blow-up.

• You stay calm long enough to connect rather than correct.

• You model healthy self-talk for your kids.

• You create an atmosphere at home where everyone can breathe.
  

Treating yourself harshly doesn’t just hurt you; it steals emotional oxygen from the people you love.

Enter Compassion Focused Therapy

British psychologist Professor Paul Gilbert designed Compassion Focused Therapy, or CFT, for people whose inner alarm bells never seem to stop ringing. His question was simple: What changes when we train the mind to meet pain with the same courage and care we’d offer someone we love? CFT weaves evolutionary biology, brain science and attachment theory into a practical toolkit that strengthens your capacity to be kind to yourself.

The three emotional systems – a deeper look

CFT describes three core emotional systems. Picture them as separate engines. Each matters, yet they work best when balanced.

1. The threat system
Purpose: Keep you alive by spotting danger.
Dad-world examples: Heart racing when the baby won’t settle, a spike of irritation at your partner’s tone, tension when the boss pings a late-night email.
When it dominates: You snap, withdraw, or spiral into shame. Chronic overuse fuels anxiety, anger and the low mood common in post-natal depression.

2. The drive system
Purpose: Push towards goals, fix problems, secure resources.
Dad-world examples: Overtime to cover the mortgage, repainting the nursery at 1 a.m., ticking off a never-ending to-do list.
When it dominates: Burn-out, restlessness, the belief that you’ll relax “once it’s done” – but it’s never done.

3. The soothing system
Purpose: Help you feel safe, slow down, connect and heal.
Dad-world examples: Rocking the baby while breathing slowly, a quiet chat with a friend, hearing yourself say “You’ve got this” and meaning it.
When it is neglected: No emotional brakes, shallow sleep, joyless days.

Threat and Drive keep the lights on and food in the fridge. Without a strong Soothing engine, though, the other two roar unchecked.

Mo – an amalgamation of many dads

Mo was 34 when his second child arrived. With his eldest he’d felt an instant bond; this time, nothing. He sterilised bottles, changed nappies, paced the halls on night feeds – and felt hollow. His inner dialogue swung a sledgehammer:

“What sort of father feels blank?”
“Everyone can see you’re faking it.”
“Your partner deserves better than this.”

Mo’s Threat system blared. His Drive system tried to compensate: more hours at work, strict budgeting, relentless house projects. His Soothing system? Missing in action.

What turned the tide

1. Naming the pattern
   We mapped the three systems on paper. Seeing Threat blazing, Drive over-revving and Soothing idling gave Mo a sigh-of-relief moment: “So I’m not broken – I’m stuck in survival mode.”
   

2. A compassionate image
   Mo pictured his late Nan, famous for warm tea and blunt wisdom. Each time the critic barked, he asked, “What would Nan say?” Her imagined voice – “You’re tired, love, not failing” – cut through the shame spiral.
   

3. Micro-soothing rituals
   Hand-on-heart three-breath reset before entering the nursery. Hot shower as mindfulness cue (“Feel the water, unclench the jaw”). A daily wins log – one sentence a night. The first entry read, “Stayed calm when the bottle leaked everywhere.”
   
   

Four weeks in he felt a flicker of warmth cradling his daughter. Twelve weeks in he belly-laughed during bath time. Same nappies and sleepless nights, different dad showing up.

The inner critic’s greatest hits

See if any of these ring a bell:

• Catastrophising: “If I can’t settle the baby I’m obviously useless.”

• Comparisonitis: “All the other dads look like naturals.”

• Should-storms: “I should earn more, weigh less, shout never, smile always.”

• Label slinging: “Lazy, weak, incompetent, selfish.”

• Mind-reading: “She hasn’t texted back; she must think I’m hopeless.”
  

Red-flag cue: absolute language. Always, never, everyone, no-one, stupid, hopeless. The critic loves extremes. Compassion sticks to specifics.

An upgraded compassion toolkit

1. The ninety-second threat reset
   Label the feeling (“I’m anxious”). Locate it in your body. Loosen it with a slow exhale longer than the inhale. The threat centre needs about a minute and a half of calm signals to stand down.
   

2. Drive–soothing balance check
   Ask each evening: did I do one thing today purely to rest or connect? Five minutes with a book counts. So does a genuine hug.
   

3. Self-compassion break (adapted from Kristin Neff)
   Mindfulness: “This is hard.”
   Common humanity: “Struggle is part of parenting; I’m not alone.”
   Kindness: Place a hand on your chest. Offer yourself the words you’d give your child.
   

4. The three-P journal prompt – two minutes before bed
   Pain: What stung today?
   Perspective: How would I speak to a friend in the same spot?
   Plan: One small act of care for tomorrow.

5. Compassionate commute
   Use the trip home to down-shift. No emails. Choose music or silence. Ask: what went well, what was hard, what do I need tonight?

6. Partner tag-team
   Agree a code phrase: “Red or green?” If one of you says red, the other covers the baby for ten minutes while the first resets.

7. Wise coach voice-note
   Record a sixty-second message to yourself on a good day – the tone you use with a close friend. Play it back when the critic gets loud.

8. Professional check-in
   If low mood, anger or numbness persists for two weeks, speak to a GP, health visitor or counsellor. Early help prevents a wobble becoming a spiral.
   
   

Dads and post-natal depression – signs and myths

Common signals in fathers:

• Irritability or sudden anger spikes

• Withdrawal from family or friends (“Just tired”)

• Excess overtime or reckless spending

• Feeling detached from the baby or partner

• Persistent thoughts of failure or worthlessness
  

Myth: “It’s only hormones; it will pass.”
Reality: It’s a mix of biology, stress, lack of sleep and isolation. Compassionate practices damp the alarm system and build brain pathways that guard against depression, yet sometimes medical or therapeutic support is essential. Seeking help is a responsibility, not a weakness.

Being a great dad isn’t about getting it right every time

Your child doesn’t need flawless. They need you – present, learning, willing to repair after mis-steps. Compassion doesn’t make you soft; it makes you steady. It turns mistakes into teachable moments instead of shame grenades. It shows children that feelings aren’t enemies to fear but signals to heed.

Being a great dad isn’t about nailing it first time. It’s about caring enough to keep learning, especially when it’s difficult.

Reflective questions

1. What did my inner critic say to me today? How accurate was it, really?

2. Which system – Threat, Drive or Soothing – ran the show this week?

3. How might my self-talk change if I pictured it landing on my child?

4. What tiny act of compassion can I practise in the next hour?
   

Final word

Every dad who walks into coaching starts with practical questions – sleep routines, feeding schedules, discipline tricks. Tips matter, yet the breakthrough comes when you change the tone of the voice inside your head. When that voice is kind, calm and courageous, your partner feels it, your children feel it, and you finally feel at home in your own life.

You matter too, Dad. The way you speak to yourself might be the most powerful parenting tool you ever use.

Coaching and Continuing the Conversation

If you’re eager to go deeper, I’d love to support you. I offer one-on-one coaching that focuses on helping dads:

• Develop healthier emotional habits

• Build stronger connections with their children

• Break generational cycles tied to the “man box”

• Foster a caring, stable home where everyone feels safe

If you’re curious, feel free to get in touch and book a discovery call. I’d be honoured to work with you on creating the fatherhood legacy you truly desire.

Many of us grew up with a man box, that unspoken set of rules about what it means to “be a man.” Don’t cry. Be tough. Sort out your own problems. Never let anyone see you sweat.

Fun fact for today: the man box doesn’t make you a better dad. In fact, it builds invisible walls between you and your children. If you’re always the strong, silent type, how will your kids learn that it’s normal to have emotions? If you never admit your mistakes, how will they feel safe admitting theirs? If you bottle everything up, they’ll learn to do the same.

Vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s leadership.

A great dad isn’t someone with all the answers, but someone brave enough to say, “I got that wrong.” Someone who might say, “I feel sad too, sometimes,” and who listens with an open heart, rather than leaping into “fix-it” mode.

When you show up as your full self, not just the bits that feel strong, but also the bits that feel uncertain, worn out, or even scared, you give your child permission to do the same.

That’s how you break the cycle. That’s how you raise children who don’t feel caged by the same old box. That’s how you build a relationship where your children know, no matter what, they can always come to you.

When Words Wound: A Moment That Changed My Perspective

My daughter’s first day of nursery (roughly “kindergarten,” for those of you in the US) was memorable for a host of reasons. It felt like we were both growing, but also letting go. I was excited for her to learn Welsh and embrace her heritage, but nervous too because it meant stepping away from me in a very real way.

Parents crowded around, all trying to look relaxed but occasionally betraying flickers of anxiety. Meanwhile, children happily explored the outdoor toys and slides, laughing and squealing on this milestone day.

Then I saw something I wasn’t expecting, a moment that still unsettles me. One little boy tripped and fell, bursting into tears. Before I could blink, his dad swooped in, glaring, and told his son, “Stop being gay.”

My heart fell. I asked myself: Did he believe crying might make his child gay? Had someone treated him the same way when he was young? Was he masking discomfort by lashing out at his son?

All I could think about was how that moment of shame might shape the boy’s feelings for years. Now, whenever I see my daughter, I wonder what that boy might be like at 13. Has he learnt to hide his tears completely? Can he talk to his dad when he’s hurting?

That memory reminds me how easily we perpetuate the man box from one generation to the next—and how vital it is to break the chain.

The Cost of Traditional Masculinity: What Research Tells Us

The “man box” hasn’t come from nowhere. It’s been passed down through our families for generations—fathers and grandfathers who believed they were arming us for a harsh world. But this outdated idea of masculinity comes with a real cost.

“Men are socialised to hide vulnerability from a young age,” writes Dr. Michael Reichert, author of How to Raise a Boy. “When we tell boys to ‘man up,’ we’re actually cutting them off from their emotional intelligence—the very skills they’ll need most as fathers.”

Studies repeatedly show that men who rigidly adhere to these “tough guy” norms face higher levels of depression, stress, and substance abuse. They’re less likely to seek help and more likely to suffer alone. A 2019 study from the American Psychological Association found that traditional masculinity often correlates with worse mental health outcomes and poorer relationship satisfaction.

The bleakest indicator of how men might be suffering in silence is the suicide rate. Across Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom, men account for roughly 75% of deaths by suicide (HeadsUpGuys, n.d.):

• Canada: 3 out of 4 suicides are men—about 8 men each day, totalling nearly 3,000 each year.

