The first time I held my daughter, I felt this huge swell of love—like the kind of thing you read about in books or hear in a movie voiceover. But two days later, when I was standing in my kitchen holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and Googling “how long can you go without sleep before you hallucinate,” I realized something else:
I loved my kid.
But I missed my freedom.
It’s not a popular thing to admit. As a dad, you’re supposed to be the steady one. The one who “steps up.” The guy who builds the crib with his bare hands and then beams with pride as his baby sleeps peacefully in it for six uninterrupted hours. The only problem is: that crib became a very expensive laundry hamper, and the baby only slept in it for 20 minutes—once.
The truth is, those first few years of fatherhood were some of the most beautiful, disorienting, overwhelming, and straight-up exhausting years of my life.
I felt like I was living in two parallel universes: one where I was overflowing with love, excitement, and happiness and another where I was feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, and occasionally ashamed that I wasn’t enjoying every moment the way I thought I should.
But here’s the thing: both can be true.
The First Year: Feeling Useless (and Like a Third Wheel)
In the beginning, I had no idea what I was doing. I changed a few diapers, sure. I bounced her up and down like every dad on Instagram. But when she cried? She wanted Mom. When she was hungry? Mom. When she was tired, cranky, gassy, or just generally displeased with the state of the world? You guessed it: Mom.
I felt like the world’s worst sidekick—just off-screen, holding the diaper bag and hoping I was still part of the movie.
Eventually, I learned that one of the best ways I could support my daughter was by supporting my wife. I started doing small, unglamorous things: letting her shower without interruption, making food before she asked, holding the baby at 3 AM so she could sleep an extra hour. At the time, it didn’t feel heroic. But looking back, those were the moments I actually became a dad—not just in title, but in practice.
Exhaustion: The Great Identity Eraser
Sleep deprivation is no joke. They use it in military interrogations for a reason. When you’re deep in it, it does something strange to your brain—you forget basic words, cry at commercials, and start to question your own existence.
I wasn’t just tired. I was… not myself. My humor dulled. My patience disappeared. I lost interest in things I used to love. I missed late-night movies. I missed weekends that felt like weekends. I missed having an uninterrupted thought.
And that made me feel guilty. Because again—I loved my kid. But I was also mourning a life that had vanished almost overnight.
Nobody warned me that becoming a father isn’t just gaining something—it’s losing things, too. And part of the work is learning how to grieve without resentment.
Adjusting to the New Me
At some point—I couldn’t tell you when, maybe month 14 or 20—I realized I wasn’t going back to the guy I was before. That guy didn’t exist anymore.
And instead of fighting it, I had to ask: Who am I becoming now?
There was some trial and error. I leaned too far into work for a while, thinking productivity would fix my identity crisis. (Spoiler: it didn’t.) I tried to be Super Dad, which just made me resentful and snippy when I inevitably failed. But over time, I landed in something that felt more sustainable: doing fewer things, but doing them more intentionally. Slower mornings. More walks. Letting go of perfection.
There were still hard days—tantrums in Target, blowouts in the car seat, those random 3-week stretches where nobody in the house sleeps—but they didn’t feel like the end of the world anymore. They just felt like… life.
Tom Hanks Was Right: This Too Shall Pass
There’s a clip of Tom Hanks talking about how he learned to deal with stress, pressure, and pain. He says the words that carried him through were:
“This too shall pass.”
Watch the clip
And when I heard that, I thought: That’s it. That’s fatherhood.
The sleepless nights?
This too shall pass.
The tantrums?
This too shall pass.
The feeling of being overwhelmed, underprepared, and occasionally invisible?
This too shall pass.
But here’s the bittersweet truth:
So do the snuggles.
So do the little hands reaching for you.
So do the giggles, the mispronounced words, the way they think you’re the greatest man who ever lived.
That too shall pass.
So you hold it all. The beauty and the burnout. The pride and the panic. The love and the loss of who you were.
Fatherhood isn’t about feeling one thing. It’s about learning how to feel everything—often at once.
Common Troubles Nobody Talks About
If you’re a new dad and you’re feeling lost, let me tell you: you’re not alone. Here’s a quick list of things I (and many other dads I’ve talked to) struggled with—and what helped me (or what I wish I had done sooner):
- Feeling disconnected from your partner
Your relationship shifts from “romantic team” to “logistics department” real fast.
What helped me was carving out regular date nights—even if they didn’t look like “dates” at first. Early on, it was hard for my wife to leave the baby, so I had to be patient and get creative. Sometimes it was a walk with coffee while the baby slept in the stroller. Other times it was a picnic dinner on the living room floor after bedtime. It doesn’t need to be fancy. It just needs to be intentional time together—no matter how tired you are. - Losing your sense of purpose outside of fatherhood
Suddenly you’re not sure if you’re a man, a husband, a dad, or just a tired snack-fetching machine.
What grounded me was being of service to others. Whether it was helping a coworker, checking in on a friend, or just showing up for someone else—it reminded me I still had value outside the walls of my house and the rhythms of parenting. - Pressure to “provide” while also being present
Society wants you to work 60 hours and be home for bedtime stories. You can’t do both well, all the time.
What helped me was shifting my focus to quality over quantity. When I’m home, I try to really be home. That means putting my phone away, closing the laptop, and choosing to be present—even if it’s just for 30 minutes. Those moments add up. - Lack of community
Moms often have built-in support groups. Dads are just expected to “figure it out.”
This one? I let it slide for way too long. Only recently have I started reestablishing a circle of guy friends, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I had it again. In hindsight, I would’ve prioritized building male friendships the same way I prioritized date nights. Brotherhood matters—and it’s worth fighting for.
Final Thoughts from One Fool to Another
If you’re reading this with one eye open while bouncing a baby on your knee, I see you. If you’re halfway through your third cup of reheated coffee and wondering if it’s normal to feel a little… lost, I’ve been there.
You’re not broken. You’re just changing. And change is never clean, quiet, or comfortable.
But it’s worth it.
One day, you’ll look back and miss the chaos. You’ll miss the mess. You might even miss the part of you who was fumbling through it all, still learning how to be a dad.
So keep going, brother. This too shall pass.
But while it’s here—love it the best you can.
The Focused Fool Newsletter – Growing as Men. Leading as Fathers.
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