On Becoming a Dad — “I wish somebody had told me that…”
‘Your life will improve by getting worse.’
Actually, that’s not quite it.
Becoming and being a dad is my single greatest joy — by miles. And miles. I’m not a spiritual person but I’ve forced a healthy habit of routinely reflecting on my good fortune. I don’t have it all but I feel impossibly lucky with my lot. I’m truly grateful.
But though things are good, they’re not easy. The goodness doesn't come for free. Having kids has been a huge ‘net win’ for me, but it has been costly too; I’m not happy all the time and I’ve lost along the way.
Nobody really talks about that. Every parent talks about not being able to do this or that ‘because kids’ but very few talk about the emotional toll that follows in its wake.
I’m talking about obscure, furtive, ambiguous loss. Losses you don’t expect, don’t notice immediately but gently accrue over time. Losses you invite by declining invitations. Pay heed to these.
In those last six months before the kids started arriving, I wish I’d spent more time thinking about myself. Honestly. Nobody else told me to do so. And if you’re not going to listen to me, listen to the ancient Greeks. Let’s appropriate two great Delphic maxims to validate the following advice: ‘know thyself’ and ‘choose what is holy’.
Here’s something dead simple and practical you should do. It’s a little cringe but, stay with me. Grab a pen and write down what you love doing. What rejuvenates you? What cheers you up? What distracts you? What settles you? They don’t all have to be ‘fun’.
Big things, small things: name them. Write them out; the sillier the better. Reflect on them. Add to them. Critique them. Prioritise them. Understand your list is a working one and accept it’ll evolve with you over time.
But — please, please, please — consider it.
In six months time, you won’t be able to do all of these things anymore. You might think you will, but I promise you won’t — at least not with the same ease and regularity with which you do presently. You need to think critically about how these activities help you. Each activity will have obvious features — and they’re important — but look beyond those.
For example, I thought the thing I enjoyed most about playing rugby was the physical endeavour and, to a lesser extent, the camaraderie. In its absence, the aspect I miss most is the tactical element; having something completely daft to obsess about in the week. I miss the distraction.
Regardless, it’s really important you do this thinking now so that if and when you start to flag — and you will — you’ve got a decent set of instructions on hand to support your rebooting. If you’re anything like me, I was soon so burnt out I didn’t know how to help myself — I simply couldn’t remember what I loved doing. A user manual would have been helpful.
This advice sounds simplistic — trite even — but having reflected on it somewhat, that’s kind of the point; its simplicity is illustrative of two things.
First, the fatigue endured during the perinatal period (and beyond!) is profound: it’s qualitatively different to any other tiredness I’ve felt before or since. It’s dulling, it’s disabling, it’s depriving. The don’t want complicated solutions, however effective.
Second, perhaps counter-intuitively, I found that it actually doesn’t take much to feel a whole lot better. Doing a little bit of something you love doing can have a disproportionately positive impact. For example, I didn’t expect to but I miss the spontaneity of drinks after work. Meeting a friend or a colleague for a quick coffee in the middle of the day instead isn’t quite the same, but it helps. It’s like playing one song off your favourite album.
There we have it. It sounds daft, and probably is, but it’s well-earnt. I hope it helps you; it can’t hurt.