• UK: Men die by suicide at three times the rate of women, which comes to around 12 male suicides a day in England and Wales (roughly 4,200 a year).

• USA: The suicide rate among men is roughly 4 times higher than that of women, adding up to about 100 male suicides daily, over 36,000 a year.

Is “toughening up” our children worth a risk like that?

What Our Children Actually Need

If you’ve been reading my posts for a while, you’ll know that children don’t need perfect dads; they need authentic ones.

When your child scrapes a knee, it doesn’t help them to hear, “Toughen up!” They need a bit of empathy. When they fail a test, they don’t need your disapproval—they need your understanding.

Steve, a dad that I worked with from Cardiff, learned this when his 11-year-old son, an aspiring goalkeeper, had a tough match. His team lost, and his son was blaming himself for letting in a few goals. Steve’s first instinct was to coach him straight away—breaking down what went wrong and how he could improve. But as he spoke, he saw his son’s shoulders slump lower with every word. He heard criticism.

So he stopped and said, “You know what? I can see you’re really disappointed. It’s tough when things don’t go how we want. I used to feel the same when I played.” His son looked up, relief in his eyes, and they ended up having a much better conversation—not about technique, but about resilience, pressure, and self-belief. This conversation created space for the advice, with it feeling supportive as opposed to it feeling harsh.

By showing vulnerability, you’re modelling emotional intelligence. You’re teaching kids that feelings are useful signals, not weaknesses. You’re showing them how to process emotions in a healthy way rather than pushing them down until they explode.

Small Steps Toward Authentic Fatherhood

Escaping the man box doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow, steady process, one small step at a time:

1. Use “I” statements: Instead of “You made me angry,” try “I felt hurt when...” You own your feelings and avoid passing blame.

2. Build your emotional vocabulary: Many men can name only a handful of emotions, often anger and maybe frustration. Challenge yourself to identify three different emotions you felt today. Share them with your children at dinner. Check out The Feelings Wheel.

3. Apologise sincerely: “I’m sorry I shouted. I was overwhelmed, but that’s my responsibility, not yours.”

4. Show appropriate tears: Whether you’re moved by a touching film or grappling with a personal loss, let your children see that tears are human.

5. Share everyday struggles: “Work was tough today. I made a mistake on a project and had to start over. It felt frustrating, but I learnt from it.”

6. Ask for help: Yes, even from your children! “I’m not sure how to fix this. Can we figure it out together?”

7. Express more than anger: Let your kids see you in moments of joy, excitement, disappointment, fear—everything that makes us human.

8. Hold regular “feelings check-ins”: Once a week, sit down as a family and ask, “How’s everyone feeling?”

9. Validate your child’s feelings: “That sounds really tough. I’d feel upset, too.”

Finding Support on the Journey

Shifting long-standing habits is rarely simple, but support is out there:

• Fatherhood support groups: Is there a dad group near you? Google the hell out of it and find some like-minded dads in your local community.

• Conversations with friends or mentors: Seek out people who model the emotional intelligence you’d like to cultivate.

• Professional guidance: A counsellor or therapist can help you unlearn old habits and develop healthier ones.

• Books and podcasts: Delve into resources such as How to Raise a Boy by Dr Michael Reichert or The Dad Edge Podcast for deeper insights.

• Online communities: Dads across the globe share experiences on forums and social networks, offering camaraderie and concrete tips. Including Be a Super Dad on Substack

Seeking help doesn’t betray a lack of strength; in fact, it’s a powerful demonstration of resilience and responsibility.

The Ripple Effect: Beyond Your Family

When you choose to embrace vulnerability as a father, the impact goes beyond just you and your children. You become part of a larger cultural shift—one that might just help free future generations from the same restricting standards.

Sons learn they don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone. Daughters learn what healthy masculinity looks like in a friend or partner. And you open up a sense of freedom in yourself: the relief of no longer living behind a mask.

As Brené Brown reminds us, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change.” By modelling emotional courage, you’re not merely raising healthier, more empathetic children—you’re contributing to a world where the next generation of boys won’t inherit the chains of the man box.

“The most powerful gift a father can give his children isn’t strength without weakness, but strength through vulnerability. That’s the legacy that transforms generations.”

Across the Ages: Vulnerability at Every Stage

For toddlers (1–3 years)

• Kneel down to their eye level.

• Narrate your own emotions simply: “Daddy feels sad now.”

• Apologise if you snap; let them see you handle frustration calmly.

• Hugs are magic—ask for them when you need one, too.

For young children (4–8 years)

• Talk about your small, everyday struggles: “I was tired this morning and got grumpy.”

• Read stories that show men expressing emotion.

• Watch films together and discuss how characters feel.

• Model healthy problem-solving when you’re annoyed or stressed.

For tweens (9–12 years)

• Share stories of your own childhood: what made you anxious, how you handled disappointment.

• Let them see how you cope with everyday setbacks, from a flat tyre to a work challenge.

• Schedule consistent one-on-one chats—they might open up when they know they have your undivided attention.

For teens (13–18 years)

• Be honest about your concerns, without making every worry sound like a crisis.

• Explain your values and why you hold them—let them see your thought process.

• It’s okay to say, “I don’t know. Let’s figure it out together.”

• Respect their privacy but stay emotionally available.

Your Next Step Forward

The strongest thing you can do as a father isn’t to hide your humanity—it’s to embrace it, trusting that your authenticity is a gift rather than a liability.

Give this a try: in one conversation this week, share something that’s been on your mind. It doesn’t need to be catastrophic—just honest. Notice how it feels to open up, and how the people around you respond.

Stepping outside the man box is a journey of countless, everyday acts of courage. Each vulnerable conversation, tear shed, or heartfelt apology helps build a legacy of emotional well-being that can echo across generations.

What small step will you take today?

Coaching and Continuing the Conversation

If you’re eager to go deeper, I’d love to support you. I offer one-on-one coaching that focuses on helping dads:

• Develop healthier emotional habits

• Build stronger connections with their children

• Break generational cycles tied to the “man box”

• Foster a caring, stable home where everyone feels safe

If you’re curious, feel free to get in touch and book a discovery call. I’d be honoured to work with you on creating the fatherhood legacy you truly desire.

If This Post Resonated With You…

• Comment: I’d love to read about your experiences or any “lightbulb moments.”

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• Share: Know any fathers who might benefit from thinking about vulnerability? Pass this along.

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(HeadsUpGuys reference: https://headsupguys.org/suicide-in-men/suicide-stats-men/)

A Question to Deepen Reflection

Before you move on, consider this: How might embracing vulnerability not only improve your bond with your children but also reshape your relationships with other adults in your life—your partner, friends, or even colleagues? Sometimes, the biggest shifts occur in unexpected places.

"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. This week's letter is from Victor Ataraxia, who reflects on change and helps us to ask questions of ourselves. If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say? Share your thoughts in the comments."

Introduction by Gareth Wall

I love how Victor helps us all be reflective about how we engage in fatherhood. His letter captures something many dads feel but rarely say out loud—raising a child who seems different from others can shake you, stretch you, and ultimately change you.

Finding out your child is autistic doesn’t come with a script. It doesn’t tell you how to feel or what to do next. It invites you into a new way of seeing the world through your child’s eyes. And as Victor so beautifully shows, that world is rich with idiosyncrasies, deep connections, and lessons that teach you just as much about yourself as they do about your child.

I’m so glad he’s spoken about this. Because in my work, I’ve met many dads who are walking this road. Some are full of questions, some are still processing, and some are fiercely advocating for their kids in ways that would make you proud to be part of this brotherhood. In my local area, there’s a brilliant group of dads I often refer to. They meet up regularly, sharing stories about their children. Talking about the highs and the lows, the joy of seeing their child thrive, and the need for routines that help the whole family feel a little more settled.

It shows the power of parenting out loud. Of not holding it all in. Talking with other dads, having a community. It just so happens that their children are on the autistic spectrum, but what would it feel like to have that kind of community for yourself? A group of dads you could meet with regularly. Not to fix each other, but to hang out and talk honestly about your successes and your failures. To feel less alone. To laugh, to vent, to swap stories that make you feel seen. That’s something every dad deserves.

I’m reminded every time I work alongside a dad whose son is autistic. While the work is the same, it’s also completely different. The same core principles of being a good dad apply. Showing up. Staying curious. Being patient. Loving your child as they are. But how you do it might look and feel different. And that’s okay.

Victor’s words brought to mind the poem Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley, which so many parents of neurodivergent children will know. It speaks of expecting to land in one place, only to find yourself somewhere else entirely. Not worse, not better, just different. You can read it here: Welcome to Holland

Maybe that’s what fatherhood teaches all of us in the end.

What about you? Let me know in the comments!

Dear Dad,

August 2018

Dear Victor,

I see that you’re sleeping peacefully right now, so I wanted to drop this letter into your hand. I’m you from the future, and I wanted to offer some perspective. I’m not going to tell you which stocks to buy, but six-and-a-half years of parenting has left me with some thoughts that may benefit you. Will you listen?

You know how your son is due in three weeks? Well in a few hours your wife will wake you up from your peaceful slumber and say that it’s time to go to the hospital. You started a new job two weeks ago and you thought you would have more time to get settled in at your new company, and you are not ready to have this happen right now. Take a deep breath. As a new father it’s normal to feel like things aren’t in your control and are happening too fast. Your absurd sense of humor will serve you well in the coming years as you navigate the stress a new child brings.

Speaking of stress, how are you dealing with that today? Is the alcohol really serving you well, or is that something holding you back? How about the late nights watching TV and playing video games? What are your triggers for feeling down and how will you manage them? How will you balance work and home life, and what will your guiding priorities be in this new chapter? We should have fun, but what does having fun mean in light of this new responsibility? Think about this in the next few months.

As you drive to the hospital you’re expecting that the new boy will pop out right away like in the movies, but it will take thirty-six hours of labor and waiting, a lot of pushing on your wife’s part, a broken collarbone on your son’s part, and lost sleep for everyone to get there. This is just a preview of what it means to be tired like a parent. You pulled a few all-nighters in college, but those were your decision. Your own capacity to bear fatigue will increase as you are required to keep your son alive and happy at all hours of the day. It will be uncomfortable, but you will grow into it.

