Since becoming a father in March, I have been asked one question over and over: “What has most surprised you about being a dad that you didn’t expect?” The typical answers that I give in passing are usually “oh, how much work it is,” or “how often Ben goes through diapers,” or my personal favorite, “that babies are horrible at dominoes.” These answers are all correct, but they are not actually my truthful answer to their original question. My choice to keep my responses lighthearted is intentional as I do not want to show the depth of my truthful answer. By nature, I am introverted. By force, I am outgoing and talkative...barely. I choose to give these short answers because I doubt many people have the time to hear it, nor want this easygoing conversation to get too deep too quickly.
The following is my honest answer to the question, “What has most surprised you about being a dad that you didn’t expect?”
An important thing to note before reading further is that my answers are my own and not backed by research. My unique experience is not universal, nor do I claim to be an expert on fatherhood. I am just an imperfect man who is doing his best.
No one told me that being a dad can be lonely.
Finding out that a baby is on the way is some of the most exciting news you can hear. I will never forget the feeling when I first flipped over the pregnancy test and saw the word, “PREGNANT” printed. I was ecstatic, fired up, excited, happy, over-the-moon, etc. Every positive emotion imaginable went through me. One of the more fun things you get to do as an expecting parent is to tell everyone you love. All our friends and family were so excited for us. Maddy and I had a blast telling everyone we knew. We even told strangers and they were still happy for us. Once the first hugs and happy crying were done, it felt like everyone, and their dog, wanted to share horror stories from their own parenting experiences. “Oh, you are never going to sleep!” “Say goodbye to your peace and quiet!” Some parents went as far as to say things like, “I only have one left in the house and she’s a senior thankfully." First off, I never asked for this kind of commentary. People just confidently told me that having a child was hard. Keep in mind that I knew it was going to be hard, but some of these comments made it seem like having a kid was a terrible decision. It is like they almost regretted having a kid. Maybe they did regret it? I didn’t want to stick around to find out. I would just laugh awkwardly and walk away quickly.
In my 30 years, many of my formative experiences have come from athletics, particularly baseball. As both an athlete and a coach, I’ve learned many life lessons through sports. Being an athlete at any level is difficult. I believe that being successful at anything requires great dedication and commitment. I also believe that the biggest myth in all of sport is that you, as an athlete, must be in constant motion. Social media, movies, coaches, and parents everywhere have glamorized “the grind.” Let me be clear–this idea that you need to constantly push yourself to exhaustion to see results, excessive overtraining, never be satisfied or even acknowledge past accomplishments, never take a day off because your opponent is ‘always working,’ and the classic “if you ain’t first, you’re last” mentality is extremely dangerous. It is ruining sports. It is ruining lives. The constant pressure to prove yourself and perform at a high level can be draining. Unhealthy competition often breeds environments of toxicity and negative motivation strategies, leading athletes to do unhealthy things to avoid shame, rejection, and judgment. There is a cost to winning, but athletes may be unknowingly overpaying.
This adoration of toughness was the mindset that I brought to fatherhood. When those parents warned me about not being able to sleep, I laughed internally because I had done hard things before. My arrogance grew as I reminded myself of all the hard things I had done already - “these people don’t know that I was an athlete or that I worked the night shift at Amazon unloading semi-trucks," or "I worked 5 part-time jobs at once, I can handle this on my own!" I was flying dangerously close to the sun as March approached. I thought a lifetime of sports and manual labor jobs had made me beyond prepared for being a dad.
The worst thing about me is that I love(d) comparing myself to others. If comparison truly is the thief of joy, then I am the thief’s biggest fan. It is how my brain functioned not only as an athlete but as a former athlete and a new dad. I found my value and self-worth in how much pain I could take and not show it; how much I could bend and not break. I thrived on knowing that what I was doing to myself both physically and mentally would make other people quit; people who were weak, soft, and unlike me. I loved looking someone in the eyes and believing that I was better than them. It fueled me when I perceived that I was stronger than someone else.
This was the mentality that I brought to fatherhood, but I quickly found out that I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was.
