Father’s Day for those who don’t have a father…  

Most of the people I’m drawn to, without meaning to, have had some rupture in their relationship with their father. Either dead, distant, violent, or just emotionally hollow. Not all of them talk about it, but you can sense it. And once you notice it, you can’t unsee the pattern. These are my thoughts about those people…

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There’s something about growing up without a stable father that shapes people in very specific ways. Not just emotionally, but structurally. These are the people who carry a certain tension inside them. A sense that they’re building their own blueprint from scratch. There’s no inherited masculinity or femininity, no inherited authority. Mostly just confusion, coping, and improvisation.

In India, the idea of a father is still deeply patriarchal. He’s not supposed to talk much. He’s not supposed to hug you, ask how you’re doing or show you warmth. He’s supposed to provide, impose, and be obeyed. That’s it. So when he’s gone, either physically or emotionally, the child is left with this strange mixture of guilt and freedom. The cage door is open, but they don’t know where to go. There’s no one to rebel against, no one to follow, and no one to protect them either. Which creates people who are fiercely independent, but also permanently unsure if they’re doing life right.

For men, the absence of a father leaves a void that society has no real plan to fill. Patriarchy tells boys how not to be: don’t cry, don’t be weak, don’t be feminine. But it doesn’t offer anything real in return. No model of emotional strength. No map for navigating vulnerability. So boys either become emotionally stiff and repressed, or completely disoriented. You see them trying to find identity in gym culture, “alpha” podcasts, conspiracy groups, finance bros, anything that offers structure, even if it’s fake.

The modern man is stuck. The old version of masculinity is dying, but the new one hasn’t been built yet. And without a father figure, someone who can show, not just tell, most boys are just left experimenting on themselves, often painfully.

For women, it’s different but just as brutal. A missing father means a missing reference for what male love is supposed to feel like. So some women become hyper-independent, carrying the “I don’t need anyone” energy. Others fall into a loop of seeking validation from the very systems that broke them. The rise of surface-level empowerment, feminism as aesthetic instead of ethic, is partly rooted in this. Women who never saw a man treat them gently often end up chasing the worst types of men, or trying to replace the emotional absence with attention, content, lifestyle projection.

But it’s not all damage. Some of the strongest women I know (or the woman I admire) are fatherless. And not strong in the Instagram quote way. Strong in how they hold others, how they show up when things collapse while being highly competent and productive!. Their strength isn’t loud. It’s inherited from surviving without a safety net.

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Even death isn’t the full story. A lot of people out there are living with fathers who are alive but never truly present. And that absence is harder to talk about. Because you can’t grieve it. You can’t label it. It just floats around, a lifelong tension. A voice that never spoke. A hug that never came.

And yet, society keeps pretending that all of this has no impact. That we’re just individuals floating around making choices. But identity isn’t made in a vacuum. And fatherhood, whether present or absent, sets the tone for how you relate to power, love, fear, gender, even god! (and I would argue, even femininity).

This isn’t about emotional closure. It’s not about blaming those fathers either. It’s just what it is. A systemic gap in how humans are raised, especially in patriarchal cultures that never taught men how to father in the first place!

If you had a father who was genuinely present, not just in your childhood but in your emotional formation, you’re one of the rare ones. If you didn’t, then at some point, you’ll have to reparent yourself. Or find someone who can hold space for the version of you that never learned how to be held. That’s the quiet crisis. That’s modern masculinity. That’s post-patriarchal survival.

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But not everything is broken. Things are shifting. Slowly, unevenly, but they are.

There are fathers now who are showing up differently. Men who are questioning what they inherited. Men who are learning how to hold their child’s emotions without shutting them down. Fathers who don’t just provide, but sit down and listen. Those fathers are learning to provide warmth and be honest about their own feelings in front of their children. Who apologise when they mess up. Who don’t treat respect as something to be demanded but something to be earned.

These are the ones who are quietly breaking the chain. They don’t post about it. They don’t turn it into a performance. But they’re raising sons who won’t be emotionally stunted, and daughters who won’t confuse fear with love.

And even for those who didn’t get this, who grew up fatherless in one way or another, there’s still something to build. You can unlearn the rigid masculinity. You can rewire your responses. You can become the kind of adult you wish you had when you were younger. That work is slow. And sometimes invisible. But it’s real.

Not everyone gets a second chance at fatherhood, but many of us will get a chance to be that presence for someone else. A younger cousin, a friend’s child, even a stranger who just needs stability for a moment. That’s still something. That’s still worth doing. So yeah, it’s complicated, but achievable.

And if you’ve had a father, or been a father, who chose presence over power, who made mistakes but kept showing up, who gave softness without shame, then you’ve already seen the future we’re all trying to build.

Happy Father’s Day to those who are rewriting the manual. Quietly. Daily. Without applause.

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Thanks for reading! 🙂