Nobody gives you extra credit for keeping your kids alive, it’s just the expectation now. It will feel like you need to do more with the same level of resources, and you will feel crunched. If you stay with it, your love for your family will lead you to innovate and grow in your ability to function more efficiently.

What used to be thirty-minute breakfasts on the weekend might look more like one-minute snacks standing over the kitchen sink. Movie marathons will soon be interrupted by the needs of your child. It will become rare to sleep through the night without being woken up and you’ll start going to bed earlier. You’re strong, and there are many who have trod this path before you, so just know that you can do this. The infant stage is not for the faint of heart.

After a few months of dealing with your surly boss and demanding customers you will realize that this new job stinks, and you will find a different one that pays more, offers more flexibility, and makes you happier. Why did you think you needed to suffer so much at your old job? As a man, husband, and father, if you don’t like something it’s on you to make it better, and if you can recognize this without needing to first suffer greatly, you and your family will be better off. What can you change in advance, today? How can you plan now to live in greener pastures later?

You will begin to arrange more weekday lunch dates with your wife because you realize that working through lunch every day was a waste of time, and that you missed her, and you see that she’s been around all along. You will pick your son up from daycare an hour earlier than your wife usually gets him and realize that he’s also been there the whole time, all these months, and the emails and code you were pounding through before will seem like nothing in comparison. Your family is always there, even when you’re lost in your own head.

Speaking of your son, he seems a little much, right? Everyone will tell you that it will get better, that kids mellow out, to just wait until he’s three months, six months, nine months, etc. But he seems different from other people’s kids and manages to wear out both you and your wife on a regular basis. At nine months he’s quite fussy and it seems like minor things set him off. You feel like a bad parent when he’s like this, like there is more you should be doing to help him. He’s keen to pay attention and is able to communicate in ways that seem advanced for his age. He seems very bright. He’s weird, but not in a bad way, and kind of in a way that reminds you of yourself and your wife. His idiosyncrasies are what make him who he is, and later you will learn that he’s on the autism spectrum, and this will shake your life up in ways you never considered. You are strong enough and smart enough to deal with all of this.

Your new son doesn’t come with a warranty, or any guarantees. All you can do is respond to who he is and love him in the ways that he needs. Your time and energy are no longer your own sole property, you are now serving a cause greater than yourself. This might be the most important thing you ever do. Welcome to the elite order of fathers.

Meet Victor Ataraxia

🧑 Who they are:

Hello, I’m Victor, and I write over at https://substack.com/@victorataraxia

I post a 500-word essay each week on various topics that are close to my interests. Please consider reading my work.

More importantly I am 35, married, live in the US, and am a stay-at-home father of four children, ages 1-6. I worked full-time until last year, now I limit myself to the 7AM-9PM shift of when my kids are awake.

🌍 Where to find them:

Substack

💬 What did this letter make you think about? Drop a comment below— Victor will be here to reply!

Want to Write Your Own ‘Dear Dad’ Letter?

I'm thinking a few grandads, foster dads, adoptive dads, would be fantastic to hear from too. So please let me know if you are and you’d like to write a post.✍️ We’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, drop me a DM.

📩 Make sure you don’t miss future letters—subscribe here to ‘Be a Super Dad’ on Substack.

Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

"Fatherhood is a journey, and we all figure it out as we go. Through my coaching, I help dads build stronger relationships at home, communicate better, and feel more confident in their role. If you're looking for support in your fatherhood journey, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s build the kind of dad you want to be."

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🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read another ‘Dear Dad’ letter or explore my latest blog posts.

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Tony Stevens

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Indian Millennial Dad Letter

Michael Venutolo-Mantovani

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Scott Houghton

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Share Be A Super Dad

I wasn’t a Super Dad this week.
My son told me he was in pain, and I didn’t believe him.
I brushed it off, assuming he was just trying to get out of doing something. My thoughts, my feelings, my stress, those came first. His feelings didn’t get a look-in. And when I finally realised what was really going on, I felt awful. I’d dismissed him. I’d missed him.

I bang on a lot about how perfection is a myth. That we’re all going to mess up, and what matters most is what we do next. Well, this was my moment. My moment to get it wrong. I created a rupture, a disconnect between us. A moment when he reached out, I didn’t meet him there.

We were away at the caravan this week. After a long winter of salt, wind, and the generous deposit of whatever that tree above us keeps dropping, the van was looking rough. So Mrs Super Dad and I got stuck into cleaning it up.

I was on the stepladder, not my favourite place if I’m honest. I’ve always preferred the steady company of the ground. Ten feet in the air, with a bucket in one hand and mild anxiety in the other, I wasn’t exactly feeling zen.

We noticed it was time to take the dog out. So we asked the kids to walk him around the loop. A fairly standard request. They grumbled, as teens and pre-teens do, but off they went.

Just before they left, my son told me his foot hurt.
I assumed it was just a tactic to get out of walking. I dismissed it. Told him to take responsibility—it’s his dog, after all.

They came back, and I sent them out again. Told them they needed some fresh air.
He told me his foot was really sore.
I told him to stop moaning and get on with it.
I didn’t even look up from the ladder.

Later, when we’d finished the clean-up, he was still limping. Still upset. Still complaining.
Turns out his toenail was growing into the edge of his toe. And yes, it hurt. A lot. Once we trimmed it, he finally got some relief.

And he was cross with me. Rightly so. I’d ignored him. I’d made assumptions.
And I could see in his eyes that something between us had been dented.

Here’s the truth: I was distracted.
Trying not to fall off a ladder. Juggling jobs. Managing my own anxiety about being ten feet off the ground.
But in the middle of all that, I didn’t leave any room for his feelings.

I could have come down.
I could have asked him to show me.
I could have said, “Let me take the dog this time.”

It would have taken ten minutes.
Ten minutes to show him he matters.
Ten minutes to say: your pain is valid.
Ten minutes to protect our connection.

But I didn’t.
And in that moment, he turned to his mum instead.
And I understood why.

Later, he asked me why I didn’t believe him.
I told him the truth: “Sometimes, when you complain a lot about doing things, I get it wrong. I assume this is one of those times. And I shouldn’t have.”

I didn’t mention the ladder or the stress in that moment. But it’s clearer to me now as I write this.

And thankfully, it gave me a chance to repair.
To tell him: Even when I mess up, I love you. I care about us. And I’m willing to say sorry.

I said, “I shouldn’t have assumed. I should’ve listened. I should’ve come down and checked. I was wrong. And I’m really sorry.”

And it was okay again.
Because the repair matters.
It teaches just as much, if not more, than getting it right the first time.

There’ll be plenty of days when you miss the mark. When you’re tired, distracted, overwhelmed, or stressed.
Aim for the bullseye, but know that what matters most is this: even if you miss, as long as you’re showing up, staying open, and willing to repair, you’re still hitting the board.
And that’s what counts.

Reflective Questions

• When was the last time I assumed rather than asked?

• How do I tend to respond when I’m feeling stressed or preoccupied? Do I shut down? Snap? Miss things?

• How do I usually repair with my children when I’ve caused a rupture?

• What gets in the way of me truly hearing my child in the moment?

• How do I show my children that their feelings matter, even when I’m juggling my own?

• What would stepping off the ladder (literally or metaphorically) look like in my day-to-day parenting?

• How do I want my children to remember me when they’re grown? What stories will they tell about how I listened, showed up, or said sorry?

Need a Hand? You’re Not on Your Own

If this story landed with you—if you've had a moment like this, or if you’re trying to be the kind of dad who listens better, repairs quicker, and shows up more fully—you're in the right place.

You don’t have to figure all this out by yourself. I work with dads every day who are trying to be better than the role models they had. Dads who want stronger relationships, less shouting, more connection, and a bit of support along the way.

If that sounds like something you need, drop me a message. Let’s talk about how coaching can help you be the dad you want to be, imperfect, present, and making it count.

You’re not alone. And you’re already doing better than you think by even reflecting on this.

"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. This week's letter is from Scott Houghton, who reflects on letting go of control and growth in fatherhood. If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say? Share your thoughts in the comments."

Introduction by Gareth Wall

Scott’s letter really got me. Especially this line:

“Rocking them to sleep isn’t a chore. It’s a privilege.”

That idea of everyday magic hit home this week.

My daughter went to her first-ever gig—Alessi Rose. I quite like her. If you’re into Taylor Swift, she’s worth a listen on Spotify. My wife took her, which I know was a brilliant experience for them both. I’ll be honest—I was a bit jealous. It’s one of those memories you hope to be part of. But also, maybe being surrounded by hundreds of screaming teenagers wasn't quite for me either.

Still, it gave me an unexpected gift: time with my son.

We’ve been watching the new Planet of the Apes films together. Just the two of us. We ate food, chilled out, and watched War of the Planet of the Apes. Not exactly a gig. Nothing grand. But it mattered. He cwtched into me (if you're not familiar with the Welsh word—it means cuddled up), and for a moment, it felt like time slowed down. He's eleven now. Big school in September. I can feel those changes coming, creeping in around the edges. Friends are becoming more important. Independence growing. And I’m already missing moments we haven’t even had the chance to lose yet.

But that evening, he still leaned on me. Still stretched himself out along the sofa, barely fitting, but still choosing closeness. I watched the film, sure—but I was savouring the weight of his head on my shoulder more. That quiet, unspoken bond. The kind that doesn’t need a big moment to feel massive.

And today, he’s asked me to play Super Mario Odyssey with him. I can’t wait. It’ll be another one of those small, sacred snapshots. I’ve realised that being present in these seemingly ordinary moments is how we fill the bank for harder days ahead. Like soaking in them long enough for the feeling to stick. Letting osmosis do its thing, right into our bones.

So, thanks, Scott, for the reminder. Our kids aren’t just a responsibility—they’re a privilege.

Not just in the milestone moments but in the quiet ones too. The sofa snuggles. The shared games. The giggles over nothing. The stillness.

Here's to noticing the magic while it's happening, not just once it’s gone. What about you?

Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Dear Dad,

You’re probably reading this at 3 a.m. because the baby is due any day now and you know you can still squeeze in some more last-minute research.

Don’t worry, no judgment here. Remember, I’m you. Just from the future.

But just so you know, you can’t research your way out of this one.