Once Ben was finally here, my life changed forever. The first few days were hectic. The hospital hands you your baby, checks to make sure you have a car seat, and then wishes you good luck. The nurses and doctors don’t send you home with a manual for “how to care for your child,” they just pat you on the back and say, “you’ll figure it out.” Before this I had read a few books on parenting, but they only helped a little bit. Learning how to care for a child is like learning to drive; you can know what the rules are and how to adjust your mirrors, but you won’t know how to do it until you are behind the wheel. It was both the most exciting and most stressful time of my life.
As soon as we got home, we had family and friends at our house constantly eager to offer a helping hand. It never felt like a burden to entertain them or anything like that when they were at our house. Those closest to us brought us meals and just offered to help in any way that Maddy and I needed, whether that was walking our dogs, doing the dishes, or even getting us groceries. The most helpful thing some people did was simply ask, “How are you?” I’m not talking about the casual greeting you say to someone in the office. I am talking about someone genuinely asking how we were doing. Rightfully so, most of these questions were aimed at Maddy and how she was feeling considering she had just birthed a human. She had been through A LOT! Do you know what happens when you Google, “worst pains a person can feel,” giving birth is at the top of the list. My wife was/is incredibly strong, and she handled labor like a champ. I’ve never given birth, and I never will, but I guarantee you that I would not handle labor or pregnancy in general as well as she did. For as strong as I claim to be, my wife is stronger.
Maddy’s answers to how she was doing varied depending on who the person was. Some people got more in-depth answers than others. When the question was posed to me, I always said, “I’m good. A little tired, but still good.” The conversation would quickly move forward. I appreciated the sentiment that they were asking, but, like most dads in my situation, I didn’t want to make it about me; so, I kept my response short and sweet by saying that I was fine.
But I wasn’t fine.
This was the loneliest I had ever been.
It was the hardest at night when I was by myself. Keep in mind that I was beyond ecstatic to be a dad. Holding my son in my hands for the first time has been the proudest moment of my life. But I was scared. Thousands of questions and non-confident thoughts constantly panged in my head seemingly simultaneously: How am I going to take care of my family? How am I going to provide? I am so exhausted. I slept for maybe three hours last night. I have 8 minutes; can I sleep right now? What if I am a bad dad? What if I mess this up? What if Ben doesn’t like me? Is Maddy okay? How can I help her? How do I know if I am doing a good job? How many diapers do we have? Do we need more eggs? His head looks like a cone, is that going to get better on its on? Why does his bellybutton look like that...? Can you overfeed a newborn?
Much of my day was spent rifling through these thoughts and fighting the weight of my upper eyelids. One emotion that seemed to be repeated was guilt. I felt so guilty that I was having these thoughts. I felt so self-centered that I would even be thinking about myself in this moment. “I need to be strong.” “I need to be tougher than this.” “I don’t need to sleep right now. Let Maddy sleep.” The thing about being strong is that you can never let your guard down. I was taken back to my days of being an athlete of just trying to white-knuckle through everything and just out-tough the tired. Being tired is a mindset after all, right?
Like all new dads, I was being baptized by fire into the balancing act of being strong, not being strong but acting like it, and learning how to be a good father. I had no idea what I was doing. Most advice was along the same lines of what the hospital told us, “Oh you’ll figure it out.” It felt like I was asking for directions to the moon and people were giving me the same response, “Oh you’ll figure it out.” Though well-intentioned, this advice sometimes felt like a form of hazing, as if struggling as a new parent is a rite of passage that every new dad must endure. To be fair, they are partly right, we eventually did figure it/are figuring it out. Besides total abandonment, there is no way to dodge the growing pains of new parenting, and that was never a choice for me.
How am I going to get through this?
I come from a long line of fathers, and I am blessed to have an amazing one. The laptop keys would stop working before I could type all the amazing things my dad did for me. Nowadays we talk a lot about being a dad. It was like as soon as Ben was born, I was initiated in a super-exclusive club that only dads know about. It’s like we have our own language that only dads can understand as we talk about dad things. Over the course of the conversations we had, a single concept came up consistently: “What a blessing it is to have a baby that cries because that means he is breathing. How sweet it is to be exhausted because that means you were present. How blessed we are to experience a father’s love.” My dad always ends our conversations the same way by reminding me that he and my mom are praying for me and that he loves me.
