To Myself, Before Becoming a Father

Written for myself — before becoming a father.

I am not a father yet, but I can feel that I will become one.

It is not something I am actively chasing. It feels more like a phase that is already moving toward me — something that will arrive whether I prepare perfectly or not.

We are thinking about December 2026. Then pregnancy, and months after that. Somewhere around late next year, life will change.

There is still time, but not as much as it feels.

Right now, I know who I am.

I am intense, strategic, and creative. I like control — especially over time and emotion — because in my mind, if I can control those two, I can control everything else.

My freedom is simple:

• I can move
• I can go out
• I can return
• I can express myself fully with my wife

That movement — both physical and emotional — is what makes me feel alive.

A large part of my life revolves around her. She is not just my partner.

She is my center of gravity.

That is where my fear begins.

I am not afraid of responsibility or work. What I am afraid of is the shift — the kind that is not visible, but quietly changes everything underneath.

When I try to imagine the worst version of myself as a father, I don’t see someone who fails loudly.

I see someone who slowly disconnects — from my wife, from the child, and eventually from myself.

A version of me that feels trapped, not physically but internally. Someone who loses rhythm, loses edge, and loses that quiet sense of control I hold onto.

I noticed something small recently, but it stayed with me.

When our dog came back to stay with us for a few days, I felt something I didn’t expect.

It was not about the dog. It was about the shift in attention.

Her attention expanded, naturally.

And in that moment, I felt like I lost a small part of her.

It was irrational, but real.

My instinct was not to express it or understand it.

Instead, I wanted to detach — to go out, distract myself, and act like it didn’t matter.

That reaction showed me something I didn’t want to see.

Not jealousy, but dependence.
Not weakness, but attachment.

There are things I don’t want to lose.

The connection between us.
The attraction.
The polarity.

That space where we are not just partners — but still alive to each other.

Right now, that connection gives me energy. And without it, something in me feels like it fades.

Maybe that is not fully true, but that is how it feels today.

When I try to imagine the kind of father I respect, I don’t see a complete model.

I only see fragments.

Someone open, not overly controlling. Someone who is not always present, but is there when it matters.

Someone who creates a space where a child can speak freely, even about things that are difficult to say.

Not a ruler.
Not distant.
Not absent.

Just… available, in the moments that matter.

What I reject is easier to see.

Tightness.
Control for its own sake.
Authority without understanding.

A father who is physically there, but emotionally closed.

There are still many things I don’t understand.

I don’t know how the center of my life will shift.

I don’t know how to not hold my wife as that center.

I don’t know how our connection will evolve when her role expands into something deeper.

I don’t know how to stay present without needing to be the center of attention.

Right now, when she is tired, my instinct is to reduce myself — to not add pressure, to step back.

But I can already see the tension in that.

If I keep stepping back, at what point do I disappear?

I am not clear yet, but I am starting to see the direction.

Maybe this phase is not about losing something.

Maybe it is about building something that does not rely on being the center — something steadier, something self-generated.

I don’t feel ready.

But I am no longer unaware.

And maybe that is where it begins.