There’s a version of 2020 that was supposed to be manageable. You’d work from home, the kids would do school, your partner would handle whatever you weren’t handling, and life would resume eventually.
For many dads, that version lasted about three weeks.
The version that replaced it involved sustained job insecurity, the constant background noise of existential uncertainty, no access to the physical and social outlets that historically buffered stress, and a family that needed you to be stable when you weren’t feeling stable. That’s a genuinely hard situation. And most dads — because that’s how we’re wired, and because the culture reinforces it — tried to manage it alone and quietly.
This article doesn’t have a fix. It has honesty and a few things that actually help.
What Was Happening to Dads Specifically
Male depression and anxiety typically present differently than female. Less crying and visible distress; more irritability, withdrawal, risk-taking, and overwork. The standard mental health screeners miss it regularly in men.
In 2020, the specific pressures hitting dads were:
Provider anxiety. Even dads whose jobs were stable felt the ambient fear of economic collapse. The psychological weight of feeling responsible for a family’s security in an insecure environment is enormous.
Loss of physical outlets. Gyms closed. Recreational sports stopped. The pressure-release valves that many dads rely on — physical exertion, sport, time away — were removed simultaneously.
Social isolation. Men’s friendships are more activity-dependent than women’s. Remove the activities — sports, bars, concerts, work — and the friendship infrastructure collapses. By mid-2020, many dads hadn’t had a real conversation with a male friend in months.
Role collision. Being every role simultaneously — employee, parent, partner, teacher, household manager — is depleting in a way that no individual role is.
What Doesn’t Help
Telling yourself to push through. Suppressing it. Isolating further. Drinking more. Working more. Any strategy that’s about not feeling it tends to amplify it over time while pushing it underground.
What Actually Helps
Naming it. Not publicly if that’s not your style. But accurately, privately. “I am anxious about money.” “I am angry about losing my freedom.” “I am lonely.” Vague ‘I’m fine’ suppression keeps the emotion alive under the surface; naming it often reduces its intensity.
One physical outlet, protected. Whatever is available — a daily run, the home gym you set up, morning walks. The access to outdoor and physical movement in 2020 was one of the strongest predictors of mental health outcomes. It’s not about fitness. It’s about physiology — exercise genuinely alters cortisol and adrenaline in ways that improve mood.
One connection per week, active. Not passive social media scrolling. An actual voice call or video call with a friend. It takes 20 minutes and the contrast with isolation is significant. Schedule it.
Professional support. Telehealth therapy expanded dramatically in 2020 and the barriers dropped. If what you’re experiencing is persistent — lasting more than a few weeks, affecting work or relationships significantly — talking to someone is a legitimate option, not a failure.
The Permission Slip
You don’t have to be fine. You’re allowed to have a year that was legitimately hard. The standard of invulnerable, unaffected fatherhood is a cultural fiction that serves nobody.
Admitting to your partner that you’re struggling isn’t weakness. It’s information they need to support you. Admitting to yourself that this was a difficult year is accurate, not self-indulgent.
The action step: tonight, answer this honestly for yourself. On a scale of 1–10, how are you actually doing? If the answer is below 6, what one thing could you do this week that would move it? Name the thing. Then do it.