Lonely Dads Club
We often lament how quickly new dad’s get to return to life, work, their old selves. But by excluding men from birth culture, are we leaving them lost and isolated?
From the moment I started thinking about having a kid, I became hyper aware of parenting content. I read the books and articles, listened to the podcasts, scrolled through the memes and gazed at the TikToks.
Along the way I paid attention to what it was all telling me to do (or not do). As well as how this wave of information was more subtly directing my experience. Specifically they way it presented different kinds of mums for me to pick over – yummy, crunchy, yoga, helicopter, freerange, lunch box artist etc – and choose who I might become. But for all those opinions, experiences and confessions there always seems to be something missing–men.
At the time of writing, it takes a sperm and an egg to make a baby. How those ingredients are acquired, come together and how the resulting kid is raised can vary. Still in the majority of cases, someone with a penis is (at least passingly) involved. Although, to review that blanket of parenting content, you’d almost think the egg did it alone.
Where Are the Dads?
I’m not the first person to make this observation. Parenting has long been treated as a single player sport. Women are understood to feel the impact of children on their bodies, relationships, careers and identities for a lifetime. Men get two weeks off work (if they’re lucky) then are shuffled back to regular life. Except of course nothing is regular.
There’s a (beloved) word for this period for women: matrescence. It refers to the process of becoming a mother. Not only as a physical transformation, but a hormonal, psychological, social, political and spiritual one. Patrescence is also a word. Just not one you hear about much.
Patrescence might not be as buzzy, but anyone who has been around a new dad knows it’s very much a thing. The outside world might assume it’s back to regular programming after two weeks, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Fathers (hopefully) face off with broken nights, financial stress and strained relationships. They surf their own floods of tears, joys, rewards and frustrations. In addition, many dads battle complex feelings of displacement, fear and jealousy. I never see memes about that though.
Away from my phone, my matrescence was constantly witnessed and validated. People visited, called, texted, emailed, cooked, cried, cooed, held, washed and wept. They cared for me as I cared for my daughter. Questions for my partner stopped after the perfunctory, “Getting any sleep?” Or maybe, “Changing enough nappies?”
Initially I found this annoying. Why was it that he remained a whole person and I was simply a leaking symbiote? But after a while, as the days dragged on and the grind of parenting set in, I began to feel a little sorry for him. To the world I had been transformed into a new being with a new community ready to welcome me. Things seemed a little lonelier on the other side.
The “How to Dad” Content Universe
When we talk about what it means to be a mother, we open an endless vault of reflection, information and observation. But looking at the existing–comparatively limited–library on becoming a dad things are more clinical. Traditionally the understanding is that women deal with emotions, men with facts. They want to know how, not why.
Best selling parenting books for men call themselves “handbooks”containing “tips” and obsess over the mechanics of children’s brains. YouTube videos and TikToks for dads employ the language of “hacks'' and problem solving. Even pop culture breakthroughs like Hamish Blake’s popular podcast “How Other Dad’s Dad” are built more on the question of what other men “did” not how they felt. It always seemed so external: What can I do, what can I control?
When Josh and his partner had their first child nine years ago, they were the first in their friend group to do so. In the almost decade since he’s seen how other new parents approach the job. “Often my male friends will ask what scooter we used and things like that,” he comments. Admitting that those topics “bore me to tears”.
Now with two kids (his second is five) and immersed in the world of parenting, he’s hungry for deeper considerations. “I'd prefer to talk about the inequalities of parenting in the capitalist world”. Not surprisingly, he’s gravitated to exploring these topics with women.
Lonely Dad’s Club
From the outside this lack of men in parenting spaces, and absence of content that speaks directly to them, is beguiling. But from the point of view of a dad like Josh, it can also be isolating. We know the trials of parenthood are not contained to mothers. Up to one in 10 dads experience depression during pregnancy or after birth.
Greg is a father of three kids under five. He works 50 hours a week across multiple jobs to make ends meet. Both his family and in-laws live interstate and can’t help out day-to-day. While he loves his kids, fatherhood is overwhelming and stressful. When he’s tried to find spaces of solidarity the search has been discouraging. “I’ve looked into Facebook groups and followed a few ‘Dad comedy’ meme accounts, but they are just too ‘safe’ for me to feel safe. Everyone just talks about how amazing being a dad is and they just invite you to trivia nights or craft beer tasting events or whatever.”
