42 upvotes, 2 direct replies (showing 2)
View submission: Yes, Dads Can Struggle With Postpartum Depression—Here’s Why
Having a baby is emotionally complex and I know that I was not prepared for the range of things I felt and experienced. As a culture I don't think we properly prepare folks for parenting. A lot of this relies on generational knowledge but that's not always available.
A lot of parents are almost in a constant state of panic with everything that has to be learned and practiced. She's not latching very well, what's wrong? How many oz of milk did she drink? Is it the right temp? Omg, she broke out of the swaddle again in the middle of the night. Is she sleeping on her back? Is the humidifier too close to the bassinette? Did I rotate the older frozen milk to the front? Where the F is her left sock? Please don't let my wife see that I spilt 4oz of breastmilk. Ugh, I just got the hang of her sleep pattern and now it's changed again. Oh no, she scratched herself like crazy last night, we need to clip her fingernails... how do you clip baby fingernails?
I could go on like that for 3 pages. It's just so many questions that don't really have a satisfying answer because babies are humans and humans so complex. There's this tiny fragile thing that needs help at every moment of their day and sometimes we don't get to step away from that level of attention/stress.
Add on top that this is usually very isolating and there rarely is the same amount of time to de-stress or socialize for companionship. This means it's hard. Those early months are so hard. But it's not all stress and gloom. There are also so many wonderful moments smushed in between.
My spouse had post partum depression and i remember not really having any free time to myself until my first was like 6 months old. I had forgotten what I liked to do, I kinda didn't remember the things that I loved to do. I lost a bit of my own identity there. I had so fully become dad that I forgot what Greyfox used to like to do. And I actually felt grief about this. I LIKED who I was. I don't think I was really ready to give up that identity because I didn't realize how much being a dad was going to change me.
There's little wonder why a lot of dads struggle with postpartum depression.
Though it's not all stress and gloom. There are also so many wonderful moments smushed in between and now I have to focus to remember any of the hard parts. I remember that I was sleep deprived but I don't feel that memory anymore. But I still feel the good memories. I can still remember what their baby hair smelled like. I remember tiny little toes with tiny little toe-cheese. I remember all the bath times and teaching them to talk. I remember their first words (taco and turtle). And there's nothing in this world better than my daughter sneaking into my room on saturday to say, "shhh, dad. don't wake up mommy. let's go play minecraft." (though it's astrobot/sea of stars right now)
Comment by ImpressSeveral3007 at 10/01/2025 at 03:28 UTC
7 upvotes, 1 direct replies
Holy shit. I low-key just fell in love with you in a platonic, random internet stranger kind of way.
Can you adopt me? I'm 510 months old, not fussy and sleep through the night without needing to be fed (usually). I'm also potty trained.
Comment by AGoodFaceForRadio at 13/01/2025 at 15:44 UTC
1 upvotes, 1 direct replies
I lost a bit of my own identity there. I had so fully become dad that I forgot what Greyfox used to like to do. And I actually felt grief about this. I LIKED who I was.
Yeah, I feel that. Big time.
I gave up a few hobbies when my kids were born because those pursuits took me away from home too much. I changed my volunteer activities, too, and cut back dramatically on how much time I was giving.
And yeah, I felt grief for that. Still do. I loved what I did. Those hobbies and that volunteerism were cornerstones of my identity, or at least of what I understood my identity to be. It wasn't just "I don't do this thing anymore;" because these things were so central to my identity, it was "I am not this person anymore." And like you says, I LIKED who I was. I really miss that guy. When my first was born, I told myself that eventually I would get back to those things, be that person again. A decade later I'm having to accept that even if I pick the hobbies back up again, I'll never be that guy again. That guy is gone. I feel really sad about that.
There's not a lot of space for giving voice to that, though, which makes it hard to get support. There's another thread on this sub right now that includes discussion of the idea that "what you say will be used against you." I don't buy that, mostly because I don't think it's intentional. But there are things a smart guy just doesn't say because they're going to land so poorly. This whole line of thought fits into that category.
As I'm holding my first born child, as my wife is physically broken from the delivery and stuck on the hormone roller-coaster, how do I express that I feel sad for giving up my hobbies without sounding like an immature, spoiled, self-centered little shit of a "man?" Whoever I talk to, if I express those feelings, the knee-jerk reaction is predictable. It's either going to be *How does this guy think he has any right to complain when he's not the one who just* ***literally pushed a baby out of his body?*** or it'll be T*his guy cares more about playing stupid games with his boys than he does about his child.* That second one is really scary.
I knew for sure that if I talked to anyone about those feelings I was going to get one - or both - of those reactions because those were **my own** knee-jerk reactions when I thought about those feelings. It's been ten years and I **still** feel guilty for having felt that way. And let's be honest: there's almost nothing out there to suggest that a new father discussing the kind of things I felt would find an empathetic audience. There's nothing to suggest that we have the right to feel that way. No reason to believe that anybody else would extend me any more grace than I was giving myself. I mean, nobody even asked me. I got a lot of "How is the baby?" and a lot of "How's your wife holding up?" but I never got "How are you doing?"
And, like you says, it's not all bad. Until I had kids I never knew I was capable of loving someone so much. We've had great experiences together. We've made great memories. And we're not done yet: we'll make so many more. To use a phrase I learned from them, they fill my bucket. To overflowing. I make a point to focus on the good. But I do remember moments where I felt powerfully sad, and very alone.
Since then, when someone I know becomes a father (or has another child), I try to make a point of catching him alone from time to time and asking him how he's feeling.