You’re going to be a dad. And it's nothing like you think it’s going to be.

Don’t worry, you’re going to love it. But it’s not going to be what you expect.

You’re expecting to be prepared. You’re not.

You’re expecting to be patient. You’ll get there.

You’re expecting to be calm. You won’t use any of the mediation apps you downloaded.

You think you’ll be able to juggle it all. Finish your degree. Support your wife. Stay on top of work. Keep the house running. Get at least four hours of sleep. And still show up as the world’s most emotionally attuned father.

And honestly? You will do all of that.

Just not in the way you think.

You’ll survive on lukewarm Red Bull and Doritos Locos Tacos. You’ll write papers in the middle of the night with a baby asleep on your lap and a laptop balancing like a Jenga piece across her tiny body. You’ll measure sleep in 45-minute chunks and start celebrating small victories like getting out of the rocking chair without your aging ankles cracking and waking the baby.

It’s going to feel messy. Like you’re behind. Like you're not doing enough. Like everyone else has some secret manual you never got.

But what you won’t realize right away is this:

You’re not failing.

You’re becoming.

And the sooner you stop trying to get everything right and start letting yourself live inside it, the more you’ll start to see what this whole thing is really about.

You’re about to learn something the hard way.

A lot of things actually.

But one of the first is this: trying to control how everything unfolds is going to wear you out faster than the baby does. And she is going to be very, very good at wearing you out.

You’ve spent your whole life believing that if you plan enough, if you prepare hard enough, you can get through anything. And for the most part, that’s worked.

But this is different.

This isn’t a test or school project you can study for, finish, and then forget about. This is the long haul.

The slow unraveling of everything you thought made you strong, and the slow rebuilding of something even better.

There’s going to be a moment that won’t seem like a big one at the time, when you’re holding your daughter in the middle of the night, eyes burning, body aching, mind crammed with half-formed arguments from unfinished research papers. You’ll be frustrated. Tired. Half convinced you’re doing everything wrong.

But you’ll also feel something else. The tiniest flicker of peace. The kind that doesn’t come from knowing what you’re doing, but from realizing you don’t have to. Not all at once.

That moment is the beginning of you becoming a dad.

Not the title. Not the birth certificate. Not the perfectly packed hospital bag or the long list of things you think you need to master.

It’s that slow shift from trying to hold it all together to letting yourself just be in it.

That’s where it starts.

Once that shift begins, everything else starts to change too. Especially the way you see yourself.

You’ve always taken pride in working hard. You’ve been chasing a career that feels meaningful, trying to build something that provides for your family and gives you a sense of purpose. You want to be the dad who’s there for every bedtime, every milestone, every moment that matters.

But here’s the part no one tells you. Providing and being present are both full-time jobs. And they often compete with each other.

You’re going to wrestle with that more than you expect. You’ll sit at your desk wondering if your kids will even remember the work you're doing. Then later, you’ll sit with your kids and worry about whether you’re doing enough to keep everything afloat.

And through all of that, you’ll carry this quiet guilt. Guilt that you’re not making more money. Guilt that you’re not always fully present. Guilt that you should be further along by now. Guilt that you wanted something else.

But let me tell you something important. You are doing enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it or when it feels like you’re just barely holding things together.

The truth is, your timeline is going to look different than what you expected. You’re not going to follow the same path as your friends or your old coworkers or that one guy on LinkedIn who seems to have it all figured out.

And that’s okay.

Because while they’re climbing ladders, you’re building a life. A messy, beautiful, Red-Bull-fueled life that doesn’t look perfect on paper but feels honest in your bones.

That’s what your kids will remember. Not your job title. Not your income bracket. They’ll remember how you showed up. How you loved them when you were tired. How you tried.

They’ll remember you.

And then something wild will happen.

In the middle of all that doubt and pressure, your daughter is going to start teaching you how to live.

Not with words. She won’t even be able to say much yet. But just by being fully, unapologetically herself.

She will try everything. She’ll jump into things that feel too big for her. She’ll climb before she has balance. She’ll run before she has rhythm. She’ll color outside the lines and paint brilliant abstracts that will soon cover the walls of your basement. And when she falls or fails or gets it wrong, she won’t care. She’ll just try again.

You, on the other hand, will stand there thinking through five different ways it could go wrong.

You’ll try to protect her. You’ll try to prepare her. You’ll try to teach her the “right way” to do it.

But what she’ll show you again and again is that trying is enough. Not knowing how and doing it anyway is enough. Feeling things deeply and living life fully is not something to tone down. It’s something to learn from.

Remember, she’s not too much. She’s the exact right amount of brave, bold, and loud.

And little by little, she’ll give you permission to be that way too.

Soon you’ll stop waiting until you’re ready. You’ll stop thinking everything has to be perfect before it’s real. You’ll stop pretending you have to be calm and collected in order to be capable.

Because she will show you what it looks like to move through the world with your whole heart.

And you’ll realize that’s exactly the kind of person you want to be.

Because just when you think you’re starting to figure it out, life will stretch your heart even further. One day, you won’t just be a dad. You’ll be a dad of two.

Two wild, hilarious, stubborn, beautiful little girls who will turn your whole world inside out and make it better than you ever imagined.

You’ll be even more tired. Even more stretched. You’ll question yourself all over again. But you’ll also laugh harder. Love deeper. And learn things you didn’t even know you needed to learn.

You’ll learn that your job isn’t to shape them into who you think they should be. It’s to create space for them to become who they already are.

You’ll learn that rocking them to sleep isn’t a chore. It’s a privilege. One that ends quietly and without warning. One that you’ll ache for when it’s gone.

You’ll learn that being a dad isn’t about how much you get done or how perfectly you balance it all. It’s about presence. About patience. About choosing to show up again and again, even when you feel like you have nothing left to give.

And you’ll learn, slowly, over time, that you are not failing.

You are becoming.

You’re becoming the kind of dad who knows how to hold space for big feelings, even when they’re inconvenient. The kind of dad who puts his phone down and jumps into a pillow fort. The kind of dad who still dreams big but doesn’t let those dreams keep him from the magic that’s already here.

So keep going.

Keep showing up. Keep learning. Keep becoming.

Because this is the job you were made for.

And it turns out, you’re really good at it.

Love,

The guy who thought he needed a plan, and ended up with a purpose.

Meet Scott Houghton

🧑 Who they are: Scott writes the Screen Free Dad here on Substack. He's a Dad of two and he's building a community of father's who want to be more present , engaged and intentional with their kids.

🌍 Where to find them:

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Drop a comment below— Scott will be here to reply!

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I'm thinking a few grandads would be fantastic to hear from too. So please let me know if you are a granddad or you know one that could write a post.

✍️ We’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write

a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, submit it here or send me a DM

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Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

"Fatherhood is a journey, and we all figure it out as we go. Through my coaching, I help dads build stronger relationships at home, communicate better, and feel more confident in their role. If you're looking for support in your fatherhood journey, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s build the kind of dad you want to be."

Book a Free Dad to Dad Session.

🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read another ‘Dear Dad’ letter or explore my latest blog posts.

Chris’ ‘Dear Dad’ letter,

Tony’s Letter here

Dr Suzanne’s Letter here

Indian Millennial Dad Letter

Michael Venutolo-Mantovani

Dylan Macinerney

Please share Be a Super Dad with a friend or family member. Let’s build our dad community.

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I used to be rubbish with money. Like, seriously bad. My finances were a disaster zone: I'd blow cash on stuff I didn't need, regularly buy magazines I barely read, and had absolutely no clue about my balance or bills. I dreaded the postman, red letters would hit the mat, my credit card debt accrued interest, and my credit score was going the wrong way. When it came to managing money, I was the classic financial ostrich, head buried firmly in the sand, ignoring reality and spending blindly.

Honestly, looking back, I'm amazed my wife stuck around. Why she married a guy who was spending like there was no tomorrow genuinely baffles me. Money consistently ranks among the top reasons couples split up, and it’s easy to see why, we argued constantly over my spending. I was stubborn, defensive, and the king of avoiding tough conversations about finances.

Admittedly, the gigs I went to during those reckless spending years were epic, tickets were cheaper then! But fun aside, it wasn’t sustainable. Every argument we had traced back to my financial chaos, my stubborn resistance, and my refusal to talk openly about money. I wish I'd realised sooner how powerful it could be to simply get on the same page financially. If I’d known how much emotionally it would bring us closer together, then I would have done something years before.

Everything changed when my wife and I finally took the leap together. Joining the Rebel Finance School course on Monday nights became a genuine game-changer, not just financially but for our entire relationship. Suddenly, we were working towards common goals, creating shared values, and seeing money as a tool for the life we wanted, not a constant source of tension.

These days, instead of avoiding conversations about money, we talk about it almost daily. Our monthly finance meetings have become a highlight, we track our spending, discuss investments, and actually enjoy planning our future together. Dreaming about how you can life in the future is fun. Knowing we both want the same thing, to retire early, travel, and live life on our terms, makes every decision simpler.

What surprised me most? The course was actually fun. Alan and Katie Donegan, the amazing duo behind Rebel Finance School, managed to make something that previously felt daunting and painful into something joyful. They're brilliant teachers, funny, and incredibly supportive. Plus, their course is completely free, no hidden catches, just genuine, life-changing advice.

I was chatting to the main man the other night about this course and it reminded him of a question he was going to ask in his next Dad Dojo. "What do you wish your father had taught you?" Instantly, I knew, financial education. My own childhood memories around money were riddled with stress, arguments, and awkward silences based on a family argument over money. I vividly remember feeling anxious about asking my parents for the final payment to pay for a school trip to Switzerland. I knew there was financial pain, and I didn't want to add to it, and here is where the baby ostrich was born. Writing this down now, I realise how deeply those memories still affect me. That was a memory I'd forgotten. It's surprisingly cathartic to acknowledge that here.

The Rebel Finance School helped me rewrite my financial story. Week three, focusing on my money mindset, shifted everything for me. No longer was I stuck repeating my parents' flawed script. Instead, I learned to craft my own story and began thinking seriously about the financial education I want to give my children. That’s a post for another day, and put in writing what I’ve put in place to help my own kids think about money in a healthy way.

