Father’s Day: What Am I Really Supposed to Feel?
It’s Father’s Day again.
Maybe you’ll get a handmade card, a gift, a smile from someone trying their best to say thank you. Maybe you’ll do the giving, not the receiving. Or maybe you’ll stay quiet, scroll past the posts, and not really know how to feel.
I’ve never had a father.
So when it comes to being one, I’ve always felt like I’m learning without a map. There’s no role model to fall back on — no “this is how it’s done.” Just a quiet space where something should’ve been. I’ve had to work things out as I go: how to show up, how to care, how to hold space for others when I wasn’t shown how to be held myself.
That absence leaves a mark. One you carry into adulthood, into parenting, into the way you relate to yourself.
In the UK, 1 in 3 children grow up without their biological father present — that’s nearly 4 million kids living fatherless.
(Source: Centre for Social Justice)
The Performance Trap
Father’s Day, like so many cultural milestones, can feel a bit scripted. You’re meant to show up, smile, maybe pose for a photo, maybe receive some socks. It’s a performance — and for some men, that’s all it ever is.
But underneath it, there’s often something deeper we don’t say out loud.
Maybe you don’t feel appreciated. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’re trying really hard, and no one seems to see it. Or maybe you just don’t know what you’re supposed to feel — because no one ever showed you what healthy, vulnerable fatherhood looks like in the first place.
Rewriting the Story
Here’s a thought: what if Father’s Day wasn’t about what you get, or even what you give?
What if it became a moment to check in with yourself?
Am I proud of how I’ve shown up this year?
What kind of father (or man) do I want to be?
What did I need, growing up, that I still carry today?
What would feel good to receive — not just gifts, but emotionally?
And here’s one I rarely ask myself: What do I love about being a father?
For me?
I love seeing my kids grow into their own people — with their own ideas, humour, and values.
My son’s 19 now. He’s off travelling in the Far East — self-funded, independent, exploring the world on his terms. Proud dad moment, that. And what’s really surprised me? He’s started sending me these little messages — thoughts about gratitude, mature reflections on relationships… all these things I wasn’t sure he’d ever absorbed from my “coachy” ramblings over the years. Turns out he was listening. We share football as our international father-son language — it keeps us connected across time zones. And he tells me he loves me, which still hits me in the chest every time. Quiet, powerful stuff.
My daughter’s 15. Which means, quite naturally, she has absolutely no interest in walking the dog with me, watching telly with me, or doing anything for too long with me! But still — she’ll play tennis. She’ll always sit down to watch our football team. And now and then, we sneak a treat from the kitchen when Mum’s not looking. Those little moments? I treasure them.
I’ll be honest: most days, I don’t really know what to say to them. What gets through. What matters. The right words don’t always come — especially now they’re older. And yet, I’m starting to think… maybe we try too hard. Maybe we put pressure on ourselves to say the right thing, give advice, make an impact — when actually, just being there is the impact.
Maybe presence is enough.
Not flashy. Not perfect. Just consistent. Attentive. Loving in the background — available, even when silent.
And that’s something I can do.
The Cost of Keeping It In
Here’s something we don’t talk about enough: men account for around three-quarters of suicides in England and Wales.
Not because men don’t feel — but because we’ve been conditioned not to express.
In 2023, 76% of UK suicides were men.
Suicide is the single biggest killer of men under 50 in the UK.
(Source: Office for National Statistics)
Yet, only 36% of referrals to NHS talking therapy services are for men.
(Source: Mental Health Foundation)
That silence builds pressure. And pressure has to go somewhere.
So if Father’s Day stirs something in you — sadness, resentment, pride, confusion — that’s OK. Let it be there. Talk about it. Write about it. Reflect on it. You’re allowed to have feelings you can’t explain. You’re allowed to need something, even if you don’t know what it is yet.
A Different Kind of Strength
Being a man — or a father — doesn’t mean having all the answers.
It means being honest about what’s real.
Sometimes strength looks like vulnerability. Like asking for support. Like admitting that you’re doing your best… and sometimes still feel lost.
So wherever you are this Father’s Day — smiling, grieving, frustrated, grateful, numb — just know this: you’re not alone. And if no one’s told you this lately…
You’re doing better than you think.
Need to Talk? You’re Not Alone.
If you’re struggling, or just need a space to speak without judgment, Andy’s Man Club is a brilliant place to start.
They run free weekly talking groups across the UK, offering men a space to open up, support one another, and realise they’re not alone. No pressure, no therapy jargon — just real talk with other men who get it.
Because talking isn’t weakness.
It’s the start of something stronger.
The way you talk to yourself matters.
#FathersDay #MensMentalHealth #ModernFatherhood #BeingPresent #DadsMatter #MentalHealthAwareness #TheWayYouTalkToYourselfMatters