Men’s Health Month: More Mental Health Help Needed for Fathers

[Editor’s Note: Today’s guest post comes from Carrie London of Growing Humans. Addressing fathers’ mental health is important in the discussion of postpartum depression. Additionally, November is Men’s Health Month and this year the Movember movement includes mental health as an issue. -Jenna]

Men's Health Month: More Mental Health Help Needed for Fathers

I want to talk about postpartum depression. I want to talk about how isolating it can feel.

I want to talk about how painful it can be. I want to talk about how terrifying it is.


I remember the moment I realized my husband was struggling. I was sitting on the stairs, just outside my screaming newborn’s nursery, sobbing. He stood there next to me, stone-faced. I looked up at him, helpless, and told him I wanted to leave, to die, to fade away. I was deep into the postpartum woods, you see. I was under the water. I was reaching up my hand to him, my rock, my safe place.

He looked down at me, no light behind his eyes, and said, “Me too.”

I recoiled, immediately. How dare he threaten to leave me here? He was a man. He was THE man. The father of my child. He was supposed to hold me together, like he always has.

We both fell apart; the floor beneath us became a net and well fell through the holes. Together.

At my OBGYN visits following the birth, I was monitored. I had existing depression and was treated with a light hand; I was given medication, offered counseling. Resources were constantly available to me as I throttled through the most difficult period of my life. My husband was never mentioned. My husband was never a factor.

My husband suffered silently.

He endured sleepless nights, watching his wife unravel between his fingers, bringing a life into the world. He went back to work two days after our daughter was born. He would leave me in pieces each morning and arrive home to the same, after working eight hours; after unraveling himself.

Men are more likely to experience postpartum depression if their partner does.

Most never say a damn thing about it.

Most deal with it, poorly, and are labeled as bad fathers. Marriages suffer. Babies aren’t bonded with. Families are injured.

There are a handful of online support groups where men can discuss being “sad dads”…anonymously.


The stigma over the heads of men for mental health is so heavy that they only feel safe admitting to needing help anonymously.

There is a universe of support for me and this disease. I didn’t even need to ask for help. I am a woman. But postpartum depression does not just happen to women.

It happens to men. It happens to families.

I wish a doctor had asked me how my husband was handling it. I would have told them that he was distant, that something didn’t feel right, that he wouldn’t hold our baby, that he seemed afraid—all of the same symptoms I had when diagnosed with postpartum depression.

My husband should have been on medication with me. He should have been offered therapy. He should not have felt afraid and ashamed, like he still does to this day. These are not just “sad dads,” and I did not just have “the baby blues.”

We were sick. We were not treated equally, and that should probably be changed, don’t you think?

For more posts about fathers, check out our Help for Fathers category.

The Man Behind the Woman Behind Postpartum Progress

contributed by Julia Roberts— Agency Owner, Speaker, Advocate, Mother of two kids with ARPKD/CHF, both kidney transplanted, Co-founder of Support for Special Needs

FCpost3I do not know Frank Callis, Katherine Stone’s husband, personally. Like many other people, I’ve seen pictures, read posts about him from Katherine, and seen loving status updates to him and from him. Even though I’ve never met him, I do know what it takes to support your partner when they stumble across a mission to help others.

Full disclosure, I have not suffered from a postpartum disorder. Like Katherine though, I stumbled across a voluntary position in the realm of the non-profit world supporting others and I could not do it without my husband, Julian.

To understand I know this for certain, you’d have to know that nearly 13 years ago my daughter was diagnosed at birth with a rare form of a common life-threatening kidney disease (ARPKD) and three months later her then 3-year-old brother was diagnosed as well. We knew we’d soon face kidney and liver failure in our kids and overnight we went from a family welcoming their second child to a family raising two kids with extreme special needs. Just. Like. That.

We didn’t have anyone to talk to and on the Internet we found only staggering odds against the kids to live “normal” productive, healthy lives. I contacted the PKD Foundation, started a chapter in Atlanta, met people facing what we were and I carved out a way for parents of kids with PKD to connect. It has helped a lot of people and I’m pretty proud of that, but if I’m honest, I did it because I needed to connect.