It's astonishing how much clarity and confidence I've gained, especially around investing. I'm no longer that financial ostrich, I’m proactive, informed, and on the same page with my partner. Money, once a source of endless arguments, is now something we discuss openly, comfortably, and enthusiastically.

If you’re tired of financial friction in your relationship, if you cringe at the thought of another argument about money, or if you simply want to rewrite your financial future, check out Rebel Finance School. It’s genuinely one of the best decisions we've made, both financially and relationally.

Trust me, getting financially aligned might just be the best marriage therapy out there.

If you are ready to transform your relationship and finances? Sign up here, it’s completely free, they are not trying to sell you anything, there is nothing to buy. How often can you say that.

Starts 2nd June.

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Check them out on YouTube , join their facebook group and even enjoy their quirky finance-themed album on Spotify.

If you have any questions, then please drop them in the comments.

"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say? Share your thoughts in the comments."

Introduction by Gareth Wall

There’s a kind of tiredness that parents know—the kind that doesn’t just sit in your eyes but settles in your bones. It’s not like the all-nighters you pulled in your twenties. Those had a deadline, a purpose, and an endpoint. You could crash after the assignment was in, sleep off the night out, recover when you’d cleared your diary. Parenthood isn’t like that. It doesn’t clock off when you hand something in. There’s no break scheduled in the calendar. No weekend to recover. It’s relentless—and not in a punishing, joyless way, but in the sense that it just keeps going. Even when they start sleeping, a new chapter begins—like waiting up while they’re out with friends, worrying if they’re safe. The demands shift, but they don’t disappear.

That’s what I love about Dylan’s letter. It doesn’t romanticise the early days, but it doesn’t resent them either. It holds the weight of those early moments—the fear, the fog, the fierce love—and it lets them be as big and messy as they are. He captures that strange contradiction: how you can be completely overwhelmed and completely devoted at the same time. How exhaustion and joy sit right next to each other at 3 a.m., when you’re whispering to a crying baby and realising you’d do it a thousand times over.

There’s something else Dylan touches on that really stays with me—the idea that we grow into fatherhood. That it’s not something we fully understand when we first hear the word “Dad” aimed our way. It’s a slow becoming. We don’t arrive fully formed. We change as they change. They grow into themselves while we grow into who we need to be for them. It’s a parallel process—a partnership, even if they’re too small to realise it yet.

Now, Dylan’s other writing often zooms out and asks bigger questions—about how society supports or sidelines parents, about how systems shape our ability to show up. And I really value that lens, because context is everything. But this letter? This is a quieter one. It’s not about the world outside—it’s about the world within. It’s a letter to the version of himself who thought he knew what was coming, who didn’t yet know what love could feel like, what fear could mean, or how much pride could be felt in a tiny moment like a baby banging a xylophone.

It’s a beautiful reminder that being a dad is something you become—not just something you are. That you don’t have to be ready. You just have to show up. Again and again and again.

Dear Dad,

Dear Me,

You think you’re ready. You’ve read the books, watched the videos, maybe even tried practicing swaddling the cat while your wife wasn’t looking. You’ve run the numbers, worked to earn paternity leave, and convinced yourself that while you might not feel ready, you at least know what’s coming. But let me tell you something—you don’t know. And that’s okay.

You don’t know exhaustion—not really. You’ve pulled all-nighters in college, stayed up too late with friends, pushed through work on too little sleep. But nothing compares to the grind of those first few months. It’s not just tiredness; it’s a fog that settles over your mind, a weight in your bones. You’ll learn to function on two-hour increments of sleep, eyes barely open as you rock a crying baby at 3 a.m., whispering prayers that he’ll drift off so you can steal a few more minutes of rest. But somehow, even in the haze, you’ll find moments of clarity—like watching his tiny chest rise and fall in the dim light, realizing you’d do this a thousand times over. You’ll forget what it feels like to wake up rested, but you’ll also forget what it felt like to have a life without your son in it.

You don’t know fear—not like this. You think fear is missing a deadline or not living up to the perfectionist expectations you have set for yourself. But wait until you’re holding a newborn, and the weight of being his provider crashes over you. Then imagine losing your job when every fiber of your being is screaming that you need to be steady, stable, secure. You’ll wonder who you are if you can’t provide. You’ll sit awake at night, staring at the ceiling, running the numbers over and over again, trying to figure out how to make it work. But here’s the thing—you will find a way. Fatherhood isn’t about never falling; it’s about getting back up, pushing through fear, and standing tall, because someone small is counting on you. And he doesn’t care about titles or salaries. He just needs you—your voice, your warmth, your presence. That’s what truly makes you a provider.

You don’t know pride—not the way you’re about to. Sure, you’ve felt proud before—of a promotion, a personal best, a project well done. But nothing will compare to the way your chest swells when he eats his first solids or babbles “Dada” for the first time. You’ll marvel at how his mind works, how he figures out the smallest things—clapping, banging on his xylophone, chasing the cat—and it will feel like the biggest accomplishment in the world. Because it is. You’ll see pieces of yourself in him—your determination, your stubbornness, your humor. And sometimes, he’ll surprise you by becoming someone completely different, someone uniquely his own. That’s when you’ll feel the greatest pride of all.

Most importantly, you don’t know love—not yet. You love your wife, your family, your friends. But the first time you hold your son, everything you thought you knew about love is rewritten in an instant. It’s not just love; it’s something deeper, something unshakable. It’s knowing you would do anything, give anything, be anything for him. It’s feeling your entire purpose shift in an instant—from a man with dreams of his own to a father whose dreams now revolve around his son. So no, you don’t know. Not yet. But you will. And when you do, you’ll realize—you were never truly ready. Because while you may not have been ready, you were always meant to be his.

Sincerely,
A Dad Who Didn’t Know—But Learned

Meet Dylan Macinerney

🧑 Who they are: The West Wing meets the Baby Bjorn—fatherhood, policy, and culture, twice a week. At the Fatherhood Framework, Dylan is taking on the issues dads face every day, big and small. From sweeping cultural trends and hot button political topics down to the mundane tasks, he covers it all while having a bit of fun along the way.

🌍 Where to find them:

The Fatherhood Framework

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💬 What did this letter make you think about? Drop a comment below—Dylan will be here to reply!

Want to Write Your Own ‘Dear Dad’ Letter?

✍️ I’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, drop me a DM.

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Subscribe now

Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

"Fatherhood is a journey, and we all figure it out as we go. Through my coaching, I help dads build stronger relationships at home, communicate better, and feel more confident in their role. If you're looking for support in your fatherhood journey, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s build the kind of dad you want to be."

Book a Free Dad to Dad Session.

🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read another ‘Dear Dad’ letter or explore my latest blog posts.

Chris’ ‘Dear Dad’ letter,

Tony’s Letter here

Dr Suzanne’s Letter here

Indian Millennial Dad Letter

Michael Venutolo-Mantovani

Please share Be a Super Dad with a friend or family member. Let’s build our dad community.

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One particular saying was, “It’s better to be abused than ignored.” I didn’t think much about it at the time. My dad used it in the context of banter—friendly mickey-taking between mates, where everyone has a laugh together. Because that’s how I always heard it used, I adopted the phrase without really understanding its bigger implications.

Not long after, I went for a two-day interview to work in a residential children’s home (or group home, if you’re across the Atlantic). The man leading the sessions was charismatic, and the couple of days were packed with activities—both formal and informal. We even went to the pub on the first night, which made it quite intense and fun all at once. We were all quickly getting to know each other. At one point, he said something cheeky to me—some playful teasing—and my immediate response was to whip out my dad’s line: “It’s better to be abused than ignored!”

I cringe when I look back on that moment—it really wasn’t the right thing to say, particularly when I look at the experiences of the children that I would go on to work with. At 23, I didn’t grasp how off it sounded, yet I also feel empathy for my younger self. I was on the brink of a new career path, and while I’d grown up without experiencing any major trauma, I was about to learn how much other children’s lives could differ from my own.

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For a long time, I never paused to unpack my dad’s phrase. It took me understanding attachment theory to really get how damaging those words could be and how much the idea of “being ignored” can hurt. Because, while most of us recognise abuse is obviously terrible, we often don’t think about the equally profound impact of being ignored. If no one responds to you, what does that say about your worth in their eyes?

Landing the Job—and Opening My Eyes

I did get the job and stayed for 12 years in different roles. I grew a lot personally and professionally during that time. My own upbringing had been stable and loving, and I hadn’t realised how lucky I was until I started reading the case histories of the kids I worked with.

In the early days, though, I was still caught up in that mentality of focusing on the visible behaviours; that was the culture. If the kids did something we didn’t like, we imposed a sanction, wrote it up in the log, and moved on. We dealt with what we could see on the surface. That’s how we’d been trained. But then, two new managers from South Wales came in—both social workers—and they challenged the way we thought. They encouraged us to look beyond the behaviour, to ask why a child might act out instead of just punishing them for it. It was a slow shift, but eventually, it became the default approach.

The Still Face Experiment

What does all this have to do with our own kids? Quite a lot, actually. There’s a famous study called the Still Face Experiment by Ed Tronick. You can find videos showing a dad playing with his baby—lots of back-and-forth interaction, almost like a tennis match. This “serve and return” is filled with eye contact, playfulness, and connection. Then, all of a sudden, the father stops reacting. He uses a “still face” and becomes unresponsive.

The baby quickly becomes distressed, trying everything to re-establish that connection—smiling, cooing, making noises, even escalating to banging on the high chair. When all these usual ways of getting dad’s attention fail, the baby becomes overwhelmed, frustrated, and deeply upset. That’s what happens when you’re ignored, even briefly.

Now, imagine that scenario repeating hundreds or thousands of times in a child’s life. They learn their usual, socially acceptable ways of seeking attention—like calling out, smiling, or simply saying, “Dad, will you play with me?”—don’t work. So they escalate to what does work: tantrums, shouting, or hitting, because at least that gets some kind of response. And that’s how “It’s better to be abused than ignored” starts to unravel. If a child is consistently ignored, that in itself becomes a form of abuse, because being unseen and unheard is deeply wounding.

Fast-Forward to Modern Parenting

Tronick’s research dates back to 1978, long before mobile phones were common. Yet today, our phones are a massive source of distraction. Notifications buzz and ping, demanding our attention. Ironically, our kids are doing exactly the same thing: “Daddy, look at me! Play with me! Look what I’ve made!” But sometimes, we’re so engrossed in our phones (or our work, or our stress) that we don’t notice—or we respond with a quick, “Just a minute,” which never really comes.

