A single father reflects on loneliness, fatherhood, and raising a daughter alone—
Every normal parent wants their children to succeed in life more than they did. They spend their entire lives working hard to give them the conditions that might allow them to achieve what was denied to them.
“Children are the best investment,” my dear mother used to repeat over and over again. As a child, it always felt as if she had patented that sentence. In a way, she had. It is hard to imagine another mother in human history who sacrificed herself so completely for the sake of her children’s future, the way my mother did at every stage of her life as a parent.
The logic is simple: children take what they receive at home as their starting point in life. From there, they try to improve it, upgrade it, or at the very least, choose differently.
Every child starts from a different starting line.
Sara’s starting line keeps me awake at night.
Sara’s Starting Line
Sara is four months old.
I am fifty-two and a half.
She will grow up in a single-parent household, raised by a father with a solitary lifestyle, few close friends, and a long-standing, deliberate choice to live without a romantic partner.
Beyond the fact that my solitary lifestyle may create uncomfortable situations for her in kindergarten, elementary school, and certainly in high school, there is another problem: I am the most immediate and accessible role model she has.
That is bad news for me.
And most likely for her as well.
A Father as a Role Model
They say daughters tend to choose their partners based on the father figure they grew up with. Does that mean Sara will one day look for an older man — a loser — someone who rarely leaves the house, addicted to old movies and PlayStation?
And if so — how the hell do you prevent that in advance?
Before Sara was born, I lived my life entirely on my own terms, accountable to no one. No meaningful social life. No relationship. Just me and the strange fixations that took root in me back in childhood.
I am fully aware that I am not a good example for my daughter. To be honest, I am not even sure I am capable of changing anything about myself after decades of living this way. And yet, one thing is clear to me: if I want Sara to have a better foundation in life, and a more worthy male role model than the one she currently has, I must make drastic changes.
The problem is that I am not at all sure I am capable of making them.
Entering a relationship — perhaps even getting married — in complete contradiction to my basic nature and desires, solely for the sake of my daughter’s future, feels like a move doomed to fail. I have no doubt such a relationship would not last.
And still, one thing I know for certain: Sara deserves far more than what I am offering her right now.
The Real Danger
At the moment, Sara enjoys endless attention from her grandmother and grandfather. In fact, we spend more time living in their home than in ours, out of my desire to expose her to the presence and affection of other family members, not just her father. My sister’s family — Sara’s aunt and cousins — also visit frequently and shower her with love.
At first glance, the situation isn’t bad at all. Thank God.
But it won’t be enough.
Beyond the fact that her grandparents are approaching eighty and, sadly, will not be part of her life forever, Sara will ultimately grow up with only her father. And as I have already admitted, that is not good enough — especially in terms of how it will shape her understanding of what a “normal” family looks like and how it functions.
And yet, all of this pales in comparison to the real danger.
What if Sara, who will love her father and may even admire him, chooses to adopt his way of life? What if she too decides to live alone — detached from society, living a life of self-denial, without love, without intimacy, without partnership?
If she refused to adopt even the smallest part of my miserable lifestyle, I could live with that. But if Sara chooses a life like mine, I will have failed as a father.
As my mother used to tell me again and again: “Children are the best investment.” And therefore, if necessary — you turn worlds upside down. Even your own private world.
My mother is my role model when it comes to parenting. I wish for myself, and above all for my daughter Sara, that I will manage to be a father with the same uncompromising commitment my mother showed me as her son.
I want to change — for my daughter.
But how, for God’s sake, do you do that —
at fifty-two and a half?
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Read Next
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
Beyond the Blog
Alongside this blog, I also give talks about late fatherhood, surrogacy, and the emotional journey of becoming a parent later in life.
Sara and Me 
‘A Bad Role Model’ hit me much harder than I expected.
What makes this piece so powerful is that it never tries to sound inspirational or polished. It feels painfully honest — the kind of honesty most people avoid when writing about parenthood, loneliness, or self-worth.
The author doesn’t present himself as a hero. He openly questions himself, admits his fears, and allows the reader to see the vulnerable parts most memoirs hide. That’s exactly why the story works.
As an American reader, I also found the perspective refreshing because it goes beyond the typical “single parent success story.” It’s really about a man trying to become the father he never believed he could be, while carrying years of emotional baggage and self-doubt.
There’s a quiet emotional intensity throughout the piece that stayed with me long after I finished reading. It feels real, human, and deeply relatable — even if your life circumstances are completely different.
If the rest of the book is written with this level of emotional honesty, it’s going to resonate with a lot of readers.
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Most memoir-style blog posts lose me after a few paragraphs. This one didn’t.
‘A Bad Role Model’ reads less like a carefully crafted personal brand story and more like a late-night conversation with someone finally telling the truth about himself. The writing feels raw in the best possible way — direct, self-aware, sometimes uncomfortable, but never fake.
What stood out to me most was the balance between humor and sadness. One moment I caught myself smiling at the author’s dry self-observations, and the next I felt the weight of years of loneliness and insecurity underneath them.
There’s also something universally relatable about the fear of not being “good enough” for the people we love. Even though the story is deeply personal, the emotions behind it are incredibly familiar.
This isn’t a polished motivational story. It’s better than that. It’s honest.
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‘Maybe I was never meant to be a role model.’
That line stayed with me long after I finished reading.
What makes this essay stand out is the author’s willingness to expose the thoughts most people would carefully edit out. When he writes about feeling inadequate, socially disconnected, or afraid of failing as a father, it never feels performative. It feels painfully real.
I was especially struck by the contrast between the title, ‘A Bad Role Model,’ and the vulnerability throughout the piece. Ironically, the honesty itself becomes the reason readers connect with him.
Another line that hit hard was: ‘I carried loneliness with me for most of my life.’
There’s no self-pity in it — just quiet truth. And that’s what gives the writing emotional weight.
By the end, this didn’t feel like a blog post anymore. It felt like reading a chapter from a deeply human memoir about fear, fatherhood, and the struggle to believe you deserve love.
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