Article

Character

Comment

24 October 2023

5 min read

Daunted by dad-hood, encouraged by dad

Imminent parenthood pushes Nick Brewer to pause and consider what sort of Dad he needs to be.

Nick Brewer

Nick Brewer is a critically acclaimed rapper and recording artist. He is a patron of Anxiety UK, and runs Talk About It - helping young people explore creative writing.

A dad hovers with open arms ready to catch a baby taking first steps

Peter Dlhy on Unsplash

I’m about to become a father for the first time.

While there is excitement and joy as my wife and I prepare to start this new chapter of life, I’m not sure that I feel qualified to be a dad. As someone with an anxious disposition, I like to be as prepared as possible for any task ahead. However, just six weeks from the due date, I could quite easily do with another nine months to get ready for the new arrival.

I’ve been reading books about parenting, listening to podcasts, attending classes with my wife, all to try and equip myself with the necessary skills. I’ve also tried to do as much DIY as my limited skillset allows me, to make the house ‘baby ready’.

Yet, I can’t get away from this nagging feeling that I might not have what it takes to be a good dad. Watching my wife flourish over these last few months, building a strong connection with the baby and preparing for motherhood, is quite astounding. Honestly, I can’t say I have that same feeling of connection with the baby.

What do I say to a bump? I’m rarely at a loss for words in life, but I was stumped.

This lack of connection became clearest to me when my wife first suggested that I speak to the bump, so that the baby could get to know my voice. As I hesitantly stooped down and got in position to talk, my mind went completely blank. What do I say to a bump? I’m rarely at a loss for words in life, but I was stumped. An awkward ‘hello’ and ‘how are you?’ wasn’t cutting it.

Suddenly, I had an idea to sing a song. My song of choice was ‘All My Loving’ by The Beatles. This isn’t a song that I’ve listened to in at least ten years, and my wife had never even heard it. So, why did this song come to mind at that moment? Some sort of distant memory had crept in, of my own father singing this to me as a child, most nights before I went to sleep. As this memory came back to me, I started to think, what can I learn about the role of a father from the example set by my own father?

Can I reach the incredibly high bar that my dad has set for parenting? I’m not so sure, but I’ve got no excuse not to, as I’ve had a near perfect example in him.

My dad is a very different character to me. While I often overthink and worry about everything, my dad just seems to have an ability to get on with life, regardless of what he might be going through. He’s not the most outwardly emotional man. It would be rare for him to answer the question ‘how are you?’ with anything other than ‘fine’.

He’s much more of a ‘man’s man’ than me; one of those guys that just seems generally good at most handy things. He’s the type of guy that you would want to help install laminate flooring or rewire a lamp. He’s reliable, having been with the same employer for nearly 40 years, and he gives great financial advice. He is not hypermasculine in any way, but he’s solid. Dependable. He would do anything to help anyone, no matter what it may cost him.

He has a lot of qualities that a good father needs, and as his son I’ve reaped many rewards from having a dad like this. I’ve grown up feeling safe and reassured. And while I’ve picked up some of my dad’s traits, I’m not sure how similar we are. I’m a lot more emotionally wired than he is. I worry about things that I imagine have never crossed his mind. I’ve spent a lot of time chasing creative pursuits and sought work opportunities that I believed would fulfil me. I’ve spent countless hours trying to figure out my ‘purpose’. I’m extremely unskilled when it comes to DIY. I worry that I’m just a lot more selfish than he is. Can I reach the incredibly high bar that my dad has set for parenting? I’m not so sure, but I’ve got no excuse not to, as I’ve had a near perfect example in him.

While I could go on about my dad’s various qualities, when I think of the ways in which he has impacted me most, one of the most important things he did was create a safe environment for me to grow up and develop in.

Through his willingness to patiently let me become myself, with the parental guidance that was required of him of course, he demonstrated love.

From a young age, I just had this feeling that I could express anything to my dad. Over the years I’ve asked countless questions, expressed numerous fears, and explored several different interests with him. Looking back as an adult, I imagine that I’ve frustrated my dad on several occasions; pondering and worrying about things that he knew I didn’t need to. But he didn’t shut me down, he created space for me to express those things.

There’s a piece of advice from James, one of the leaders of the early Christians, way back 1,900 years ago. He encouraged his reader to be ‘quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry’. That’s what my dad exhibited to me. He didn’t bat away my worrisome thoughts or ignore my silly questions. He didn’t show frustration, although I’m sure at times he might’ve wanted to. The way that he interacted with me communicated that I was safe and loved. I’m sure he didn’t get everything right, and I imagine if I asked him, he would be able to detail all the things he did wrong. But through his willingness to patiently let me become myself, with the parental guidance that was required of him of course, he demonstrated love.

