I Love My Kids. But I Regret Becoming a Father. Here's Why.

This is not easy to admit.

Not at a coffee shop with friends. Not at family gatherings. And definitely not on social media, where fatherhood is usually wrapped in feel-good quotes and pictures of smiling kids.

But I’ll say it here, because I know I’m not alone.

I love my kids. Truly, deeply, and without question.

But I also regret becoming a father.

Not because of them. But because of what I lost and what I became.

Before kids, I had freedom. I had time. I had energy. I had identity. I could sleep. I could plan. I could chase dreams without guilt. I could go for supper without checking my phone every five minutes. I could just... breathe.

Since becoming a father, every part of life feels heavy. And I don’t just mean the physical exhaustion. I mean the mental weight of being responsible for someone else's everything; safety, education, emotional well-being, future.

It’s relentless. And sometimes, it’s thankless.

Fatherhood in Singapore comes with invisible pressure. You provide. You protect. You show up. You earn. You don’t complain.

You stay in the job you hate. You swallow your dreams. You stretch your salary. You deal with the late nights, the tantrums, the school admin, the birthday parties, the medical appointments, all while pretending you’re okay.

And even when you try your best, there’s still guilt.

You feel bad for losing your temper. For checking your phone too much. For missing that school event. For not being more patient, more fun, more present.

There are days I stare into space and ask myself, quietly: What happened to me?

And that’s where the regret comes in. It’s not about the kids themselves. It’s about losing the version of myself I used to know, and wondering if he’ll ever return.

But here’s the twist.

Even with all the regret, even with all the loss, I would still choose this life again.

Because in between the chaos, there are moments that shift your soul.

The tiny hand that reaches for yours in a crowded mall.

The random whispers of “I love you, Papa.”

The quiet pride when they conquer something they once feared.

The laughter that breaks out during a silly moment at dinner.

These are not just cute memories. These are anchor points. They remind me that while I may have lost parts of myself, I’ve also gained something far deeper.

I’ve become someone who knows what it means to love unconditionally.

Someone who understands sacrifice not as pain, but as purpose.

Someone who now measures success not by titles or bank accounts, but by whether his kids feel safe enough to run into his arms at the end of the day.

So yes, I regret what I gave up.

But I don’t regret who I’ve become.

Because fatherhood, for all its brutality, has also broken me open in ways I never expected. It taught me that the deepest kind of love is the kind that costs you something.

And if I had to choose again?

I’d still choose them.