Now, none of us are perfect. We all have moments when we switch off or mentally clock out. But let’s be honest: if your child tries to connect with you and consistently doesn’t get a reaction, they’ll find other ways—often disruptive ones—to ensure you can’t ignore them.

Early research into the Still Face phenomenon focused on parents with depression, drug or alcohol issues, or those preoccupied with new relationships. In each case, the parent’s attention was so consumed by something else that the child’s emotional signals were missed. If you grew up with a parent who battled any of these challenges, you might still feel the after-effects in your own relationships—like a sense that the people you love may not really be there for you.

A Memory That Changed My Perspective

I once had a friend who started dating someone new. She had a baby and a toddler whom she described as “good” because they never cried. That made me wonder how many times these little ones might have cried in the past—and realised no one was coming—until they finally gave up. Years later, these children face all sorts of difficulties, like run-ins with the police and early pregnancy. From my perspective, it’s no surprise their unmet emotional needs led them to search for connection in ways society frowns upon.

When I think of those kids, it reminds me how a child’s “cry” isn’t always literal—it can be any behaviour that’s really a call for connection. And it breaks my heart to imagine the times a child just stops crying out because it’s fruitless. That is the kind of impact “being ignored” can have on a developing human being.

An Invitation to Dads

If anything here strikes a chord—maybe you notice moments when you tune out, or you see your child go from calm to frantic in a heartbeat—I’d love to chat with you. I run a Circle of Security (COS) programme that includes a section on the Still Face Experiment. It’s designed to help dads understand children’s emotional needs more deeply—and also look at how our own childhoods shape the way we respond to our kids.

You can book a free Dad-to-Dad call with me here:

Free Dad To Dad Call

It’ll be a relaxed, friendly conversation—no judgement—where we explore how you can foster stronger, more secure relationships. Parenting isn’t about never making mistakes; it’s about learning to repair the inevitable slip-ups.

Investing in yourself as a dad can feel daunting, but it might be one of the most rewarding decisions you ever make. Are you open to exploring how your past could be influencing the way you connect with your child right now?

Wrapping Up

When I look back at my younger self blurting out, “It’s better to be abused than ignored,” I see someone who genuinely didn’t grasp the full meaning behind those words. But I’m grateful for those cringe-worthy moments because they led me to learn and grow. The reality is that being ignored, over and over, can be more devastating than any outright conflict—it sends a message that you don’t matter enough to warrant attention.

I hope that, by sharing these stories, I can encourage you to look up, tune in, and really see your child and your own childhood—even if it’s just for a few precious minutes amidst life’s chaos. None of us can be 100% attentive all the time, but small shifts can make a world of difference for both you and your kids. And if you want more guidance—or just a sounding board—I’m here. You’re not alone on this journey.

Keep Reflecting

• Have you ever felt like the baby in the Still Face Experiment—trying everything just to get a response?

• Were there moments in your own childhood where you acted out in ways that might have been labelled “naughty,” but were really calls for connection?

• How often do you notice (or miss) your child’s bids for attention because of phones, work, stress, or other distractions?

• In what ways can you prioritise your own mental health or self-care, so you can be more emotionally available for your children?

• How many times have you only responded to your child’s behaviour when it reached a boiling point—rather than catching the earlier signs?

• What simple changes—like putting your phone down or offering a warm, attentive look—could you make today to strengthen your bond?

Feel free to reach out anytime. Parenting isn’t about perfection; it’s about discovering the profound impact of genuine connection, one moment at a time. We all need a bit of help and reflection along the way, and sometimes just knowing someone else sees and understands can make all the difference.

A Few Extra Questions to Ponder Further

1. How might your own childhood experiences with attention or neglect shape the way you handle your child’s emotional needs today?

2. If you were to imagine a still-face scenario in your own home, what typical daily distractions do you think might trigger it (e.g., checking emails, social media, work calls)?

3. Is there a small ritual—like setting aside 15 minutes of uninterrupted time with your child each day—that could help you stay more connected?

I would love to hear more about what you think of this post.

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"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. This week's letter is from Michael, who reflects on Fear, uncertainty, transformation and imperfection. If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say? Share your thoughts in the comments."

Introduction by Gareth Wall

Hey there, friend,

I’m so glad you’re here, taking the time to have a read. You know, when I first became a parent—when my wife and I brought our daughter home—I had this massive, sobering jolt. It hit me square in the chest: “Wow, I really have to grow up now.” Gone were the days of coasting on the easygoing, free-spirited version of adulthood I’d been enjoying. Suddenly, I wasn’t just looking out for myself (or even just for my wife)—I had this tiny, incredible human who needed me for absolutely everything. It was exciting and it was terrifying, all at once.

That’s why I love what Michael’s written in his letter to his future self. He’s completely open about the fears and worries that practically all new parents wrestle with. Becoming a dad (or mum) can be messy and imperfect, and Michael reminds us that we don’t have to pretend otherwise. Heaven knows there’s already enough pressure on us to be “perfect” parents without us piling more onto our own shoulders.

It’s so refreshing to read something where a fellow parent just lays it all out, saying, “Yep, it’s magical, but it’s also bloody hard, and sometimes my kids drive me crazy.” We need more of that honesty. We need spaces where we can admit that it isn’t all rainbows and bedtime stories—where we can own up to the fact that sometimes we have those fleeting moments where we doubt ourselves or even feel like our child’s nappy is out to get us.

Michael’s writing is the perfect antidote to the polished, picture-perfect fantasy of parenthood that can leave us feeling like we’re failing at every turn. And I’m all about that honesty too. If we talk openly about how exhausting, confusing, and occasionally maddening raising children can be, we make it safer for other parents to say, “Yeah, me too.” That sense of connection and acceptance is invaluable.

So if you’ve ever felt that nagging fear—“Am I cut out for this?” “Am I doing any of this right?”—or if you’ve simply had one of those days where you’ve hidden in the kitchen for two minutes of peace, Michael’s words will feel like a breath of fresh air. Check out his Substack. His no-nonsense, keep-it-real style resonates deeply with anyone who's waded through the ups and downs of parenthood. I promise you’ll see yourself in his letters, no matter how old your kids are.

Thanks for being part of this conversation and for giving yourself the space to reflect. You’re not alone in the wonderful chaos of it all. That’s one of the best gifts we can give each other as parents—just showing up and saying, “I get it, and I’ve been there.”

So grab a cuppa, settle in, and let’s jump into Michael’s awesome letter. I think you’ll find it’s the comforting, encouraging nudge you didn’t even know you needed.

Gareth

P.S. Look after the mums in your life today. They sure are the best of us.

Dear Dad,

Hey man,

You’re pretty fucking terrified right now.

First kid coming in a few weeks. You know your life is going to change, you just don’t know how. And, as we both know, not knowing is where the fear lives.

You’re worried that you’re going to be a shitty father. You’re worried that you’re going to be a failure in life, that you never should have left your stable, amazing job to hit the road with your fledgling rock-and-roll band. You’re worried that having a baby is going to hurt your wife, the person you love most. You’re worried that you’re going to be too selfish to be a good father. You’re worried about the exhaustion that every parent has promised you is coming.

Notice how that first sentence is a statement, not a question? It’s a statement because I know how fucking terrified you are.

I know because it’s me. You. I’m us. Well, at least, I used to be you. Now I’m me. We’re the same. But we’re also different. Actually, we’re very different. In fact, the man writing this letter is, in many ways, nothing at all like the man reading it.

The man writing this letter is way more patient in many ways. But he’s also way less patient. Mostly, he doesn’t have time for bullshit. Because, if having kids does anything to and for a person, it’s help them to abandon the anchor of bullshit, to only focus on what really matters.

But enough about me. I’m doing great. We’re actually didn’t become a total failure like you’re worrying right now. We’ve actually been quite successful over the last seven years. I won’t tell you how or why. I’ll let that be a surprise. But just know that we’re doing just fine.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. There are so many things we need to get better at. There are so many ways we can be a better father, a better husband, a better man. But the gulf between the person you thought you might be and the person I am is pretty fucking wide. And so, in that sense, we’re doing great.

But let’s get back to you. You’re pretty fucking terrified right now. But, if I remember correctly, you’re not really showing it. Maybe you’re saying it, which has always been your style, open book and all. But you’re good at not showing it.

Let’s get into it.

First, let’s get back to that shitty father thing.

Yeah. You’re going to be a shitty dad We’re all shitty parents. Sometimes. But sometimes, you’re going to be a great dad. Sometimes, you’re going to be the best dad in the entire universe. Here’s the thing: most days, you fall somewhere in between. Why? Because most days we all fall somewhere in between. The key is to have most days closer to the great dad than the shitty one. Because we’re all shitty parents sometimes.

Our father once told us that the widest gap in the world is the gap between how easy it is to be a bad parent and how hard it is to be a good one. He was right.

It’s going to be so easy to stay the course of who you were, so easy to not strive to be better. So easy to accept mediocrity in your fatherhood, your husbandhood, and your work.

But you know what else is going to be easy? Way easier than you can possibly imagine right now?

Putting them first.

In fact, that might be the craziest part about it, the part that no one tells you. The part where, all of a sudden, you don’t care so much about you. All of your selfishness just disappears and in its place is the need to keep this new creature of yours quiet, calm, and happy. And, in a way, that makes everything so much easier. But don’t worry. That part of you comes back. The part that wants to focus on your own shit. Slowly and then all of a sudden. It seems like it takes about seven years. By then, you can shift a little bit of the focus back to yourself.

But here’s another secret: you won’t. You’ll still be fascinated by them (oh, right. Spoiler alert: you have another one in a few years) and still want to include them in every single thing you do and every single thing you experience.

Next, let’s talk about the pain. I don’t want to get into the nitty gritty but yeah, it’s gonna hurt her. And not just the pain of labor. The hurt lasts for years and years. Her body changes and it won’t go back to what it was and that hurts her emotionally as much as it does physically, despite you telling her constantly that you love her no matter what she looks like. But for her, it’s not so much looks as it is feeling and she feels like a stranger in her own body. All I can tell you there is to shut up and listen but don’t stop reminding her how much you love her body, no matter what it looks like. But yeah, man. It’s gonna hurt. Women are way tougher than men. But you already knew that.