For me, the love my father showed me is a picture of God’s love for his children. As I spend these last few weeks to prepare in whatever way I can to become a dad, I rest assured that, even though I am guaranteed to get things wrong, I will have ample opportunity to love my child. St Paul described love as, among other things, patient, kind, the opposite of self-seeking, and always protective.

As I embark on a journey where I will try and fail and try again to be a good father, I know that I don’t need to be perfect, I just need to show love in tangible ways. My favourite line of ‘All My Loving’ by The Beatles is:

‘All my loving, I will send to you.’

I can’t wait to get the opportunity to do that with my unborn child.

Article

Comment

Mental Health

Politics

3 July 2025

4 min read

Rachel Reeves’ tears: public life still mocks those who show anything but the positive

‘Mental health awareness’ is failing, our words are not matched by our actions

Rachael Newham

Rachael is an author and theology of mental health specialist.

Rachel Reeves on the front bench.

Parliament TV.

It’s a bad day at work. Everyone is on high alert, and tempers are frayed. You have your own reasons for being extra ‘on edge’, but now isn’t the time to get into it because it’s the big weekly meeting and everyone is going to be there - worse still, the cameras are going to be there. Despite this, you take a deep breath and take your seat (which, although an honour, is regrettably in the front row).

But as the fractious meeting begins, you feel the ache of impending tears at the back of your throat, and to your horror, your eyes fill. You do your best to wick them away, but you know they’ve been spotted when someone opposite announces how miserable you look.

Many of us will have been in a similar, if probably less public, situation at some point in our careers when the emotions we stuff down in the name of professionalism spill out - but I doubt any of us will have done so in the House of Commons with cameras trained on every movement and a less than friendly crowd opposite.

There have been countless articles already speculating about the reason for the tears of the Chancellor, Rachel Reeves, during Prime Minister’s Questions - but most seem devoid of sympathy or empathy, concerned only with the political implications, but not the person at the centre of this story.

Our reaction to Rachel’s tears is an echo of the sentiment behind the Welfare Reform Bill, which seems to say that need is unacceptable and we should all be able to don that famously British ‘stiff upper lip’ and just get on with life.

Regardless of what you think of the Welfare Reform Bill, the way it has been briefed and communicated has raised anxiety and fear amongst the disabled community (me included).

The main message has been that too many people are receiving Personal Independence Payments (PIP) for mental illnesses such as anxiety and depression, with even the former Prime Minister Tony Blair telling people to ‘stop diagnosing themselves’ to combat out rising welfare bill - despite the fact that accessing PIP requires rigorous assessments and support from medical professionals. (It also has a 0.01% fraud rate and was designed to compensate people for the extra cost of being disabled which is estimated to be up to £1000 a month.)

This tableau is emblematic of how ‘mental health awareness’ is failing in this country; our words are not matched by our actions.

We know, 27 years after the first ‘Mental Health Awareness Week’, that mental health is important, that emotions are natural and valid - and yet we mock any leader who shows anything but positive emotions.

We know that people suffer, are disabled by and killed by mental illnesses, and yet we seek to strip support from those who need it most, claiming that they are diagnosing themselves.

We need a different approach, both to how we handle emotions in public life and the way we talk about those who need extra support due to their mental illnesses.

Emotions aren’t bad - they help us connect, keep us away from danger and allow our bodies to release unbearable tension, as in the case of crying, whereby tears of pain are intricately designed to help us cope. The tears we shed when faced with chopping a pile of onions are chemically different to those that fall when we are grieving, angry or in pain. Tears of pain should inspire us to reach out to the one in pain with compassion not contempt.

The way Jesus led 2,000 years ago shows us another way, both of leading and emoting.

Jesus consistently welcomed those most in need; from healing the woman who had bled for twelve years, considered unclean and rejected by her community, to healing a paralysed man lowered through his roof by friends.

And yet his ministry was not just one characterised by miracles and might, but demonstrated humility and humanity as he wept over the death of his friend Lazarus and allowed himself to be stripped of all strength as he hung on a cross made for criminals.

The night before he died, he gathered his friends and through tears and blood-soaked sweat submitted to the Father in the most painful way, and I, like many others, draw comfort and strength from Jesus’ willingness to cry.

As preacher Charles Haddon Spurgeon said, "A Jesus who never wept could never wipe away my tears."

So perhaps rather than mock Rachel’s tears, they should cause us to rethink how we approach need and recognise none of us are immune.

Perhaps, we may even join with Paul’s words in his letter to the Corinthians: “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

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