Suki Jones 

It’s a question that haunts me sometimes: Why am I a better dad now, after separating from my children’s mum and heading for divorce, than I was when we were married and living together? It’s not a question I ever expected to ask myself, but life has a strange way of teaching us what we need to know in the hardest of ways. And for me, this separation has been as much a lesson in self-awareness as it has been a painful journey of losing and finding my place as a father.

Many of you know that I’m a recovering alcoholic. For years, I struggled with the bottle, and that struggle bled into every aspect of my life. I was absent in so many ways. I was emotionally checked out, especially when it came to my family. My kids were physically there with me in the house, but emotionally, I was a million miles away. And if I’m being really honest with myself, my unhappiness in my marriage, the pressures I felt as a husband and father, and my decision to have an affair all contributed to me not showing up for them when they needed me. I just wasn’t the dad they deserved back then.

Now that I’ve stepped away from that life, things have shifted in ways I couldn’t have predicted. Despite still being with the partner I had the affair with, and even though my life is far from perfect, my relationship with my kids has improved in ways I never imagined. It's calmer, more connected, and far more genuine than it ever was before.

The first and most obvious reason is that I’m no longer drinking. Sobriety has brought me a level of clarity and presence that I didn’t have before. When I was drinking, I was escaping—from everything. I was numbing the stress of daily life, the friction in my marriage, the pressures of being a “perfect” Sikh man with a love marriage and two kids who was supposed to have it all together. I drank because it felt like the only way to dull the overwhelming sense of failure I carried with me. But in trying to escape the pain, I ended up hurting the people I loved most—my kids.

Being sober means I no longer have that fog hanging over me. I can be present with my children, fully. I see them now. I hear them. I connect with them in a way I never could when I was constantly trying to numb myself. But sobriety is just one part of the equation.

There was a heavy weight I carried during my marriage—one I didn’t even realize I was carrying until it was lifted. The expectations I placed on myself, on my wife, and on my kids were suffocating. I thought I needed to be this perfect father, the perfect husband, and provide this idealized version of family life that I couldn’t live up to. I wanted us to look a certain way to the outside world—to fit into the mold of what a “successful” family should be. And when we didn’t fit, I felt like I was failing, and that sense of failure slowly ate away at me.

I didn’t understand back then that I was prioritising the wrong things. I was so consumed by what life was supposed to look like that I missed out on the beauty of what was right in front of me. My children were growing, they were right there, and I was too wrapped up in my own turmoil to notice the little moments that mattered to them.

After separating from their mum, something shifted. I began to see things differently. The time I have with them now is so much more focused and intentional. Before, they were just part of the chaos, part of the frantic pace of life. I’d wake up on a Saturday, hungover or just tired, and taking my daughter to her drama class felt like another chore on the list. I didn’t appreciate the significance of those moments. I was there, but I wasn’t really there.

Now, when I have them, it’s different. The weekends we spend together are sacred to me. Those Friday, Saturday, and Sunday moments are mine and theirs, and they mean everything. It’s not about dropping my daughter off at drama and counting the hours until it’s over—it’s about what I can do with that time. I use those mornings with my son to bond with him, maybe playing pool, grabbing breakfast, or just hanging out and talking. I cherish the time we spend together, even if it’s just the simple, quiet moments. And when I’m with my daughter while my son is at Taekwondo, that hour isn’t something to pass. It’s an opportunity for us to connect, to share a coffee, to wander through town, to just be together.

These small pockets of time have become everything to me because I know how fleeting they are. They are the little memories we build together, the kind of moments that will stay with them long after they’ve grown up. They shape who they will become, and I want to be there, shaping those moments, being a part of their story in a way I wasn’t before.

Living with my children full-time, I often took these things for granted. I didn’t prioritize them. I thought things like sports days or school events didn’t need my attention if their mum was going to be there. I figured as long as one of us showed up, that was enough. But I see now how wrong I was. Those little moments mean the world to our kids. They need both parents to show up. They need to know that they matter enough for us to take the time, to be present.

Since separating, I’ve realized how much I missed when I was too focused on my own problems. I remember the sports days I skipped, the school events I didn’t bother with because I was too wrapped up in work or too hungover to care. I regret that now because I see how much it means to them when I do show up. My kids light up when I’m there. They look to me, hoping I’ll be at the finish line cheering them on. Those moments matter more than anything I could have prioritised back then.

And the truth is, I want to be there now. I want to be the dad who shows up. I want to be the dad who makes waffles every Sunday, who plays pool with his son, who takes his daughter for a Starbucks run after dance. I want to be the dad who makes time for the little things because I know now that those little things are what make a life. They are what build the foundation of a relationship with my children, a relationship I will treasure for the rest of my life.

In many ways, I’m still healing. I’m still fighting to be the father my kids need, and I’m going through the courts to get 50/50 custody because I want to be there for them more than I ever was before. Every step of this journey has been hard, but it’s shown me what truly matters. It’s taught me to slow down, to organise my life in a way that prioritises them, and to make space for the quiet, simple moments.

I never imagined that separating from their mum would make me a better dad. I thought divorce would break me, would pull me further away from my kids. But in many ways, it’s done the opposite. It’s woken me up. It’s made me see that life is about more than just surviving the day-to-day chaos. It’s about showing up, being present, and making those little moments count.

I’ll never stop being grateful for the chance to rebuild my relationship with my kids. And though I can’t change the past, I can be there for them now, fully and completely. Because they deserve that. And because, finally, I’ve learned what it means to be a father.