Daddy Issues: The Dad You’re ‘Supposed’ to Be Is Miserable

There’s a strange thing that happens when you become a dad.

People stop seeing you, but they don’t stop projecting. They assume your personality is now solely based around children. Text threads go quiet. The invites slow down. You get welcomed into a club you never asked to join, where the uniform is khakis and the expectations are low.

It’s bullshit.

Fatherhood didn’t change who I am, it clarified what I refuse to become.

Yes, it’s lonely sometimes. Yes, it’s a shedding of an old skin. But it’s also the clearest I’ve ever been about who I am, what I value, and how I want to show up in this world.

I love being a dad. I love watching my son’s smile widen when he sees a dog. I love the “hey, you’re back, fuck yeah!” giggle when I walk into his room when he wakes up. I love his eight tiny teeth, his mischievous side-eye before grabbing a handful of dirt from the potted plant in the living room, and the krinkle of his nose when he tries to sniff a flower. These are not small things. They are the anchor points of my joy and the reason I’m unwilling to let a broken world tell me what kind of man, or father, I’m allowed to be.

But I don’t love the scripts that we’re supposed to follow. The ones that are echoed from most parenting social media accounts, or parroted by the conversations and one-liners that come fast and furiously when speaking to other parents.

I’m not here for the Dr. Rick Progressive Insurance arc. I’m not becoming my parents. I’m definitely not subscribing to the myth that getting older means becoming less curious, more conservative, or less invested in joy. Or that becoming a parent means you’re no longer allowed to have hobbies, or interests outside of your role as parent.

This past year, I’ve felt both everything and nothing at once. Parenthood demands your whole being while the world around you shrinks you into a type: a “provider,” a “grown-up,” a “dad.”

I’m still me. I’m just more intentional about it.

Masculinity Is Broken. It’s Costing Us Connection.

Nearly 70% of men report having fewer close friendships than they did a decade ago. In the wake of new fatherhood, that number is even more sobering. The average American man names just one close friend, and 15% report having zero.

Let’s be real, traditional masculinity isn’t just outdated, it’s isolating. We’ve told men that to be strong is to be silent. That to be a father is to sacrifice identity. That to be vulnerable is to be weak. That if you’re not suffering, you’re not doing it right.

Being gay taught me something else: masculinity can be soft. Protective. Gentle. Joyful. It can hold a baby in one arm and a protest sign in the other. It can reject tradition without rejecting legacy.

The emotional labor of connection still falls disproportionately on women. Queer folks have long built chosen families out of necessity. So what happens when queer men become fathers? There’s no map for that—but we’re out here creating one anyway.

I’ve felt it in my own life: text threads I no longer get added to, events I hear about after the fact, friends who assume I’ve become someone else—someone who doesn’t belong anymore. Add to that the subtle shame of being told by every online parenting voice that somehow you’re doing most things wrong, and suddenly you’re being handed a future you never asked for.

But what if that’s a lie too?

I don’t want a gold star for “showing up.” I want community. Real connection. And space to be more than a headline or a token.

The Next Chapter Isn’t Coming. We Have to Write It.

The bar is so low for dads that we get congratulated for “babysitting” our own kids. All while queer families still have to justify their existence. Our healthcare is debated. Our parental rights are litigated. Our joy is politicized.

But what if being a dad isn’t about fitting in, it’s about building something better?

What if masculinity isn’t something you inherit, but something you cultivate?

Father’s Day doesn’t need a rebrand. It needs a reckoning. If the culture is still asking men to grow up by shutting down, then no wonder we’re so disconnected.

I want to raise a child who knows that love isn’t gendered. That curiosity is strength. That joy is a form of resistance.

I want to live in a world where being a dad doesn’t require a personality transplant.

We’re not behind. We’re just beginning.

So if this feels like you—like you’re shedding, redefining, resisting—you’re not alone.

Fatherhood isn’t about becoming a new person. It’s about becoming yourself, on purpose, and sharing it.

We don’t need more quiet dads. More lonely men. More borrowed playbooks from a world that couldn’t see us, and no longer exists.

We need dads who give a shit.

Who ask better questions. Who model softness and strength. Who take pride in showing up weird, curious, present, and full of life.

Because fatherhood isn’t about checking out. It’s about checking in—with yourself, your kid, and the future you’re shaping together.

Happy Father’s Day.