It’s been one year since my entire life flipped.
One year since I became a dad.
And yeah — people warn you it’s life-changing, but they don’t tell you it’s going to change every single corner of your life. The way you think. The way you move. The way you see the world.
Two days before my daughter was born, I lost my job. Not over the phone — in person. I sat across from my boss in that small room, saw his face, and knew exactly what was about to happen. I’d been there five years; I could read the signs before they even spoke the words. But knowing didn’t make it hurt less. The timing? That’s what gutted me. I walked out with a manila folder and this heavy thought in my head: You’re about to bring a kid into the world, and you’ve already failed.
That’s the first unspoken truth about fatherhood no one really says out loud: You will doubt yourself. You will question if you’re enough — not just once, but over and over. And sometimes those doubts will show up before you even hold your child.
But here’s the plot twist I couldn’t see then — God was working even in that moment. At the time, losing my job felt like the worst thing that could happen. But in the way that actually mattered, it turned out to be the best. He cleared my schedule and gave me something no paycheck could buy: time. I got her first three months. All of them. No missed bedtimes. No “sorry, I can’t, I’m stuck at work.” Just me and her, naps with her sleeping on my chest, early mornings watching her stretch and blink awake, afternoons memorizing the weight of her in my arms.
The first year of being a dad is wild.
It’s pure joy and deep exhaustion at the same time. It’s looking at your kid in awe and then, five minutes later, wondering if you’re completely fucking this up. It’s the pride of seeing them crawl for the first time and the panic of realizing now you have to baby-proof everything in sight. It’s their laugh filling the room like sunlight, and you thinking, I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping that laugh safe.
And then there’s the mom. Bro… listen to me when I say this: she’s a warrior. My wife is the reason my daughter is who she is becoming. She’s the one teaching her to sign before she can speak, the one whose body and soul have been stretched beyond anything I could imagine, the one showing up every single day even when she’s running on fumes. She’s shaping our daughter’s world in ways I’ll never be able to repay.
And here’s the second unspoken truth — the one that sneaks up on a lot of us: you can’t put your relationship with your partner on the back burner. Yes, the baby needs you. Yes, your whole life revolves around keeping this little human alive. But the love that brought that baby into the world? That has to stay alive too. The best advice I ever got — and the one I try to live by every day — was:
“Don’t stop dating your wife. One day the kids will grow up and leave, and you don’t want to wake up next to a roommate.”
And if you’re not together with the mom, the way you treat her still matters. Your kid is watching, learning. How you respect her, speak to her, and work with her teaches them one of the most valuable lessons in life: what love, kindness, and respect are supposed to look like.
Here’s another truth: The milestones aren’t just theirs — they’re ours too. The first crawl, first steps, first “da-da.” They’re proof. Proof that even on the days you feel lost, something you’re doing is working.
Being a dad isn’t about having all the answers. Honestly? Half the time, I have no clue what I'm doing. But the promise I keep — the one that matters — is to always show up. To be there when they’re scared, when they’re proud, when they’re heartbroken, when they’re dreaming big. To be the one they know will listen and understand, even if I can’t fix it.
So if you’re about to be a dad, or you already are one and you’re feeling that mix of pride and panic — hear me when I say this: you’re not alone. The fear, the exhaustion, the quiet voice that wonders if you’re enough… it’s all part of it. None of us have it all figured out. We’re all just learning as we go, making mistakes, and trying again the next day. And that’s not failure — that’s the job.
That’s fatherhood.