The Father's Role in the First Year of Life: Far More Than the Mother's «Helper»

Introductory statement

The psychology of the first year of life was written, to a large extent, without the father. The great theorists — Freud, Klein, Winnicott — spoke at length about the mother, the first bond, infantile dependence. The father appeared later, in the Oedipal phase, as the bearer of rules and boundaries. In the first year, he was virtually absent from the theory.

In my experience, however, the presence or absence of the father leaves an imprint much earlier than we assumed. Not as a replacement for the mother — as something different. The father is not a “second mother,” nor a “helper” in care. He brings into the child’s life a distinct psychic quality that modern psychoanalytic thought and neuroscience are only now beginning to fully recognize.

The Father in Psychoanalytic Thought — A Late Recognition

Freud placed the father at the center of psychic development, but from a very specific position: the father as the opponent in the Oedipal conflict, as the representative of law and prohibition. A powerful, but late entry — third or fourth year of life. The first year belonged exclusively to the mother.

Winnicott, although he brought maternal care back to the center with the “good enough mother” and the “holding environment,” did not completely ignore the father. He attributed to him an often overlooked role: that of “holding the mother who holds the infant.” The father, that is, as a psychic support of the maternal environment itself — a second level of containment. This function is not spectacular. But it is fundamental, because without it the mother is exhausted, and the holding environment is broken.

This position began to shift with Bion and subsequent theorists. Bion, through the concept of triangulation, showed that the presence of a third person in the mother-infant relationship is not simply a social fact — it is a psychic necessity. The father introduces the possibility of thinking beyond the binary relationship. He opens up space for a third place, for thought, for symbolization. Without this third pole, the mother-infant relationship risks becoming enclosing.

Contemporary theorists such as Peter Fonagy and Daniel Stern have expanded on these ideas. Fonagy has shown that the father’s mentalization independently influences the child’s mental development—it is not simply “filtered” through the mother. A father who can think about what his child is feeling, who recognizes mental states behind behavior, contributes to the formation of a more flexible, more resilient ego.

Neurobiology of paternal attachment

One of the most interesting breakthroughs in neuroscience in the last fifteen years concerns the father. Ruth Feldman and her team (2010, 2015) have shown that the father’s brain is activated during infant care, but through partially different circuits than the mother’s.

The mother activates mainly the emotional circuits (amygdala, insula)—the circuits associated with danger detection and reassurance. The father activates more strongly the cognitive-social networks (prefrontal cortex, superior temporal sulcus) — circuits related to meaning-making, play, social understanding. This differentiation is not about “who is the best caregiver,” but what each brings uniquely to the child’s psyche.

Even at the hormonal level, the data are surprising. Fathers who are actively involved in caregiving show a drop in testosterone and an increase in oxytocin — hormonal changes that have traditionally been considered exclusively “maternal.” The father’s body adapts to the role of caregiving, in a biologically measurable way.

An important caveat: the majority of this research concerns Western, heteronormative samples. Generalization to different cultural and family contexts requires caution.

What Fathers Do Differently — and Why It Matters

Can love be expressed only through reassurance? Daniel Paquette has suggested that fathers develop an “activation relationship” with their children, as opposed to the “attachment relationship” that dominates maternal interaction. The activation relationship is characterized by rough-and-tumble play, challenge, encouragement of exploration, and risk management.

This does not mean that fathers do not comfort or that mothers do not play. It means that there is a tendency — statistical, not absolute — for fathers to function more as “bridges to the world.” While mothers primarily provide security and reassurance, fathers primarily provide invitation and exposure. An example: the father who lifts the infant up, who plays more “wildly,” who lets the child overcome a small obstacle before intervening. These interactions help the child develop a tolerance for tension and confidence in his own ability.

The clinical significance of this difference should not be underestimated. A child who receives only reassurance has difficulty being autonomous. A child who receives only challenge feels insecure. Healthy development seems to require both.

The absence of the father — physical and emotional

Absence comes in many forms. The father who is gone. The father who works sixteen-hour days. The father who is home but looks away. Each form leaves a different imprint, but they all share something in common: the child loses the third pole in his life.

Physical absence — due to separation, work, or immigration — creates a void that is not only practical. Especially in the context of the Greek immigration experience, which concerns a large part of our audience, the father who lives in another country for work or the father who was left behind while the mother emigrated creates a particular mental state: he is present in the imagination but absent in the body. The video call maintains an image, it does not replace the physical interaction that builds a bond. Rough-and-tumble play does not take place through a screen. The regulation of emotion through physical presence — the tone of voice, the intensity of the grip, the rhythm of breathing — all of this is lost in the distance.

For many Greek families abroad, the situation is even more complicated: the father who emigrates loses not only physical proximity but also the foundations of his own support network. Cut off from his own family, in a foreign environment, he can become emotionally withdrawn even if he lives under the same roof. The loneliness of emigration makes him less available mentally — and this affects the infant indirectly, through the disrupted couple dynamics.

But there is another form of absence, more silent: emotional distancing. The father who is physically present but unable to engage emotionally. This may be due to his own psychological history — the father who himself did not have a paternal model of closeness, who grew up in an environment where emotions were “a woman’s business.” Trauma is transmitted intergenerationally, as analyzed in the article on childhood trauma: a father who has not experienced adequate paternal care himself finds it difficult to provide it.

Research shows that chronic lack of paternal involvement in the first year is associated with difficulties in regulating emotions, increased vulnerability to externalizing behaviors, and reduced mental resilience capacity later in life. The relationship is not causal — many factors mediate. However, it constitutes a significant developmental risk.

Modern fatherhood — between ideal and reality

The public discourse on “new fatherhood” creates the impression: that all a father needs to do is “want” to be involved, and the rest will follow. The clinical reality shows something more complex.

As a psychotherapist, I see fathers who deeply want to be present but feel awkward in front of a newborn. Fathers who feel excluded from the mother-infant dyad and withdraw, interpreting their difficulty as inadequacy. Fathers who replace emotional presence with excessive practical care—changing diapers, preparing bottles—leaving no room for spontaneous connection.

The pressure to be “the perfect modern father” can become a new form of perfectionism. And perfectionism, in psychodynamic terms, is a defense—it protects against the fear of not being enough. The “good enough father,” like Winnicott’s “good enough mother,” does not need to be perfect. He needs to be present, stable enough, and willing to tolerate uncertainty.

Something that is rarely said: fatherhood is a developmental crisis for the father himself. The birth of a child awakens early experiences, memories of one's own relationship with their father, old needs that were not met. The ability to care for an infant is closely linked to how much one was cared for. This is not a condemnation — it is a starting point for understanding.

Simply put

The father is not a "helper" for the mother. He is a special presence in the child's life. He offers something different: challenge, exploration, openness to the world. His absence — physical or emotional — leaves marks, even if they are not immediately visible. He does not have to be perfect. He needs to be there.

To the point

Psychoanalytic thought was late in recognizing the paternal role in the first year. The father’s brain activates exploration and meaning-making circuits that are different from the mother’s. Paternal involvement enhances emotion regulation and subsequent psychological resilience. Migration and distance create particular psychological challenges for the paternal bond. Fatherhood is a developmental crisis—and for the father himself.

Ultimately, what we now know with some certainty is that the infant does not need a father who resembles the mother. He needs a father who dares to be who he is—present, imperfect, available. As discussed in the article on mother-infant emotional connection, the first year lays the foundation for every subsequent relationship. And in this foundation, the father is not a note in the margin — he is part of the text.