To do this the past 13 years, my family has had to make sacrifices and my husband specifically has had to adjust how we live as a couple and a family.

In order for Katherine to do what she does Frank has to be patient and kind and loving, that is a given. In practicality he has to do more. Katherine doesn’t get a paycheck from her work at Postpartum Progress and in order to do what she does well, she can’t earn a regular check from a 9-5 corporate job. Katherine was successful at and is still extremely qualified for a corporate gig, so there goes a steady salary the family can depend on. Katherine has thanked Frank on more than one occasion for being supportive of her choice to work for zero profit in the non-profit world, to save lives. I and countless others want to thank Frank, too, for everything he does to support the woman we know as Katherine, an original Warrior Mom.

What does that look like day-to-day behind the scenes? It probably means that over the last 10 years Frank has endured listening to dozens of calls at all hours when Katherine spoke to someone who needed immediate support. It has probably meant he held her as she cried because she takes in story after story and remembers her own pain. It has meant watching her relive their story and heal over time as she has helped others heal. It means that Frank has been open to people knowing their personal story and intimate details about their lives in the name of helping other people not feel alone in the often isolating world of postpartum disorders.

FCpost1I am sure on several occasions Frank has gathered up the kids and all that means, while waiting patiently for Katherine to get one more email of support out to a woman struggling, or while she tried to find the link to an old post to share, finished work on a Daily Hope blast of support to women who have come to depend on that reliable contact. I bet he’s had to change plans, arrive later than expected, juggle work responsibilities to support Katherine in a quest to empower women and families in ways we cannot even imagine.

I know it’s meant Frank telling their story of those early days in their family journey  – on the record  – to help others.


FCpost2Thanks Frank. On this 10 Year Diamond Anniversary of Postpartum Progress we celebrate you, too. Thank you for all you have done over the years to support Katherine graciously and lovingly. Thanks for all of the time you devote to making sure Katherine is realizing this mission that came out of creating your family. Your love and continued reinforcement allows her to impact lives in immeasurable, positive ways…which means YOU impact countless lives in immeasurable ways too, and we’re grateful. We know she couldn’t do it without you and your unwavering support and love.

Thanks, Frank, for being the original Warrior Dad and Husband.

How Partners Can Help Even When They Don’t Understand

How Partners Can Help Even When They Don't Understand

I feel so lucky to have an amazing husband; he is a friend, partner, father, and the passionate love of my life. When I struggle hardest, however, it doesn’t look like the marriage I just described. I want to share his most helpful insight with all of you, here, because the sheer simplicity of it knocks my socks off. I should add to that sentence: “when I’m in a good place.” When I’m in a dark and scary place, I sometimes want to throw things when he does this.

He says, “I don’t understand, but I don’t need to.”

He says this when I call for help with the baby in that desperate tone, and then ask him with so much accusation in my voice, “What?! Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s an explanation, and it gives him a graceful exit, babe in arms.

This is helpful because in those desperate moments, I am usually feeling intense anxiety and often rage, and I need a safe space to let that pass. If it’s just me and the baby, then the baby goes in the playpen, while I wait for it to pass, sometimes just around the corner, where I can’t see him cry for me. It’s a lot easier to wait it out, though, when Daddy can distract our baby from my confusing disappearance with a game or a story or a toy.

In those moments, I long to be understood. I want it to be normal, not scary, something every parent feels. But it isn’t something every parent feels. It’s my illness. It is okay; feelings are not dangerous. Thoughts about doing something to release feelings of rage are not dangerous. Only actions are dangerous, and that’s not something we have to fear. My illness may drown me in feelings and thoughts until I feel like I’ll never get my head above water again, but I don’t act on them. My husband does not fear that I will act on them. We all know that we are safe.

