What fatherhood has taught me

As Father’s Day approaches this Sunday (21 June), TV adventurer Bear Grylls writes about his personal experiences as a son and a dad

My late father was a really unsure but wonderful man. As I get older I realise it more and more. What I remember most is that he was unafraid to be vulnerable and would laugh at everything – especially himself. And he was unafraid to hug and kiss us and say, 'I love you.' Not many men in those days did that much. 

He also told me over and over to dream big. That mindset was planted early – he endlessly encouraged a quiet, stubborn willingness to risk lots, to not be afraid to fail and to never give up. Those values have carried me through more dark moments than I can count. 

When our first son, Jesse, was born, everything shifted. I remember holding him and thinking: here is my reason to win. The summits, the records – those were small fry compared to this.

Fatherhood changes your centre of gravity. You’re no longer the main character and, honestly, that was a relief. I felt empowered. To start living to protect and to be there for our small growing family – they were the ones who deserved my every effort.

With three boys, Jesse, Marmaduke and Huckleberry, I’ve had to keep learning what good fathering actually looks like, because it changes constantly. When they were small, it was about presence. Getting on the floor with them. Messing around. Supporting Shara the best I can – although, to be honest, she was always the real hero when it came to cosy, beautiful parenting. She has been the greatest example.

As our boys have grown older, good fathering (or parenting) has shifted towards listening more than talking. Teenage boys don’t need lectures. They need parents who are genuinely encouraging about who they’re becoming – not just where they maybe are right now. It takes strength and humility not to make everything about our own imperfect opinions. 

I’m definitely not a perfect father. I get annoyed at times or I get the balance wrong between work and home. But I try to repair quickly when I do, to be straight with my boys, and to make sure they truly know they are loved beyond anything else.

The pressures on fathers today are real and worth taking seriously. The pull of screens and busyness has created a generation of men who might be physically present but are mentally somewhere else. That’s a battle we all fight. We can be sitting at the dinner table yet be completely absent.

Being a good dad doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s as simple as going for a walk with our children and chatting.

The joys are hard to articulate but they hit hard too. Watching one of your sons do something he didn’t think he was capable of. The conversations that happen late at night when the guard is down. The fact that they still want you around, even when they’re old enough not to need you in the same way. Those things don’t get old.

My faith runs through all of this. I believe in a God who fathers us beyond our comprehension – not without suffering but without absence. That presence of the Almighty has shaped how I think about my own role. It gives a quiet strength and assurance for our futures. It relieves the pressure to be perfect. Because we aren’t. And as parents, we are not called to be perfect. It’s not about performance or getting everything right. It’s about being present and consistent for them, even when they’re difficult, even when you’re tired. 

Shara and I pray for our boys every day. For their safety, but more than that, for their character. That they’d have the backbone to be kind and courageous when it’s tempting not to be. That they’d know their own worth without needing everyone else to confirm it. That they’d find something to anchor themselves to when things get hard.

If there’s any practical wisdom I’d pass on to other fathers, it’s this: resist the pressure to be impressive and just be honest instead. Our children don’t need the highlight reel. They need someone real, someone who admits when he’s wrong and keeps showing up anyway.

The most important thing I learnt from my own dad wasn’t anything he said in a particular moment. It was simply the fact that he was there and so often full of light, laughter and fun, and always encouraging us. That is what stays with you – and, in the end, is what fatherhood comes down to. As they say: the best advice to fathers (and mothers) is example, example, example.