My Kids Don’t Need a Perfect Dad; They Need a Present One

I spent years thinking I had to “fix” my brain to be a good parent.

I was paranoid that whatever was “broken” in my brain would infect my kids, too.

I wasn’t making enough money. I constantly felt like I was flailing every day. I felt like I wasn’t smart enough. I couldn’t do what other dads did, like fix things around the house, drive them to events, or have all the answers.

But my kids never needed a flawless version of me. They just needed me.

The curious, imaginative, sometimes scattered dad who turns everything into a story. The one who’s always there the moment they shout my name. The one who taught them to be understanding, open-minded, and empathetic.

The one who let them know you don’t need to be perfect: you just need to be there.

Turns out, my neurodivergence gives them a world that’s a little more magical and inviting.

And that’s a win.