“I’m probably experiencing a more extreme world of parenting than many people. I definitely don’t have the time or energy to document it on social media. The whole scene just leaves me with either a feeling of helplessness or insecurity... I have pretty much unfollowed everything because it was triggering when I was browsing social media looking for a break from parenting.”
As a result, being a dad is often lonely. “I doubt there’s a space online or IRL to explore fatherhood in the way I need,” he laments. “I don’t think there will ever be a space for me but I wish there was more open communication about parenthood and fatherhood.”
For Greg, and many dads, this moves beyond the stress of family to involve grief for their old lives. A tricky sentiment to express while trying to be a supportive partner and present dad. “I’ve struggled with what I call ‘the death of self’. I can’t listen to my music or watch films and I don't have money or time to entertain having a hobby…My hobby is basically listening to an NBA podcast while hanging washing. I think some parents, including dads, probably feel the same and end up just embracing it and making it a part of their identity.”
Making and Finding Space
While spaces for men to process these experiences are limited, many do find areas where they can feel witnessed. Greg didn’t connect with dad jokes, but a surprising amount of people I spoke to said they found catharsis and understanding through humour. Although they did clarify that they didn’t mean the Ray Romano style of “my kids are crazy” discourse. Rather a new generation of dad comedians demonstrate more nuance. On TikTok men like Max Price covertly express much of the same rage, confusion and grief as the most soul-wrenching motherhood essays.
Plus as so often happens when people lack the space they need, they create it. Josh saw his female friends as more engaging partners to dissect parenting with. Greg ultimately connected via email with an old friend who lives overseas. Explaining, “the back and forth is a safe place where we can speak about everything.”
He additionally shouted out the simple pleasure of speaking to other local parents at the park or meeting people whose children are also neurodiverse. “It’s sort of like a cult, and you can speak openly and honestly and know that person you are speaking to actually gets it.”
Time Heals All
Speaking to men for this piece, about what they think is missing and what they need, it was clear this was going to take more than a good podcast to fix things.
We talk about post baby existence in a circular way: Women’s careers are ruined, men’s continue. There is another way of looking at things though. Women are given space to remake their lives around new priorities. Men aren’t.
Primary carer leave isn’t perfect, but it exists. In most industries secondary carers get two weeks off and need to eat into general or unpaid leave if they want more time at home. Even then, there is significant social and financial pressure to stay at work. In Australia, one in 20 fathers take primary parental leave. Fewer than 20 men a month take any paid parental leave at all.
Reflecting on this disconnect, Parents At Work chief executive Emma Walsh has said: “This divide is reinforced by entrenched social views of the breadwinner and homemaker gender ideals. Fathers are conscious of a stigma and bias around taking extended leave, especially when they are unable to see many of their male colleagues taking leave.”
We may be jealous of men for their ability to return to the world, but that expectation and pressure can have the unintended impact of isolating them from their family and each other. Explaining how the need to work as much as possible impacts him, Greg admits: “The resource I need most is money. That would lead to having more time. I don’t get to spend much quality time with my kids. I work long hours and usually see them for bedtime and early in the mornings and on weekends. I’m usually working two jobs and clocking about 70-90 hours a week to make ends meet.”
Poor Dads
I started this article frustrated, asking: Where were the guys? Was fatherhood less of a big deal to them? Did they think less deeply about this huge change? If they couldn’t shift their podcast tastes, how can we really expect them to be the partners we need? I ended it feeling bad for them, they seemed so alone.
Women lose out a lot, but when it comes to community, we win hands down. It seems so isolating being a man. Even during a time when you’re becoming part of something larger than yourself, you’re still treated as such a single entity. It seems that for dads the one universally uniting experience of parenthood is often loneliness.
Thank you for reading all the way to the bottom! Big shout out to the dads who spoke to me on, and off, record for this piece. I’d love to hear about your experience. Leave a comment, catch me on Instagram or shoot me an email.