Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month offers a crucial platform to speak about the silent struggles many fathers face – struggles often unacknowledged and unsupported. As a psychologist, I spend my days helping others navigate the complexities of the human mind. But today, I want to share a deeply personal journey. It’s one that laid bare my own vulnerabilities and shifted my expectations for fatherhood, specifically regarding the unique relationship between a father and his daughter.
When “Daddy’s Girl” Becomes “Mommy’s Girl”
Back in 2020, as my wife and I prepared to welcome our daughter, Koa, into the world, I was brimming with typical new-dad excitement. Dreams of a “daddy’s girl” danced in my head: shared adventures, whispered secrets, and an unbreakable bond. I envisioned myself as her protector, her confidant, her first hero. She’s going to be Daddy’s girl for sure, I thought.
Turns out, reality had a different script. Koa firmly, unequivocally, staked her claim as “Mommy’s girl.” For a long time, I was, quite literally, chopped liver. This wasn’t a fleeting phase; it was a consistent pattern. When she tumbled, when she was upset, even when she was bubbling over with joy, her first instinct was to reach for her mother. I’d stand by, ready to comfort or celebrate, only to be met with a decisive turn of her head, a small hand reaching past me for her mom. Each rejection, no matter how small, was a tiny chip at the carefully constructed image of fatherhood I held.
The irony, sharp and undeniable, was that while I waited on the sidelines, starved for affection, my wife often felt overwhelmed, almost smothered, by the constant demand for her attention. We were two parents, both loving our daughter immensely, yet one was drowning in connection while the other was parched. This dynamic, though rarely discussed, is a difficult period many young fathers quietly endure. It’s the bitter pill of rejection coupled with the painful shattering of deeply held expectations for what fatherhood “should” look like.
The Power of Talking: Finding My Way
As a psychologist, I understand the profound power of articulation, of giving voice to our internal landscapes. So, I did what I preach: I reached out. I confided in trusted friends, sought guidance from therapists, and leaned on family. This wasn’t about finding a magic solution – because with children, and indeed with humans, what works for one rarely works for all.
Instead, it was about validation. It was about hearing, “You’re not alone,” and seeing the nods of understanding from other men who had walked, or were still walking, a similar path. This collective wisdom, while not prescriptive, opened my eyes to the sheer number of fathers grappling with this unseen struggle. It also equipped me with the empathy and ‘know-how’ to eventually help men fresher in the scene than I was.
The Rollercoaster Ride: Persistence Pays Off
The journey with Koa felt less like a steady ascent and more like a New York Stock Exchange graph – peaks of fleeting connection followed by valleys of renewed rejection. My best efforts often felt futile. There were countless attempts at playful interactions, gentle overtures, and heartfelt efforts to connect. And yes, I admit, there were one or two rare moments where my own frustrations, the sting of consistent rejection in the face of my unwavering love, got the better of me. It’s incredibly difficult to absorb that kind of consistent emotional blow when your only desire is to love and be loved by your child.
But here’s the crucial part: I kept trying. What I learned, both personally and professionally, is that building a connection, especially when it doesn’t come naturally, requires consistent, patient presence. It’s about showing up, even when it feels thankless. It’s about learning to attune to their cues, however subtle, and understanding that love expressed doesn’t always look like an immediate embrace. For Koa, it was often about respecting her initial gravitation towards her mother, but then offering a consistent, gentle alternative. It was about discovering her language of connection.
From Chopped Liver to Braai Master: Our Beautiful Connection
And then, subtly at first, things began to shift. The breakthroughs weren’t grand, cinematic moments. They were small, tender victories. A shared private joke over the dinner table, her tiny hand reaching for mine when walking through a mall or becoming the favourite test dummy for Koa’s 4-year-old makeup skills. Before long came the unbridled joy when she started asking me to teach her a thing or two around the fire. Budding braai master incoming.
At just shy of five years old, we’ve developed a beautiful relationship, filled with affection, shared laughter, and a sense of genuine connection that I once feared might never materialize.
A Message to Fathers: You Are Not Alone
To any father out there feeling like the “chopped liver” parent, know this: You are not alone. The emotional landscape of early fatherhood, particularly when the primary attachment leans heavily towards the mother, can be incredibly challenging. It’s okay to feel the hurt, the frustration, and the sense of loss for the fatherhood you imagined. These feelings are valid and human.
My journey with Koa taught me the profound importance of persistence, self-compassion, and the courage to seek support. Keep showing up. Keep trying different approaches. Understand that connection is a marathon, not a sprint, and sometimes it blossoms in the most unexpected ways. Celebrate the small victories, and forgive yourself for the moments of frustration. Your consistent presence, your unwavering love, even when it feels unreciprocated, lays the groundwork for a deep and meaningful bond.
This Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month, let’s commit to having these difficult but necessary conversations. Let’s validate the unspoken struggles of fathers, encourage open dialogue, and remind each other that vulnerability is a strength. Even when the path is winding and uncertain, the possibility of a beautiful connection with our children is always within reach.