A few days ago, an X post on fatherhood by a writer and academic named Justin Murphy went viral, collecting nearly 19 million views.

In it, Justin candidly admitted that while he loves his children, he just doesn’t enjoy spending time with them.

It was a confession that struck a nerve far beyond his normal audience. Predictably, perhaps, the responses were sharply divided, with some offering empathy and others outright condemning him for selfishness.

I didn’t see any replies I could fully endorse, so I’ve decided to write my own. I believe Justin’s concerns should be taken seriously — and that he deserves a response that’s both firm and fraternal from a fellow dad walking through a similar life stage.

‘I Just Don’t Like Being Around Kids’

First, here is what Justin wrote:

Am I just a monster? It’s been 4 years since I became a father, and I’m beginning to fear for my soul. The truth is, I just don’t like being around kids for very long. Historically, this is not uncommon among fathers, but today it feels almost illegal. It’s causing me a lot of confusion and anguish.

The ideal amount of time I would like to spend playing with my kids is probably about 70-140 minutes a week — roughly ten minutes each day, maybe 2x/day, taking breaks from work. My feelings of love toward them are perfectly strong, but if I have to watch them or entertain them for more than about 10 minutes my blood starts to boil. I just want to be working, or accomplishing something. I try to be grateful, but it doesn’t work.

It’s 9 AM this morning, Saturday, January 3. It’s a sunny, warm day here in Austin, and my four-year-old son is begging me to play catch in the street. I was drinking coffee, still waking up, so I didn’t really feel like it, but at this age his desire to play is insatiable. He begged and begged, so I conceded, and with a smile. I have no problem being a kind and loving father, the problem is only that I do not enjoy it. It’s not that I’m trying to maximise my personal pleasure; it just seems wrong that I experience so little delight when my dad friends all claim to experience so much.

It was beautiful. We live on a picturesque, tree-lined block. I am even relatively relaxed from the holiday rest. Playing catch with your son is supposed to be an iconic, peak experience. Yet for every single minute, on the inside, I just don’t want to be there. I want to be drinking my coffee in peace. Then I feel guilty and absurdly ungrateful, and ashamed, when we’re done. I know that when he is a teenager, I’ll long to have these days back. I have all of this perspective rationally, and I’ve been very patient and steadfast trying to digest it, but nothing fixes me emotionally.

Am I a terrible person? Or is my feeling within a certain range of historically normal and it’s modern parenting norms that are off? Whether it’s my fault or not, I don’t even care, I just want to figure this out. Something is wrong and I no longer have the excuse of being new to this.

Fatherhood and Self-Forgetfulness

Here’s my reply:

Hi Justin,

A father of two children under three here who relates to some of what you’ve shared.

You’re not a monster. You’re stuck because you’re asking the wrong question.

You’ve framed this as an emotional problem — that you don’t enjoy time with your kids despite your good intentions for them. Actually, the problem is deeper (and simpler). It’s an issue of the will — of what you’re prepared to sacrifice for your children, even if it costs you.

I completely understand your question about modern parenting norms. There’s a lot there to critique. But in this case, I believe the guilt you’re feeling isn’t socially imposed — it’s your conscience pointing out something that needs to be addressed.

You say your feelings of love for your children are strong, and I believe you. But feelings have never been a good definition of love. In the Christian tradition — and in much older moral thinking besides — love is primarily something you do, not something you enjoy. Enjoyment matters, but it follows instead of leading. Fatherhood, like many other worthy pursuits in life, calls for a brand of love that often precedes enjoyment.

I relate to your instinct to want to be working or “accomplishing something”. I’m wired in a similar way. As such, time with young kids can feel tiring and even pointless — repetitive, inefficient, an interruption.

But here’s where I think you’ve got it wrong: you’re waiting for your emotions to lead the way. You keep trying to digest this until it feels right — when love, rightly ordered, often goes in the opposite direction. We act first and our affections follow. Christian wisdom teaches that we are formed by what we repeatedly choose, not by what we happen to feel in the ebb and flow of daily life.

Your fear that you’ll one day miss these moments is spot on. That’s not sentimentality — it’s foresight. It’s your future self warning you that these years mean more than you can currently see.

The issue isn’t that you don’t enjoy throwing a ball with your boy. It’s that, at some level, you still believe enjoyment should determine how much of yourself your children receive. While that belief might be understandable, it will quietly hollow out your fatherhood if you let it go unchallenged.

You don’t need to stop being a thinker or a worker. But for a short and precious season, you have to accept that fatherhood asks for true self-forgetfulness — not because it feels good but because it is good. And if the Christian vision is correct, it’s precisely this kind of costly, unglamorous love that eventually reshapes what you desire, teaching you to delight in the things you once merely endured.

Your children don’t need you to enjoy them — they need you to choose them,

again and again, and in ways that cost you something real. If you do that faithfully now, you’ll spare yourself the future regret you already sense is coming. Then, over time, you’ll find that what felt like a burden is actually a privilege and a joy. And even if your emotions never follow, you will have done the right thing anyway, and your kids will benefit in ways you’ll never comprehend.

Respectfully,

A fellow dad in the thick of it.

___

Image courtesy of Adobe.