What about failure and success?

Well, like I said, I don’t want to spoil it for you but rest assured, you’re going to be fine. And even when you’re the most fine, even when you’re doing things you never thought possible, you’ll still wonder whether or not you’re a failure. I think that’s part of what makes us good at what we do. We’re always trying to outrun the failure. It’s why we’ve enjoyed our successes. I don’t want to spoil it. But it’s coming. And it’s amazing.

Now let’s talk about the exhaustion. Yeah. Dude. You’re gonna be tired. And you’re not going to sleep for years. And by the time you do sleep, guess what? Your second kid is going to be here.

But you’ve been tired before.

Hell, you were tired for a decade, driving around the country like a jerk, drinking too much and not sleeping enough. Rock and roll, and all. You know what tired is. You know how to handle it. You’re prepared for it.

But the one thing you’re absolutely not prepared for is your capacity for love. It’s pretty wild, man. You have these things, right, these creatures that have totally redefined your life, and you love them more than anything you’ve ever loved in the entire world. And then, this amazing thing happens.

Somehow, every day, you wake up and you love them more.

And you wonder when your love cup is going to be full. Because it feels full. It feels like you can’t possibly love any more than you do right now.

And then, somehow, every day, you wake up and you love them more.

You’re gonna be fine, pal. It’s gonna be hard. But you’re gonna be fine. I promise you.

We’re gonna be fine.

Love,

You

Meet Michael Venutolo-Mantovani

🧑 Who they are: Michael Venutolo-Mantovani is a freelance writer and musician who has contributed to the New York Times, National Geographic, GQ, Wired, and several others. He's also a dad to two amazing kids. He publishes the weekly Substack Being a Dad is Hard as F*ck, which fosters honest and earnest conversations about and around fatherhood. Michael lives with his wife and their children in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

🌍 Where to find them: Being a Dad is Hard as F*ck

💬 What did this letter make you think about? Drop a comment below— Michael will be here to reply!

Want to Write Your Own ‘Dear Dad’ Letter?

✍️ I’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, drop me a DM.

📩 Make sure you don’t miss future letters—subscribe here to ‘Be a Super Dad’ on Substack.

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Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

"Fatherhood is a journey, and we all figure it out as we go. Through my coaching, I help dads build stronger relationships at home, communicate better, and feel more confident in their role. If you're looking for support in your fatherhood journey, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s build the kind of dad you want to be." Book a free Dad to Dad session.

🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read another ‘Dear Dad’ letter or explore my latest blog posts.

Chris’ ‘Dear Dad’ letter,

Tony’s Letter here

Dr Suzanne’s Letter here

Indian Millennial Dad Letter

Please share Be a Super Dad with a friend or family member. Let’s build our dad community.

Share Be A Super Dad

We’ve all heard the in-flight announcement: “Place your own oxygen mask on first before helping others.” It can feel like an odd instruction when you’re used to putting your family’s needs above your own. But if you’re running on empty—exhausted, anxious, and overwhelmed—you won’t be able to give your best to the people counting on you most.

A Dad at Breaking Point

Not long ago, I spoke with a brand-new father who perfectly illustrated this dilemma. While immersed in the excitement and sleepless nights of caring for his newborn, he also felt pressure to excel at work, be a flawless husband, and handle every little detail at home. Over time, the mental and physical overload had him burning out. He found himself snapping at his partner, missing work deadlines, and harbouring guilt around every corner. That’s when he realised: he’d poured himself out until nothing was left.

Whether you’re a dad of one or a dad of many, the lesson remains: granting yourself permission to be “selfish” about your own well-being is an act of service to your family. Think of it as regularly topping up your tank so you aren’t stuck on the side of the parenting motorway with an empty tank and no rescue in sight.

Why Self-Care Matters: The Oxygen Mask and Filling Your Cup

Imagine a car trying to run without fuel. It might sputter along for a while, but it’ll eventually break down. That’s your mind and body if you neglect basic self-care. Taking time to look after yourself isn’t merely about avoiding burnout; it’s about cultivating the patience, presence, and energy you need to be the dad you truly aspire to be.

“Putting your own oxygen mask on first” ensures you can support your children with theirs.

Regular Check-Ins: Evaluating Your Wellbeing

Children’s routines shift, job demands ramp up or slow down, and personal circumstances evolve. If you don’t regularly pause and assess, you may not realise you’re veering off track until you’re utterly spent. Ask:

• Am I daydreaming about peace and quiet every moment of the day?

• Is my stress creeping higher than usual?

• Have I dropped any good habits—like going for walks or journaling—that used to keep me balanced?

A short weekly or monthly self-audit, whether through journaling, meditation, or a trusted friend’s perspective, keeps you tuned in to your mental and emotional state.

Physical Self-Care: Movement, Sleep, and Everyday Energy

Dads sometimes assume physical fitness has to wait until life is “less busy,” but those quieter days can be a long time coming. In the meantime:

• Mini-Workouts: Squats, press-ups, or calf raises during mundane moments—like waiting for the kettle to boil—add up.

• Playful Exercise: Incorporate movement into family time. A game of chase in the garden or an energetic dance session in the lounge can be both bonding and revitalising.

• Sleep Hygiene: If you’ve got a nocturnal newborn, grab naps whenever you can. A fractured sleep pattern is tough, so share night duties with a partner if possible.

• Nutritious Snacking: Keep healthier options (fruit, nuts, yoghurt) easily accessible to ward off the temptation of junk food when you’re knackered.

Emotional Self-Care: Building Emotional Literacy and Calm

Dads can grow up absorbing the message: “Keep emotions in check; don’t be soft.” Yet learning to express and manage your feelings benefits everyone around you—especially your children, who mirror what they see.

• Feelings Wheel: If you’re not sure how to describe what you’re feeling, the Feelings Wheel can help name it—be it “anxious,” “frustrated,” “overwhelmed,” or something more nuanced.

• Journaling: A few sentences at night can release pent-up worries. It’s like clearing the mental cache before tomorrow loads up.

• Mindful Breathing: Inhaling for four counts, holding for four, exhaling for four, and holding again for four is a quick reset when tempers rise—yours or your child’s.

• Open Conversations: Whether it’s a sympathetic friend, a parenting group, or a counsellor, talking it out often lifts the weight off your shoulders.

Psychological Self-Care: Tackling Stress and Mental Overload

Parenthood can feel like juggling flaming torches—work deadlines, family schedules, medical appointments, and the million little things daily life requires.

• Set Boundaries at Work: If you’re perpetually on the clock, consider limiting after-hours emails. Communicate those boundaries respectfully but firmly.

• Micro-Breaks: Get up from your desk once an hour to stretch, get fresh air, or walk around the block. Brief but regular pauses keep stress from boiling over.

• Mindfulness or Meditation: Five or ten minutes of guided practice can help you notice when your thoughts are spiralling, so you can bring them back to calm.

• Professional Support: Coaching, therapy, or counselling can provide coping strategies, perspective, and a steady anchor.

Spiritual Self-Care: Finding Meaning and Grounding

Whether you attend a religious service, commune with nature, or just cultivate a sense of awe in daily life, spiritual health can centre you:

• Quiet Reflection: Time spent in silence—whether praying, meditating, or simply gazing at the sky—can soothe your soul.

• Nature Therapy: A peaceful walk in the park or a quick sit-down by a river can refresh your mind, reminding you there’s more to life than the next deadline.

• Community or Service: Helping others through volunteering, or simply engaging with a supportive group, can sharpen your sense of purpose.

Social Self-Care: Friends, Family, and Wider Support

No matter how strong you are, you don’t have to be an island. Other people can be a part of your self-care plan:

• Shared Childcare: If family or close friends can help with the kids occasionally, accept it without guilt. It frees you up for rest or that overdue dentist appointment.

• Dad Gatherings: A casual night at the pub or a laid-back barbecue with other dads can offer honest conversations about fatherhood’s realities.

• Online Communities: Connecting virtually with like-minded dads, especially if it’s tough to meet face-to-face, can relieve isolation.

• Partner Support: Talk openly with your partner about dividing responsibilities and mutual emotional needs. This team mentality fosters a stronger partnership.

Workplace Self-Care: Balancing Career and Fatherhood

The desire to provide is strong in most dads, yet your bank balance alone doesn’t measure fatherhood success. Achieving some semblance of harmony is crucial.

• Flexible Hours: Many employers now recognise the value of flexible scheduling. Have a conversation to see what’s possible.

• Healthy Workspace: Even small environmental tweaks—like proper lighting or an ergonomic chair—prevent strain and keep you more comfortable.

• Focus on the Important Tasks: Identify your top priorities each day to avoid getting buried under lesser to-dos.

• Knowing Your Limits: If you’re piling on extra tasks constantly, ask whether it’s actually benefiting your family—or leading to burnout.

Addressing the Bigger Issues: When Self-Care Isn’t Enough

No amount of chocolate or bubble baths will solve fundamental life crises. If your stress stems from major problems—like significant debt, deep relationship conflicts, job insecurity, or other pressing concerns—taking a hot bath may feel like “pissing in the wind.” It might offer temporary relief, but it won’t fix the underlying cause. Here are some areas where you might need a deeper dive:

• Financial Struggles:
  If bills are piling up, talk to a financial advisor, explore budgeting apps, or seek debt management services. Facing it head-on can reduce that constant knot of anxiety in your stomach.

• Persistent Conflict:
  Arguments at home or ongoing tension with extended family can weigh heavily. Marriage counselling, family mediation, or conflict resolution coaching can be lifesavers.

• Job Insecurity:
  Feeling like your job could be pulled out from under you is nerve-racking. Refresh your CV, network, and consider talking to a career coach.

• Mental Health Issues:
  Anxiety, depression, or trauma might need more than a quick self-care fix. Professional help—through therapy or medical support—can be the key to lasting change.

Don’t shy away from these bigger hurdles. Seeking substantial support for them is the bravest step towards genuine peace of mind. Once those pillars are stabilised, day-to-day self-care strategies become far more effective.

Give Yourself Permission to Be “Selfish”

“Selfish” has negative connotations, but taking care of yourself is one of the best ways to be a better dad, partner, and friend. You model healthy coping for your children, showing them it’s okay to rest, ask for help, and manage stress constructively. That’s actually what being a good dad is all about.

