When Dads Find Their Voice: The Power of Sharing Birth and Adoption Stories

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I still remember the moment clearly. In a corner of our meeting space, three dads sat together in a small sharing circle. Adam (not his real name) had been quietly listening as the other two shared their birth stories. When his turn came, he hesitated, took a deep breath, and began speaking. "I've never told anyone this part before," he said. What followed was a raw, honest account of his fear, joy, and unexpected feelings of helplessness during his daughter's birth—emotions he'd kept bottled up for nearly two years.

As he finished, I noticed something shift in their small circle. The other two men were nodding, one with misty eyes. One reached over and simply placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. No one rushed to offer advice or change the subject. They just acknowledged his experience, making space for it to exist fully.

This is what happens when dads are given the rare opportunity to tell their birth and adoption stories in their own words, in their own time, to others who truly understand.

When we talk about birth and adoption stories, we often center the experience of the person giving birth or the child being adopted–for good reason. It’s an understatement to say birth is a tremendous undertaking for the birthing parent, or that adoption is a significant experience for the baby. 

These perspectives are vital, and they're not the complete picture. It’s critical to create spaces for non-birthing parents to share their experiences, as well. Many men in our groups reveal that this is the first time they've ever told their story without their partner present. For some, it's the first time they've shared it at all. As one dad in our group put it plainly: "No one cares about the dad's birth experience. No one's ever asked me." 

What makes our birth and adoption story sharing sessions different is both simple and revolutionary: we form small groups, giving each person ample time to share their complete experience without interruption. When I facilitate these conversations, I guide participants to focus on their own feelings, the roles they played, and what they witnessed. This intentional shift allows dads to connect with their own emotional journey—often for the first time.

What happens in these groups goes beyond simple conversation. As men share their stories, they begin to make sense of experiences that may have felt chaotic or overwhelming. "At the time, it was hard for me to tell I was significant," one dad shared. "Now I recognize I played an important role."

The recognition that comes from others in the group is equally powerful. As one dad shares his mixture of pride and terror, his moments of feeling helpless or excluded—the others listen with a quality of attention that validates his experience. "It's meaningful to hear others' stories, to have more touchpoints that inform my own experience," a participant reflected after a recent session.

Perhaps most powerful is the visible relief when participants realize they're not alone. "It's powerful to have others holding the experience with me. I don't have to hold it alone," one dad told me, expressing what many discover in these groups. Time and again, I watch as shoulders relax and voices steady when participants find their complex emotions—be it ambivalence, trauma, disappointment, or overwhelming joy—are shared by others.

I've found that non-birthing parents often carry a particular kind of trauma that rarely gets acknowledged. While birthing parents might find strength and resilience in their story ("I lived through this challenging experience"), partners who witnessed frightening moments often have no similar path to healing.

"Our birth was such a shock. It's something I don't want to remember. I was terrified. I almost lost my wife. I didn't care if the baby lived," one dad shared in our group, his voice barely above a whisper.

Another stated plainly: "If it weren't for modern medicine, I would have lost my wife and the twins."

These dads often hold traumatic images alone, with no opportunity to process or integrate these experiences. The shame of these thoughts ("I didn't care if the baby lived") compounds the isolation, as these aren't feelings many feel comfortable sharing in everyday conversation.

In many cases, it wouldn’t make sense for this kind of processing to happen with birthing parents present–hence the importance and need for these dedicated venues. Dads groups provide a rare space where these experiences can be spoken aloud, often for the first time. When one man voices these difficult truths, others frequently respond with recognition and relief rather than judgment. "I thought I was the only one who felt that way," is a common response.

If you're reading this as a dad who has never had the opportunity to share your birth or adoption story in a space created just for you, know that there is immense value in doing so. Our groups offer a chance to process your experience with others who understand, to hear diverse perspectives from other dads, and to have time dedicated entirely to your experience.

Each time I facilitate these sessions, I'm reminded of how rare and valuable these spaces are. The men who participate often arrive as strangers and leave as something more—connected through the shared vulnerability of their stories and the simple, powerful act of being truly heard.

Whether your path to fatherhood was straightforward or complicated, joyful or traumatic—your experience deserves to be acknowledged. In sharing it, you may discover parts of yourself and your journey that have been waiting to be recognized, and find others waiting to share theirs with you.

Click here to learn more about Support Groups for Dads.