Becoming a dad

I remember when my first wife told me she was pregnant. I was 27. There was a weird mix of feelings, I found myself bouncing between ‘Oh fuck’ - a belly churning feeling of panic that coursed through me, and also excitement that this next step was actually coming about. A curious blend of panic and a sense of growing up and growing into this new role of being a father. We had talked about it, we had decided that if it were to happen we would welcome this new being and that we had the wherewithal to make it work. 

Having a child changed our relationship, the focus shifted, our energy and attention was on the baby. It seemed that there was little or no time or energy for anything else. Was the baby sleeping, waking, eating. Was he happy, hungry, thirsty. Were we receptive, responsive, encouraging, listening. There was very little time in all this for us and our relating.  

When our second child arrived two years later, I remember feeling that I had somehow disappeared. That life was all about the children and that I existed only in relation to their needs. This all sounds very self-centred and negative. There were of course times of absolute joy and satisfaction that we both shared that were enough to make it feel worthwhile.

Now as a grandad with the perspective of years and working with couples, I see some of the same dynamics at play.

Losing our beloved: The gorgeous, beautiful, sexy woman who made eyes at you, flirted with you, turned you on, has morphed into tired, overwhelmed, stretched and ballooned. And you see those same doting ‘in-love’ eyes bonding with another. The pangs, the uncomfortable feelings of being left out, being alone, feeling jealous, are right there. And as 21st century, conscious, caring fathers we are rather prone to push these feelings away, mark them as unnatural, childish, and definitely wrong. We should focus on the joy and beauty and deep, deep love that we also feel for the new life that has arrived. 

How we respond to this dilemma depends on our psychological makeup and in large measure to how it was between our parents at that tender age. How do we stay connected to the love we feel for the mother of our child while feeling rejected and jealous. The reality now is that there is another person in this relationship. Yes folks, it’s rather trendy as an idea right now, but this is polyamory at play. 

The first thing to get is what is actually going on. You have an idea of what your love for your partner is like. That idea probably carries with it memories of warm heartfelt yumminess, of closeness, maybe of oneness, contentment, of finally being able to rest back and relax, etc.etc. Those memories will also evoke real felt sense bodily sensations, the warmth in the heart, a feeling of expansion in the whole body. These sensations act as proof, if any were needed, that this idea of love is real. 

But coming back to what is actually going on - you are feeling rejected, alone and jealous. Somewhat at odds with the idea of how it should be. You have in fact left yourself - you are no longer present to the reality of this moment and you are locked in an idea, a set of memories, impressions from the past. To do this means you have to separate yourself off and out of this separation comes loneliness. Then we compare this separate lonely one to the one being bathed in love and adoration, and we are jealous.

Becoming aware of the discomfort and pain that separation brings is a key step. If we then bring this to our partner as an experience to share rather than accusation or blame, then something changes. We are no longer cut off and alone and we can allow ourselves to experience what is really hapenning - the boundless outpouring of love from mother to child as it is, in its purity and beauty. This touches our hearts and we feel. Emotion is stirred. We feel expanded and connected.

I wish I knew this way back then. If I had the capacity then to feel the pain of that separation, to allow myself to touch its core, to feel the reverberation and kick from a much earlier hurt when I was small, then I would have been able to relate with my wife in a very different way and perhaps more importantly, not unconsciously blame my children for taking her away from me.