When he says that he doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t need to understand, my husband is helping by making our family as comfortable as we can be, when my illness shows its ugliest side. In the moment, it releases us from talking about it. I have a hard time talking about these feelings after they have passed. I’m not in any shape to talk about them during the middle of it all. His words explain the look on his face, a look I used to interpret as disgust or fear. “The Look” happens because he doesn’t understand. Knowing that releases me from the fear that it means something bigger and uglier.

So, why the second part? Why does he say that he doesn’t need to understand?

Partners, spouses, parents, grandparents: If they haven’t experienced the feelings that come with anxiety, depression, and postpartum rage, then they just don’t know what those things feel like. They can’t know, no matter how I try to explain it. I’m good with words; I’m a writer. I can’t make it happen any more than a writer can make me taste something I’ve never eaten. Everyone understands certain levels of anxiety, sadness, anger, etc., but that doesn’t make it any easier to understand why I need my child taken to another room, because I feel so full of rage that his touch upsets me, and his laughter sounds taunting.

There’s another level to this, and it’s something I’ve only very recently come to appreciate: In order to truly understand what I’m going through, my husband would have to feel these feelings. I wouldn’t wish them on a complete stranger, let alone my life partner and father of my child.

I have found a community of mothers who really understand this, through Postpartum Progress and #ppdchat on Twitter. I can go to my phone or computer any time of day or night and find someone who has been to this awful place. But when I call out for help with the baby, it is really nice to know that I’m going to get help from someone whose emotions run a more even course.

I am sure that we’d be okay if he did know these feelings, since dads do experience postpartum depression. The plus side of not my husband not understanding what I’m going through, though, is that I don’t have to worry that he’s going through the same thing.

I do not mean to imply that moms like me don’t need understanding, or that we can get everything we need from friends. This is not a phrase that I hear often, by any means. It’s not an excuse to avoid me or to avoid talking about feelings. My husband came up with this after years of talking about feelings, anxiety, my illness, then, after the baby was born last year, postpartum rage. I need my spouse to talk about feelings with me, his feelings and my feelings. My point is very specific: When fear and/or rage feel like they will overwhelm every molecule of my being, my husband is comfortable caring for our child, even though he sees the intensity of my mood but does not relate.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t need to understand. We need acceptance. He needs to accept that I feel something so intense, that I want our child to be in another room, if possible. I need to accept that these feelings have come, and that they will go. These are the words we use to communicate that that is happening. We make for a truly awesome team, especially during those moments.

Depression In Men: A Dad’s Story of Male Postpartum Depression

paternal postpartum depressionMen get depressed in the first year postpartum, too. Whether you call it paternal postpartum depression or something else, what we do know is that new fathers’ suffering can impact the health of their children just as the depression of new mothers can. It’s important for men to recognize when they have depression in the first year after the birth of their baby, and that something can be done about it. Here, counselor and dad Craig Mullins shares his own story of postpartum depression, and how he now works to help other men get through it at his Colorado counseling practice. 

As a husband, a father and a professional counselor specializing in working with men I was particularly moved by Postpartum Progress’ recent series from “Warrior Dads.” I found myself relating not just professionally, having heard similar stories of successes and failures, but relating personally as I recalled those early days and months often feeling like I was a flailing new dad.

We were so excited to be pregnant. Our friends and families showered us with congratulatory gestures and gifts beyond expectations. It was exciting and I was proud.

We got the typical cracks such as, “You better sleep now,” but they just rolled off my back. In all the hundreds of supportive comments only one cautioned us of the realities of how hard parenting a newborn can be … only one, and she was cutoff mid-sentence as she was scolded for speaking such words.

Even if every person were more up front about the potential pitfalls, I don’t think it would have mattered. I read The Expectant Father, I eagerly participated in birthing classes, and I read the research about how much better kids do when dad is present, nurturing and connected from infancy. I had even written papers and given presentations on the importance of a father’s involvement!

I represented the new generation of dads who’d participate willingly in caring for their infants. With bravado I embraced the impending change of fatherhood for I was sensitive, strong, nurturing, resourceful, and prepared … and within the first few moments of my daughter’s birth it quickly became apparent I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. [Read more…]