Prayer has been a part of my life in its entirety, but it occurred to me that I hadn’t done a good job of praying as a father. Usually, a lot of recent my prayers were something like, “Oh God, please let him stop crying.” Although that was genuine, it was very surface level. When was the last time I legitimately talked to God? I decided to pray. As I prayed, I noticed something: I love Ben. This was an obvious statement, nor is it an original thought. But it never occurred to me how much I truly love this beautiful baby boy. I kept praying.
If I love this baby so much in this moment, how much more does God love him? How much more does God love me?
This thought floored me. In that moment, I felt so at peace and so loved by the King of Kings, The Creator of the Universe. The God that created everything created my son and although I love him with all my existence, it will never match the love God has for Ben. The love of my earthly father is immense and wide, but it doesn’t even begin to compare to God’s love for me. This realization struck with the force of a generational revelation, both jarring and deeply comforting, profoundly shifting my perspective on fatherhood.
When Ben was still just weeks old, he often cried as I changed his diaper. He would scream and scream until his face turned bright red and he’d shake with rage. I would hold him in my hands while telling him, “Ben, it’s okay! I have something better for you! I got you!” My frustration with being exhausted and even anger as Ben cried without ceasing had often distracted me from one of the biggest joys of fatherhood, experiencing the Love of God. How often has God said the exact same thing to me as I scream and yell at Him as I am not getting my way, or I won’t let go of a sin, or I get overwhelmed by anxiety of what is going to happen tomorrow. The answer to that question is that I do this often. I think God takes me in His hands, free of frustration, and says, “Matt, it’s okay! I have something better for you! I got you!”
I often think back to the very first time I held Bennett in the hospital. The nurse asked, “Do you want to hold your son?” I almost cried right then and there. “Yes,” I said as I faked being confident. I have heard a lot of new dads describe the feeling of hesitation during the first embrace with their newborn children. They will often say that they were worried about breaking the baby or even dropping them. This was not how I felt at all. When the nurse handed him to me, suddenly I saw my hands as the safest place in the world for Ben. Nothing was going to hurt my son when he was in my hands. Again, how often have I rejected the hands of God as I tell myself that I can do this alone. I don’t need anyone’s help but my own because I believed that I was mentally stronger than everyone else.
Without God, I am not strong. Without God, I am not a good father. Without God, I am nothing.
Despite the struggles, sleepless nights, and wearisome moments of self-doubt, fatherhood has been the most transformative experience of my life. It has taught me the depth of my capacity for love and the profound strength found in vulnerability. My journey into fatherhood has also deepened my faith in my Heavenly Father, reminding me of the boundless love that God has for me and my son.
One night, as I quietly bounced Ben to sleep, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The doubts and fears subsided, replaced by a quiet yet confident calmness. It was at that moment I realized that being a father isn't about being perfect, being strong, or never feeling weak. It's about showing up, loving my son deeply, and trusting in God's grace to guide me.
Fatherhood, much like athletics, demands dedication, perseverance, and a great work ethic. But unlike any game, it also requires an openness to learn and grow, and to lean on Jesus when the weight feels too heavy. I’ve come to understand that my strength as a father doesn’t come from my ability to endure hardship alone, but from my willingness to embrace help and love from others like Maddy, my Dad, my Mom, my friends, other new dads, and most importantly, from God.
In the quiet moments with Ben, as he peacefully sleeps in my arms, and I gameplan the best way to get him from my arms to the crib, I am reminded that this journey I am on, with all its challenges, is a gift from God. It is in these moments that I feel the true essence of fatherhood—a love so deep and unending that it can only come from the Good Lord Himself.
So, to answer the original question truthfully: The most surprising thing about being a dad is realizing that in my weakest moments, I find my greatest strength in Christ. That strength comes not from within myself, but from the love of my family, my faith, and the unwavering support of my Heavenly Father.
For the first 29 years of my life, I thought I only had the potential to be a fun uncle, a good friend, a strong husband, or maybe even a loyal godfather. Being a father to Ben has made me more than I ever thought I could be.
Fatherhood has shown me that with love, faith, and a willingness to embrace my vulnerabilities, I am enough with God’s help. And that is the greatest surprise of all.
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