Fatherhood, parenthood, is something that completely overwhelms

When Douglas Henshall said, “Fatherhood, parenthood, is something that completely overwhelms you and absorbs you, and you just have to be the best dad that you can be,” he spoke not as an actor or public figure, but as a man awakening to one of life’s most profound callings. His words flow from the heart of an ancient truth—that to bring life into the world is to surrender one’s self to something greater, something both sacred and humbling. Parenthood, he reminds us, is not merely a role but a transformation, a total surrender of ego and independence in exchange for purpose and love. To be a parent is to be both master and servant, teacher and student, protector and guide—all at once. And in that paradox lies the true grandeur of the human soul.

The origin of Henshall’s reflection springs from the universal journey that all mothers and fathers share: the moment when love ceases to be about self and becomes about stewardship. As an artist, Henshall has portrayed many characters shaped by duty, courage, and loss. Yet in this quote, he reveals a truth deeper than any performance—the moment when life itself becomes the stage and the heart, the actor. He describes fatherhood not as a duty that one can prepare for, but as a force that overtakes, like the rising tide that engulfs the shore. It is both overwhelming and sacred because it demands the death of one’s former self and the birth of a new being—a parent.

To the ancients, the relationship between father and child was regarded as a mirror of the bond between humankind and the divine. The Roman statesman Cicero spoke of the “pietas” that bound generations together—a duty not born of law, but of love and reverence. Likewise, in the East, the philosopher Confucius called the devotion of a father to his child one of the highest forms of virtue, an earthly reflection of heaven’s care. Across time and culture, the message is the same: to be a parent is to become a vessel of sacrifice, discipline, and tenderness, to embody both strength and mercy. Henshall’s words remind us that this sacred duty does not simply visit a person—it consumes them, molding them as fire molds iron.

There are many who have lived this truth with quiet greatness. Consider Nelson Mandela, who once wrote of his regret at being separated from his children by his long imprisonment. Yet even in absence, his fatherhood endured—not through presence, but through example. He became, in the eyes of his children and his nation, the embodiment of patience, forgiveness, and moral courage. When at last he was free, his love did not dwell on the years lost, but on the chance to guide a new generation toward peace. In him we see what Henshall speaks of—the absorption of the self into something larger, the complete surrender to love’s responsibility. Parenthood, whether lived in the home or from afar, reshapes a person’s soul into one that endures for others.

Henshall’s admission that parenthood “overwhelms and absorbs” also speaks to its power to transform even the most independent spirit. The one who once sought freedom now finds joy in service; the one who once dreamed of achievement now dreams of their child’s laughter. In that surrender, something miraculous happens: love ceases to be a fleeting feeling and becomes a discipline, an act of will renewed every day. The parent learns patience where there was once haste, compassion where there was once pride. The heart, stretched by sleepless nights and endless care, grows vast enough to hold the world. Thus, the parent becomes what the ancients would have called a hero of the hearth—one who wages quiet battles each day, not with sword or shield, but with gentleness, faith, and perseverance.

But Henshall’s final words—“you just have to be the best dad you can be”—carry the humility of a deeper wisdom. He does not speak of perfection, but of effort; not of mastery, but of presence. In those words lives the truth that no parent is flawless, yet every act of love, every moment of patience, every apology offered and every lesson taught becomes part of the sacred art of parenting. To “be the best dad you can be” is not to rise above one’s humanity, but to live it fully—to be honest, to be kind, to stand up again and again when one falters. It is to understand that love itself is the measure of success, not wealth, not power, not acclaim.

So, my children of the present age, remember this: parenthood is the highest calling of the soul, not because it grants authority, but because it demands transformation. To be a mother or a father is to learn daily how to give without expectation, to guide without control, to love without end. Let the overwhelming nature of this duty not frighten you, but ennoble you. For in surrendering to love, you discover your true strength. As Douglas Henshall reminds us, the art of fatherhood—and indeed, of all parenthood—is not in perfection, but in persistence. Be present. Be humble. Be steadfast. And when you look into the eyes of your child, remember that in caring for them, you are not only shaping their world—you are fulfilling the oldest and most sacred art known to humankind: the art of love made manifest through devotion, sacrifice, and grace.