The Silent Exit: A Father’s Perspective on Walking Away

In the discourse on paternal abandonment, the male voice is often vilified, muted beneath the dominant narrative of irresponsibility. While it is true that many fathers have walked away from their families under questionable circumstances, it is equally necessary to explore why they do so, not to excuse, but to understand. This essay offers a reflective exposition of the psychological toll on men, especially black African men, who choose to leave their marriages. It is not a defence of abandonment; it is an attempt to peer into the heart of the one who left.

Let us begin with one of the most potent psychological deal-breakers for a man: infidelity. When a man discovers his wife has been unfaithful, it often creates a profound emotional rupture. While betrayal cuts deeply for any human being, for men, it is laced with an acute and almost primal sense of emasculation. He is not merely grieving the loss of trust; he is grieving the symbolic death of his manhood within the sanctuary of his home.

Culturally, the African man is not raised to express emotional vulnerability. He is taught to endure, to provide, to contain. But betrayal unmasks him. The very space he built, the children he loves, and the woman he trusted become tinged with violation. Psychologically, the wounded ego goes into retreat. Shame, anger, and a sense of irreparable humiliation compel him toward withdrawal. And society, while harsh on the absentee father, often offers no space for him to process this pain.

In many cases, this man does not leave because he no longer loves his children. He leaves because he can no longer live in a house that reminds him daily of a broken covenant. For some, staying would mean eroding silently in a prison of bitterness. They fear what that bitterness would do to their children. So, they leave—sometimes in silence, sometimes with rage, but always with a shadow of grief.

There is also the oft-overlooked reality of emotional neglect. Many men report that they feel unseen within their marriages. They carry financial burdens, protect their families, work tirelessly, and yet feel emotionally invisible. When a man comes home to coldness, contempt, or chronic criticism, over time, the house ceases to be a refuge. The marriage turns transactional. He becomes a wallet, a problem-solver, a mute spectator in a drama he no longer understands.

Now consider this: some men were never taught how to communicate emotional pain. So, when they encounter emotional turmoil, their flight is not always out of cruelty but out of incapacity. Walking away becomes their language of despair.

To counter the earlier narrative, it is important to acknowledge that not all men are intoxicated by liberty or seduced by a parade of women. Not all walk away to chase pleasure. Some walk away because they feel fundamentally unloved. Some feel expendable in their own homes. And when the culture does not allow men to speak without being labelled weak, their silence festers. Leaving becomes their final word.

Furthermore, some men feel trapped in marriages where they are routinely disrespected, where their authority is constantly challenged, and where they are rendered emotionally barren. In such marriages, the children often become the only motivation to stay. And yet, even that can fade when a man begins to feel that he is failing his children by staying in a toxic environment. He begins to believe that his departure might shield them from his deterioration.

Some men become fathers before they are ready—thrust into the role by accident, circumstance, or manipulation. The result is a man wrestling with the ghosts of his boyhood while simultaneously trying to nurture lives he did not plan for. Some are swallowed by the weight of responsibility before they find the tools to shoulder it.

But let us be fair. There are many irresponsible men, yes. Some men choose selfishness over fatherhood, who abandon not out of pain but out of indifference. They exist, and they must be held accountable. However, to conflate all absenteeism with irresponsibility is to flatten a nuanced truth.

We must also grapple with the reality that some women weaponise the children. In bitterness or revenge, they alienate the father, making access to his children a battlefield. Over time, some men retreat, not because they do not love their children, but because the war becomes too exhausting. It becomes a matter of emotional self-preservation.

So, what becomes of the father who left? Can he find redemption? Yes, but it requires an environment that allows him to acknowledge his wrongs without stripping him of dignity. It requires a society that does not ridicule male vulnerability. And it demands that we humanise men not just as protectors and providers, but as people with breaking points.

In the end, every story of a man walking away is a tapestry of contradictions: love and anger, honour and shame, fear and silence. The goal is not to justify abandonment. The goal is to understand the storm that precedes it.

If society is to truly heal the fractures in the African family, then both voices must be heard. The wounded mother and the silent father. Only then can we begin to forge a path forward—one that holds both accountable, and yet extends compassion to both.

Let us listen, not to excuse, but to understand. Let us speak, not to wound, but to heal.