when parenting broke my equation…
Before kids, I knew what “good” looked like.
In my career, there were metrics. In my personal life, there were clear signals. I could measure progress, performance, impact. I could hold it all together… and I did.
But parenting?
Parenting laughed in the face of my metrics.
Suddenly, there was no scores. No instant feedback. No “great job” emails. The output wasn’t visible in the same way. And for the first time, I wasn’t the only special person in my wife’s life. The centre of gravity shifted, and my ego noticed.
There were moments I felt hollow in my chest when my daughter chose her mum over me. Or when I couldn’t connect with the girls as deeply as I wanted, and my brain told me I was failing. I prefer depth over minutes spent—but with kids, sometimes it’s not about “quality time,” it’s just about being around.
I’ve had days where I wanted their affection so much I could feel myself subtly performing for it—trying to make them laugh, be the “fun” dad, create the moment. And other days, I’ve let go of the sparkle, leaned in when the natural urge came, and realised those moments felt richer.
Add COVID to the mix; a pressure cooker of isolation, uncertainty, and relentless togetherness and the cracks showed. I realised I’d been holding everything together at my mental bandwidth for years without noticing the cost. And when that cost finally came due, it pushed me over.
Ego crept in.
Why am I doing all this if I’m not getting enjoyment back?
I saw how transactional I’d become, how much my efforts in life had always been tied to a return: recognition, appreciation, affection, results.
But parenting doesn’t always give you that. At least not immediately. It’s slow-burn work. It’s invisible work. It’s messy, exhausting, and sometimes thankless work.
As Twos, we are wired to give but often with an invisible scoreboard running in the background: If I give, I’ll get love in return. If I show up, I’ll be chosen. If I pour myself out, they’ll see how special I am.
When that doesn’t happen, when the love doesn’t come back in the way we expect — we can feel hollow, resentful, or unseen.
Parenting exposed that pattern for me.
It showed me how often I tied love to transaction, even unconsciously. And it invited me into a deeper, harder, but far more freeing practice: to love without keeping score.
I’m still unlearning my old equation.
But I think parenting might be the greatest teacher I’ve ever had, not because it makes me feel special, but because it asks me to love without keeping score.