How many times have you told the people in your circle that you care deeply about them looking after themselves? What if you took your advice to increase your capacity to care about the people you love?

A Note on My Coaching

Struggling with how to juggle all these responsibilities? You’re not alone, and you don’t have to figure it out on your own. My dad-focused coaching services can guide you in navigating stress, creating realistic self-care routines, and tackling deeper life challenges—like relationship issues or time management. Think of it as a safe space to reshape your mindset and your daily habits so you can be the dad you aspire to be.

Get in touch for a free dad to dad call.

What Are Your Self-Care Ideas? (Call to Action)

You’re the expert on your own life. If you have unique or creative self-care strategies—anything from taking up a new hobby to doing star jumps with the kids—we want to hear them. Share them below to inspire other dads who might be reading:

• How do you decompress after a stressful day?

• What’s the quirky trick that always lifts your mood?

• Any hard-earned lessons about the “big issues” that you’d like to pass on?

Drop a comment below with your experiences or questions. And if you know a dad who’s knee-deep in stress and could benefit from this, please share the post with him.

Leave a comment

Better yet, subscribe to our blog so you don’t miss future insights on fatherhood, relationships, and personal growth.

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Closing Thoughts

Self-care isn’t just about lighting candles; it’s about giving yourself space—mentally and physically—to keep going in the long run. If debt, work worries, or big conflicts loom, don’t be afraid to seek specialised help. Once the major issues are under control, simpler self-care rituals like a peaceful cup of tea or a brisk walk can truly shine.

Reflect and Rebalance

• Which part of your life needs the most urgent attention right now: finances, relationships, mental health, or something else?

• Could you carve out a small, daily window—ten minutes or so—to centre yourself or do something that recharges you?

• How might your children benefit if you’re showing up more relaxed, more present, and more prepared to handle life’s curveballs?

Even just thinking about these questions is a step in the right direction. Keep going, dad—you’ve got this. And remember, if you ever need extra guidance, I’m here with coaching support to walk alongside you in creating the balanced, joyful family life you and your loved ones deserve.

"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. This week's letter is from Yash, who starts off reflecting on time which is pretty apt considering the element of time travel in this series. If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say? Share your thoughts in the comments."

Introduction by Gareth Wall

Reading Yash’s letter took me back to a time when I was up at two in the morning, gently rocking my newborn beneath the soft glow of a single lamp. In that quiet, half-awake state, I remember feeling both excited and slightly terrified. It struck me then how fatherhood was already reshaping my life in ways I never anticipated—while also stirring memories of the freedom I enjoyed before becoming a dad.

His reflections on journaling stand out as a particularly profound way of making sense of that swirl of emotions, especially when sleep is scarce and each day rolls into the next. Putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) offers a small haven—a place to untangle our thoughts, to step outside ourselves just enough to see the bigger picture in all the chaos.

If I could ask Yash one thing, it would be how he carves out the time to keep writing, given the relentlessness of new parenthood. Even five minutes can feel like a luxury when you’re needed for a nappy change or a bedtime story. But that’s precisely why making those few moments sacred—whether for journaling, reflection, or even a cup of tea in silence—can become a lifesaver.

Fatherhood isn’t something we simply plunge into and figure out all at once; it’s an evolving process. And finding ways to capture that evolution—like journaling—can give us clarity in the midst of the beautiful, exhausting ride. I’m curious, have you ever found yourself surprised by how writing, a hobby or any creative pursuit brought a sense of calm or perspective to your journey as a dad? If you feel like sharing, I’d love to hear it.

It’s a pleasure to introduce you to Yash, The Indian Millenial Dad.

Dear Yash,

This is Yash. Your older self. Being a Christopher Nolan fan, I know you will not freak out if you get a letter from your older self. So, I am not going into the explanation of how this Rick-and-Morty-type situation is taking place and just getting to the point. Also, my/your/our baby girl is about to wake up soon, so I need to make this quick. Also, I, the older you, need to hear this from time to time. So, I am writing this letter for you, for me, and for anyone who might find this useful.

Here are five thought-provoking ideas that will help you navigate modern parenting.

1) Time is an illusion

Without delving deep into the theory of relativity or quantum mechanics, I would like to state that there is no time. I mean this figuratively as well as relatively.

In modern parenting, there is hardly any time for yourself. But then, what is time, really? It is a construct. Seconds, numbers, hours, etc., are just concepts we tell ourselves to make sense of the world. For example, a minute can feel like an eternity when your baby is having a meltdown and conversely, you might feel that your baby girl has grown-up in the blink of an eye!

It is said that dwell too much on the past and you might feel depressed, think too much of the future and you might feel anxious; thus, focus on the present and experience the moment. But as I have found out, focusing on the present is not always easy, especially with the pressures of modern life. But it is a skill that can be cultivated.

Having said that, there will be situations where the paradox of parenting will be inevitable and overwhelming.

2) Paradox of parenting

You want to spend time working hard and earning money to ensure a comfortable life for your child. But at the same time you want to spend every waking moment with the child. These are two mutually exclusive activities that lead to the paradox of parenting.

We want me-time as well as we-time but it seems like a case of ‘having the cake and eating it too’. This clash of opposing ideas, thoughts, desires results in cognitive dissonance. And what we do to address this cognitive dissonance will determine our peace of mind. For instance, adopting journaling to address the dissonance arising out of the paradox of parenting is a healthy coping mechanism whereas indulging in sugary treats is an unhealthy coping mechanism.

Currently, writing my substack, ‘Indian Millennial Dad’ is my coping mechanism when it comes to dealing with the cognitive dissonance associated with modern parenting. As a writer, this way I am playing to my strengths.

3) Play to your strengths

Parenting is a partnership. And this partnership needs to be equal. However, equal does not mean that because the mom breastfeeds the child, the dad also has to do it! Equal effort is needed but not necessarily at the same thing. Play to your strengths.

For example, you are a night owl, and your spouse is an early bird; it is natural for you to take the night shift. However, parenting is dynamic and what constitutes equal effort can change over time. Thus, in order to make this attitude effortless, continuous communication is required.

Picture this. You and your spouse are exhausted, the baby is crying, and both of you are feeling overwhelmed. Instead of snapping at each other, try saying, 'I am feeling really stressed right now. Can we talk about how we can tag-team this?’

4) Communication is vital

Physical processes can be measured and described objectively, but subjective experience is, by its very nature, subjective. However, we exist at the intersection of such shared realities and subjective realities. We cannot directly access another person's subjective experience (the taste of chocolate, the degree of pain, etc.) even though we might agree on the objective properties of the stimuli that cause those experiences.

Because everyone experiences things differently, it is really important to talk to each other. Here, communication becomes crucial for attempting to bridge the gap between these subjective realities. When the above is applied to modern parenting, it means: communication between spouses is of utmost importance.

Here's the thing; you and your partner are going to be sleep-deprived, stressed, and maybe even a little bit irrational. You are not always going to be at your best. But even then, it is crucial to communicate your thoughts, feelings, and emotions. And when you have given it your all, it is time to let go!

5) Let go

You are going to spill milk, you are going to forget the diaper cream, and you are going to put the baby's clothes on backwards. It is okay. The important thing is to learn from your mistakes and not beat yourself up about them. There's no such thing as a perfect parent.

One of the most important lessons I learned was to let go. You can't control everything, and you are going to have to accept that. For me, this meant realising that there is no 'you/self' as we know it. We are conscious beings shaped by genetics (nature) and memetics (nurture), and all we can do is to be aware.

Since there is no ‘you’ there is no 'free will'. When there's no free will, there's nothing you can truly control. Remember, this is not about giving up; it is about doing your duty without expecting a specific outcome.

I also learned to watch my thoughts and be aware of the stories I tell myself. The greatest trick my ego (false sense of self) played was convincing me of its existence. Letting go of that ego was a huge step towards finding peace. Ultimately, it is about focusing on the present moment by living one breath at a time. The reward is not the result, but experiencing who you become during the journey.

Parting Thoughts

Parenting is going to be messy, it is going to be exhausting, but it is also going to be filled with moments of pure joy. Embrace the chaos, cherish the little moments, and remember that you are not alone. You and your better half are in this together; and it is going to be wonderful.

Speaking of wonderful, I just heard the baby say, ‘Appa’. Seems like she has woken up! Bye.

Meet Yash Pawaskar

🧑 Who they are: Yash Pawaskar is a short-story writer, novelist, and contributing author across publications. He works as a Communications Professional in Mumbai, India. He is a Banking and Insurance graduate with an MBA in Marketing and also holds certifications in physical fitness and mental health. Yash has deep interests in history, psychology, evolutionary biology, sociology, and self-awareness. He is a father to a baby girl and writes light-hearted yet hard-hitting personal essays about modern parenting on his substack, ‘Indian Millennial Dad’.

🌍 Where to find them:

Indian Millenium Dad Substack

💬 What did this letter make you think about? Drop a comment below—Yash will be here to reply!

Want to Write Your Own ‘Dear Dad’ Letter?

✍️ We’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, drop me a DM.

📩 Make sure you don’t miss future letters—subscribe here to ‘Be a Super Dad’ on Substack.

Subscribe now

Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

As Yash mentions, being a dad doesn’t come with an easy step-by-step guide, and let’s be honest, we’ve all had moments when we’re just winging it. You already have what it takes to be the dad you truly want to be—sometimes you just need a bit of support finding your footing. My coaching is all about helping you explore fresh ways to communicate, reconnect with your partner and children, and step up with a clear, confident voice at home.

If you’re longing for deeper bonds with your kids, looking to break old patterns you inherited from your own upbringing, or simply hoping to enjoy family life without feeling so stressed all the time, I’d love to guide you. Together, we’ll craft simple, practical strategies you can use right away—no judgement, no stiff lectures—just honest conversation and proven tools that fit who you are as a father.

Fatherhood is a journey we take one step at a time. So if you’re ready to stop feeling like you’re muddling through and start feeling in control, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s help you become the dad you’ve always imagined—patient, caring, and wholeheartedly present.

Book a Free Dad to Dad Call

🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read

Chris’ ‘Dear Dad’ letter,

Tony’s Letter here

Dr Suzanne’s Letter here or explore my latest blog posts.