Things Im Unlearning as a Father

I didn’t come into fatherhood knowing how to do this.
I came in with a blueprint built from absence, silence, and survival.
So now I’m unlearning. Every day. In real time. With my kids watching.

I’m unlearning that anger is the only emotion men are allowed to show.

I used to think that frustration, impatience, and snapping were just “how dads are.” I also work in the trades as a foreman, shouting cuss words is how we communicate.

Now I know those are often just masks for sadness. For fear. For pain we were never allowed to name.

I’m learning to pause instead of explode.
To say, “I’m feeling overwhelmed,” instead of yelling.
To let my kids see me feel — not just react.
Getting down on their level, offering silence and kind eyes.

I’m unlearning that love has to be earned.

I was raised to believe that I had to behave to be worthy. To perform. To be small.
My kids don’t have to be perfect for me to stay.
They can melt down, screw up, push back — and I’ll still be here.
Because that’s what love actually is.

I’m unlearning that being “the man of the house” means controlling everything.

It means protecting, yes. Providing, yes.
But not through dominance.
Through presence. Through humility. Through listening.
My power isn’t in control — it’s in connection.
Its also in showing up and loving my wife. Being a true partner and carrying my weight.

I’m unlearning that softness is weakness.

It’s wild how many men walk around with their guards up, terrified of tenderness.
I was one of them.
Now I let my daughter brush my hair and my son hold my hand.
Now I cry in front of them when I need to.
Now I tell them, “You can be strong and soft at the same time.”

I’m unlearning that I have to do it all alone.

That asking for help is failure. That struggle is shameful.
I reach out now. I go to meetings. I tell the truth.
Because I want my kids to grow up knowing that strong men know when to lean on others.

I’m unlearning decades of generational weight.
I mess up. I repair. I try again.
Not to be the perfect dad.
But to be a different one.