Christmas is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, right? Festive lights, hot cocoa, and endless holiday cheer. But if I’m being honest, as a dad, the season can sometimes bring a nagging feeling of guilt that overshadows the joy. "Dad guilt"—you know, that sinking feeling that you're not measuring up or doing enough—always seems to hit me hardest during the holidays.
Between work deadlines, family obligations, and trying to create magical memories for my kids, there’s this overwhelming pressure to do it all. And when I fall short, as inevitably happens, the guilt creeps in. Did I spend enough time with the kids? Did I help my partner enough with the endless to-do list? Should I have stayed up later putting together that overly complicated toy my son’s been begging for?
If you're nodding along, let me tell you: you're not alone.
The Myth of the Perfect Holiday Dad
I think we, as dads, set ourselves up for failure by chasing perfection. Somewhere along the way, we’ve been sold this idea that a “good dad” during Christmas is some kind of superhero. He’s the one stringing up lights on the house, building gingerbread houses with the kids, helping with shopping, wrapping gifts, and still managing to work full-time. Oh, and let’s not forget being cheerful through it all.
But here’s the thing: the “perfect dad” is a myth. Real dads are juggling a million things at once, and no matter how hard we try, we can’t do it all. And that’s okay.
What Really Matters
One thing I’ve learned the hard way is that my kids don’t care about perfection. They don’t care if the tree isn’t decorated like it came out of a magazine or if I had to swap homemade cookies for store-bought ones this year. What they remember—and what really matters—is the time we spend together.
Last Christmas, I was stuck at work late during one of those classic crunch periods. By the time I got home, I was exhausted and barely had the energy to say goodnight to the kids. The guilt hit hard that night. But the next morning, as we sat together eating pancakes, my daughter told me it was her favorite part of Christmas so far—just sitting together, laughing, and eating breakfast.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. She didn’t care about the “big moments” I’d been obsessing over. All she wanted was me—present, engaged, and relaxed. That was enough.
