
“There are so few services for dads, so how will research save money? Won’t it result in a request for investment, and why would that be funded?”
"Will they even engage in research?"
"“Wouldn’t it be better to research ways that fathers can improve the outcomes for mothers, rather than focus solely on them or their relationships with their babies?”

In recent years, I have decided to pursue a lifelong goal of becoming a clinical-academic and one that researches with dads. What has proven so fascinating is that when I explain to people that I want to do this, it often produces some intriguing responses, like those above.
These responses tell us something interesting about how we think about dads as a society and about who healthcare is deemed to be for. On the whole, dads continue to be sidelined and excluded. Having worked for over ten years now as a Mental Health Nurse in a community perinatal mental health (PNMH) service (nationally delivered services which accept referrals only for birthing women), I am as convinced as it is possible to be on the need and rationale for high quality mental health services for women around the time of having a baby.
PNMH service provision has grown significantly in England, having been made a priority in 2016 by the government. The result of a masterful campaign combining the experiences of those affected, clear economic reasoning and research, the need to end the post code lottery of patchy PNMH service provision was impossible to ignore. This work is far from ‘done’; more investment and service development is needed. Women are still dying preventable deaths, and, in our service, the referral rate is the highest it’s ever been. These services are absolutely vital.
But there is also a crucial need to focus more on dads, all dads. How are they? Why and how are they so important? What do they bring that’s so wonderful? What do they need? Do we know?
Increasing research attention has been paid to the parenting journeys and support needs of fathers in recent years, providing evidence of why this focus is needed and important, but knowledge transfer into real life provision is currently a patchy postcode lottery. Recent data analysis indicates that seven times more fathers die by suicide in the perinatal period in the UK than mothers, meaning that 2-3 babies per week lose their dad – a national tragedy. These numbers, the first summary paternal suicide data available in the UK as far as I am aware, made me stop and take a breath. I send love to every family affected, including my friend (and her family), who lost her partner and the father of her two children just before their youngest turned two in 2020. We really miss you, Mark.
Men and boys are also having a hard time, as recent media and policy reports suggest, including Adolescence, and the Centre for Social Justice Lost Boys report. Fathers report significant pressures around fatherhood, and often feel under-prepared for it, leading to high, yet under-reported rates of paternal perinatal depression. Social and cultural norms around masculinities and what it means to be a man can make it unthinkable for men to reach out and ask for help. Shame and stigma can also get in the way of dads being offered and receiving support. We know that there is little by way of targeted support for dads that they can realistically access, and that the perinatal period is a high-risk time for relationship breakdown between parents. We know that separated men are at higher risk of completed suicide.
These concerns pose high costs both for individuals and societies. As well as the overwhelming human impact of paternal perinatal suicide, the 1001 Critical Days Foundation recently found that the economic cost of those suicides in the UK totalled £217 million per year (this is likely to be an under-estimation, as is the rest of the data related to paternal perinatal suicide). They also report that paternal perinatal suicide rates in deprived areas are double those of affluent areas and are higher among first time dads.
Based on the strength of these findings alone, it is evident that a lack of public health support for fathers is feeding health inequalities and that the impact of doing nothing is too high stakes, for fathers, their partners, their babies, their families, and society.
It is in this context that I developed my passion for research in this area, and I am very fortunate to be embarking on a National Institute of Health and Care Research (NIHR) Pre-Doctoral Award, supported by the NHS Trust I work for to spend some time developing as an aspirant clinical-academic. I know what a privilege and opportunity this is. Through this award, I hope to connect with fatherhood researchers everywhere (please get in touch!), learn from experts in the field of fatherhood (aka dads and professionals), contribute something worthwhile, highlight evidence that further supports the case for more inclusive support for fathers, as well as progressing how it can be done. I am particularly interested in underserved groups, such as ethnically minoritised fathers, and how prepared fathers from them feel for parenthood, as well as the impact of paternal perinatal suicide.
The value base I hold very securely is that we do not need to think about perinatal mental health difficulties or provision as about being in any way a competition between mums and dads. We need to hold that all parents are incredibly important, their wellbeing is important, their relationships with their babies and children are important, their impact is important, and their difficulties and needs are important.
My research interest is also driven by a personal wish. I hope, if he chooses to have babies, that my son has more support in his transition to fatherhood than his dad did, who almost certainly had more support than his dad did. I hope the dads reading this know how special they are, and I hope everyone else can take a moment today to reach out to a dad and let them know they are valued. I’m off to text my dad, who will no doubt reply with his standard ‘roger that, good buddy’, which I hear in his Geordie accent whenever I read those words.
