Behind the Chair: The First Men in Our Lives

One of the things I’ve learned after years behind the chair is that every woman has a story about the men who were apart of their lives.

I’ve listened to women in their twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, and beyond talk about their fathers. Some speak with admiration and gratitude. Some with grief. Some with disappointment. Some with a longing for something they never quite had. No matter the story, one thing is clear: fathers matter.

My own relationship with my father has always been complicated. He was in and out of my life growing up, and there were many moments when I felt unseen or confused. While he was part of my story, we never developed the kind of close father-daughter relationship I longed for. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that those early relationships shape us more than we know.

When I was younger, I often found myself drawn to men who needed fixing. Men who needed saving. Men who carried a familiarity that felt comfortable, even when it wasn’t healthy. Of course, I didn’t understand that at the time. I thought love meant helping someone become who they could be. What I’ve actually learned is that people can only save themselves. And sometimes what feels familiar isn’t actually what’s healthy.

Looking back, I can see how much of my understanding of relationships was influenced by what I experienced growing up. We often repeat what we know before we learn something different. Then I met my husband.

What stands out most isn’t that he’s perfect but close (IYKYK) it’s that he’s willing to grow.

He’s the kind of father who listens. The kind who wants to understand his daughters, not simply raise them. The kind who continues learning, asks questions, admits when he’s wrong, and genuinely wants to become the best dad he can be. And he’s really nailing it.

I think partly it comes from the example he had growing up. But I also think it comes from intention.

One of the things I admire most about him is that he has never viewed parenting as helping me raise our daughters. He views it as raising our daughters.

In our family, there aren’t many conversations about “his jobs” and “my jobs.” There are simply things that need to be done, and we do them together.

There have been seasons when my career required more of me, and without hesitation he adjusted. He’s the one who grocery shops. He’s the one who makes dinner most nights. He’s done the pick-ups, the drop-offs, the appointments, and countless everyday tasks that previous generations often assigned to mothers.

But our daughters aren’t watching a dad who is babysitting his kids.

They’re watching a father actively participating in their lives. They’re watching a husband who sees parenting as a partnership. And I know that matters.

Because one day they’ll choose relationships of their own, and I want them to know that caring for a family isn’t women’s work. Emotional support isn’t women’s work. Showing up isn’t women’s work. It’s the work of people who love one another.

Some of our hardest parenting moments have required us to lean on each other more than ever. Navigating our daughter’s eating disorder wasn’t something one parent carried while the other stood on the sidelines. We learned, listened, worried, advocated, and grew together.

We’ve never done it perfectly, but we’ve always done it as a team.

As millennial parents, we’re trying to walk a line many of our generation understands well. We want our daughters to be independent, capable, and confident enough to know they don’t need a man to complete them. At the same time, we want them to know that healthy men matter. We want them to know what respect feels like. What emotional safety feels like. What being heard feels like.

We want them to know that their worth isn’t determined by whether someone chooses them. We want them to know that validation doesn’t need to come from unhealthy relationships, toxic friendships, or people who make them question who they are. Learn from our mistakes. My mistakes.

We hope some of that confidence is built at home through parents who see them, know them, and love them exactly as they are. Because fathers matter. Not because they are perfect. Not because they have all the answers. But because little girls are always watching.

They’re learning how they deserve to be spoken to. How conflict is handled. How love is expressed. What respect looks like. What partnership looks like.

And while those lessons begin in childhood, they don’t end there. Even as women, we continue carrying those early messages into friendships, marriages, careers, and the way we see ourselves.

Today, when I watch my husband with our daughters, I’m reminded that fathers don’t have to be perfect to be impactful. They simply need to be present. To listen. To know their children. To keep showing up.

Maybe that’s why this topic matters so much to me. Not because my story was perfect, but because it wasn’t. Because every generation has an opportunity to change the story for the next one. Sometimes the best gift we can give our kids isn’t repeating our story—it’s learning from it and turning it into a different one.

Heather xo