Michelle Hays is a heart-centered Marriage Coach and is the Monarch for Love Podcast Host with decades of experience in marriage and relationships. She has led hundreds of couples in their efforts to deepen their connection and increase fulfillment in their marriages. Michelle firmly believes that love is a decision and that positive thinking in marriage empowers couples to create the marriage and relationships they want and deserve. Michelle also enjoys her community on Instagram @ monarchforlove. Please feel free to email her at Michellehays@monarchforlove.com with any questions or comments.

Fathers are extraordinary – but not all fathers come with a biological tie. Some are stitched into our stories through choice, circumstance, or pure heart. A stepdad who showed up. A neighbor who quietly became a mentor. A coach who believed in us when we didn’t believe in ourselves. These are fathers, too. Because fatherhood isn’t about DNA. It’s about presence. It’s the man who teaches you to ride a bike, not just the one who gave you your eye color. Father is a title earned not only through biology, but through consistency, character, and care. The best fathers are the ones who pause and make space to listen.

And yet, we often forget how fleeting the moments are. The days when Dad could lift you with one arm or fix anything with duct tape. I remember going to my dad’s one day and saw duct tape on his shoes! Dad, I asked, half laughing, why don’t you just buy new shoes? He looked at me and calmly said “I don’t need to buy new shoes; I am not going to live forever.” His words hit me like a quiet thunder, splitting my heart wide open. Until that moment, I never considered my dad wouldn’t live forever. In our minds, our dads live forever – until they don’t. That’s why time with a father figure – of any kind – is sacred. And time slips by so fast, we often don’t realize the good days are often behind us. I think of this every time I hear someone say, “I wish I had asked him more questions,” or “I thought I had more time.”

My dad had a big heart and an even bigger personality. He wasn’t fancy – he didn’t care about expensive dinners or designer shoes. But he loved old muscle cars. He loved Elvis. He made friends with ducks, and fed lizards in the driveway like they were part of the family. He was a man’s man, the kind of guy who would help you move, fix your sink, make you laugh, and charm a room full of strangers – all in the same afternoon. But what I remember most about my dad isn’t just the things he did, it’s the way he made people feel. Like they mattered. Like they were worth listening to. Like they belonged.

My dad passed away in 2020.

And although I had friends who lost their fathers before me, friends I loved and offered sympathy to, I never truly understood the depth of that kind of grief until I lived it. Now, I carry it. Not like a weight, but like a quiet, aching shadow that moves through moments he would have loved to be part of.

And it’s made me even more aware of the importance of honoring all the fathers among us – biological, chosen, or somewhere in between.

To the father figure who stepped in when another stepped out – thank you.

To the men raising children who aren’t biologically theirs, but are theirs in every other way – thank you.

To the uncles, grandpas, older brothers, teachers, coaches, pastors, neighbors, and mentors who decided to love, guide, and protect a child simply because it was the right thing to do – thank you.

You are shaping generations with your quiet strength.

For those who have a beautiful bond with their dad, I hope you cherish it. Call him. Visit him. Say the things you think he already knows. He might know them – but he still needs to hear them.

And for those who didn’t have that kind of relationship, or who lost their father too soon – I feel you. Your experience matters. And I hope you’ve found, or will find, fatherhood in other forms – in people who love you with the same fierce devotion.

This Father’s Day, I invite you to think about the man – or men – who stood in that space for you. Maybe it was someone who taught you how to work hard. Or love gently. Or get back up when life knocked you down.

Think about the lessons that shaped you. The kindness that steadied you. The presence that protected you. And if you’re in a position to do so – be that presence for someone else.

Because fatherhood, in the end, isn’t just about raising children.

It’s about raising people. Raising confidence. Raising the bar for how we love, how we lead, and how we leave people feeling.

So, here’s to the men who do just that. To the men who show up and love well. To the men who teach us how to live with purpose and laugh with abandon. Who don’t just tell us we’re loved – but prove it, over and over again.

And maybe, just maybe, even feed the lizards while they’re at it.