Info for dads
Dad Matters supports dads in the perinatal period with attachment and bonding, mental health, supporting partners and accessing services.
Every dad’s experience is different, so we’ve put together links, resources and information for some of our most commonly requested subjects, including details of other organisations you can contact for a variety of specialist support.
Loss and Bereavement
As a parent, child loss is something you never think you will ever have to experience. Indeed losing anyone close can be a really challenging time.
For those of us who have known loss, there are many feelings and emotions we might experience; anger, sorrow, confusion and maybe the biggest of all are the questions; why them? why us?
All of these responses are quite reasonable and totally OK to ask or to experience.
As men, we can want to fix things/make things better, yet child loss grief is something that has no quick fix, or direct solution. But there is support out there. Men and women respond to grief differently, and whatever way you respond it is OK.
The most important thing is we recognise and acknowledge what has happened and if we need support, we reach out before we get to crisis point.
For more support, contact the following organisations:
Kieran's story: Losing baby Emma
Kieran was 19 years old when he became a dad. He shares his story of baby loss and reflects on how it affected his wellbeing.
"I wasn’t expecting it, neither of us were, but it happened, out of the blue, our daughter Emma was born.
She didn’t live very long, she had an infection called group B strep.
It was really traumatic for us both, and everyone around us. Emma’s mum was just 17, and neither of us knew she was pregnant. She went through something I couldn’t ever imagine, and how she is as strong as she is now amazes me every day. Giving birth and not knowing what was happening, and then seeing your child and not being able to help must’ve been really harrowing. I wish, every day, that I could have shared that huge burden. Looking back I was ignoring my wellbeing and trying to focus on supporting my partner, but I realise now I needed to be ok to be able to do that.
I didn’t speak to anyone about it at the time. We didn’t really speak to each other. I’d been advised not to bring it up in case I upset my partner. I wanted her to be ok, and because I wanted to avoid talking about my feelings, I didn’t talk about it. It seemed natural to not talk about it and at 18 I didn’t talk about anything emotional. I was never offered any support from the services around us, nor was I asked how I was by anyone.
I didn’t see Emma, although I had the opportunity to. Her mum had some photos, which I loved to see, but it didn’t feel real, like an abstract situation that I was managing for other people. I guess it still feels a bit like that now, looking back on someone else’s life.
A couple of years later we had our next daughter, Dharma. It was then that I found out a bit more detail about how Emma had died. There were bright yellow stickers all over the Midwives notes that said GBS - and I asked what it meant. Until then I only knew it had been an infection.
My partner was told she should have antibiotics during labour, but then also told she could have them orally as she had a pretty severe needle phobia.
It was only when we were sat after inducing that we realised she hadn’t had the antibiotics. It was a real challenge. The obstetrician was abrupt and dismissive of my partner’s panic at having to have an IV and she didn’t have one in the end. My daughter Dharma and her mum had to stay in the hospital under observation for a few days. I could only see them during visiting times, and felt so out of the loop. My partner needed me, and I was prevented from being there.
During the labour I was terrified. What if it happened again, how would I support my partner? How would I cope with losing another baby? I felt so overwhelmed, seeing my partner in so much distress with labour and with the pressure from the doctors about the antibiotics. She was really suffering. I felt helpless.
A similar situation happened when we had our youngest, Erin. There were mixed messages from Midwives and Obstetricians, and my partner ended up being distraught over not having a drip. I was again distressed at the prospect of losing another baby, but torn with feelings of love and support for my partner who had to be feeling worse than I ever would. Visiting times were much better, I could and did stay all day until they were ready to come home.
It’s 22 years since Emma was born. I still don’t talk about her much, although I talk to her often. I think about who she would have been, how her sisters would have looked up to her, and what her talents would have been. Even though she wasn’t with us, I was a dad, and I called myself a dad. I had her name tattooed on my ankle but kept it hidden for a number of years. Even now the awkwardness of explaining who she is when someone sees it is sometimes unbearable.
I feel totally out of my depth when I think about supporting Emma’s mum, or even talking with her about it. I wish I’d done a lot differently, or could feel and act differently. I suppose that’s why I’m sharing this. It’s ok to feel overwhelmed, out of your depth and unimportant. You need to talk about it, with anyone who’ll listen.
I’m sharing this now because after 22 years, I realise I need to talk about it, and more importantly I feel comfortable doing so!
One of the main reasons I feel so passionate about supporting dads is that I had a pretty traumatic time, and all I wanted to do then, and now, was to be able to support the mother of my babies, who was going through far more than I was. I wish I’d known then that looking after myself was the only way to be able to support my family.
I want to help other dads to know how important they are, to their partners, their babies and in their own right! It’s ok to not be ok, and you don’t have to be strong all the time!"