During the first year of my son’s life, I often found myself in the wrong place. Or rather, that’s how it felt. Whether it was a playground in Geneva in the morning, when fathers are rarely around, a vaccination hospital in Trento, or a baby-changing room in Toulouse, the same question followed me: “Where’s his mother?”
It was not asked with malice. Yet each time it left me shocked and disoriented. Over time, I understood that it wasn’t personal but structural: a deeply ingrained cultural assumption about who caregiving belongs to. Six years later, with a second son, I know that fathers are more involved than ever in caregiving – even if, statistically, we still do much less than women.[1][2]
Hanna, T., Meisel, C., Moyer, J., Azcona, G., Bhatt, A. and Duerto Valero, S. (2023) Forecasting Time Spent in Unpaid Care and Domestic Work. Technical brief. Available at: https://www.unwomen.org/sites/default/files/2023-10/technical-brief-forecasting-time-spent-in-unpaid-care-and-domestic-work-en.pdf (accessed January 2026).
Van der Gaag, N., Gupta, T., Heilman, B., Barker, G. and van den Berg, W. (2023) State of the World’s Fathers: Centering care in a world in crisis. Washington, DC: Equimundo. Available at: https://www.equimundo.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/State-of-the-Worlds-Fathers-2023.pdf (accessed January 2026).
Fathers have raised and cared for their children, but they rarely spoke about it publicly. In our conversation, author Andrés Neuman said clearly that by making fatherhood experiences visible, literature makes public what was once private and this reshapes cultural imagination and family roles.
This is why cultural change matters as much as policy. Photographer Johan Bävman shows this through his work in Sweden, a country often held up as a model for gender equality. Even there, many fathers do not take full parental leave. His photo essay focuses on those who did – men who became primary caregivers – and visualises a simple truth: change does not happen automatically just because the law allows it.
Rethinking caregiving and care roles
But caregiving cannot be reimagined only by expanding the category of “father”. We also need to move beyond rigid definitions of family itself. Becky Barnicoat’s work illustrates the exhaustion and isolation of the nuclear family and how care becomes more sustainable when shared with friends, relatives and community. Care, in her drawings, is not abstract; it is logistical, embodied and collective.
I wish I had known earlier what neuroscientist Shir Atzil told me: babies do not need their biological parents to be with them all the time. Any adult who is invested in the infant is good enough, as long as the infant learns this is a person they can rely on, Atzil explained.
This idea does something radical. It reduces judgement – and redistributes responsibility. It allows us to see caregiving not as a moral performance tied to gender or biology, but as a relational practice rooted in presence and reliability, and deeply connected to another human being.
A choice that deepens our sense of uncertainty
Choosing to become a parent or to care for children can make our lives more uncertain. Yet, as OluTimehin Kukoyi’s provocative fictional piece about a world without children suggests: “Babies are too important to discard.” Because caregiving can become a grounding practice too, if there are the right structures in place. Access to green spaces, nourishing food, and moments of slowness are not lifestyle choices; they are tools for regulation – for adults and children alike.
I think about all of this often when imagining my children’s future and if they will become parents, growing up in a nomadic family with traditional gender roles inverted: their mother the breadwinner, their father the main caregiver. I think back to being questioned in vaccination waiting rooms, or my frustration at changing rooms located only inside women’s toilets. These moments were not isolated annoyances; they were symptoms of a broader cultural structure based on fixed gender expectations.
If I had understood this earlier, I would have felt prouder and less hesitant about being the main caregiver. That pride would have also extended to my wife: proud of her for pursuing her career with passion, despite being judged as a “bad mother” for not being physically present at all times.
That cultural lag becomes even more apparent in these uncertain times. Parents today need to find their way against a backdrop of acceleration and anxiety. An interview with Sophie Hamacher and Jessica Hankey describes how technology shapes our days and large tech companies surveil our behaviour; the information overload leaves little space for reflection and threatens real connection. This deep sense of disquiet has already entered our homes, workplaces and expectations of the future.
As anthropologist Lee Gettler points out in his piece, no amount of academic knowledge prepares you for the day-to-day demands of caring for a child. As men, in particular, it is fundamental to understand that we also change biologically and emotionally when caring for a newborn. This knowledge reframes awkwardness and discomfort not as personal failure, but as part of a larger process of change – one that occurs through the experience of caring.
Being present enough to embrace the future
Two years ago, I started creating bedtime stories with my older son. We do it together. It is playful, imperfect, and creates a great connection between us. I was intrigued to learn that another father out there, Daanish Masood, an AI expert, does something similar.
I found it interesting that Masood uses AI as an aid but more vitally also teaches his son how to interact with the chatbot, making it clear that it’s a robot, not a person. This distinction is crucial. As technology is shaping our lives faster than we can responsibly decide how to use it, we need AI literacy for both children and parents.
The possibilities are promising, but the risks – especially around mental health – are real. But once again, becoming a parent doesn’t come with a manual. You learn by doing, adjusting, failing, and trying again.
The 2026 issue of Early Childhood Matters, which includes many more enlightening voices and viewpoints, shows that, regardless of the uncertain future, our communities can only be built through care. Supporting caregivers supports children, and supporting children supports caregivers. It is a self-reinforcing circle that involves everyone and not only parents.
As a father and journalist, I still struggle on this parenthood path. How can I worry about my children’s school when thousands of children are not in school because of war? How can I stress about where to live when millions are displaced by climate change and conflict? Holding the global context matters. It gives perspective and helps us decide where to fight for systemic change. But it can also paralyse us if we believe only grand gestures and complete solutions count.
Meanwhile, the care we need is right in front of us: a tired mother, a lonely father, a newborn, someone who could use help – or a smile. Presence is not a small thing. Wellbeing emerges not from control or certainty, but from showing up, again and again, with and for others.
In uncertain times, caregiving is not a retreat from the world. It is one of the ways we actively reshape it.
