Making Room for Dads

When one envisions the caregiver of a child with an eating disorder, the image that comes to mind is often a mother. While fathers are also caregivers, and can be just as invested in their child’s recovery, they tend to occupy an uncomfortable space. I have seen dads rendered invisible in the parent eating disorder community. I’ve seen them maligned and criticized. It’s time to talk about that, because it needs to stop.

Within parent communities like F.E.A.S.T., a quiet but persistent narrative sometimes surfaces, one that casts fathers as disengaged, checked out, or simply unwilling to do the hard work of supporting a child in recovery. This assumption isn’t just unfair, it’s often flat-out wrong. And for families already stretched to their limits, it can be genuinely damaging.

I know so many wonderful fathers in our community. Some are the primary caregivers of their child with an eating disorder — the ones who shuttle their loved one from appointment to appointment, who sit at the kitchen table supervising meal after meal, who shop for and prepare all of the food, who educate themselves diligently about their child’s illness, and who play a central role in supporting recovery. Other fathers take on more of a supporting role; they aren’t the primary caregiver, but they show up however they can and remain active participants in their child’s healing. And then there are fathers who take more of a back seat, who may sit quietly at dinner night after night, holding the emotional weight of watching their child struggle, feeling a deep sense of futility that they can’t protect their child from this intense pain or simply make it better. All of these fathers matter. All of them belong in our community. All of them have the potential to make a measurable difference in their child’s recovery. Sometimes, it is the quiet presence, the one that simply projects love, that becomes the antidote to the eating disorder.

And yes, there are some fathers who are fully disconnected. That is tragic, for everyone. But that reality does not give anyone license to paint all fathers with the same brush.

Many fathers process fear, distress, and helplessness differently than mothers do. Cultural expectations around masculinity can make it harder for dads to express vulnerability, even when they are absolutely gutted by what their family is going through. A father who seems outwardly stoic at a parent meeting may be falling apart on the inside. A dad who never posts in our online forum may be spending every free moment researching eating disorder treatment. Silence is not the same as absence. Reserve is not the same as indifference. Fathers may not always know intuitively how to show up, but they show up nonetheless, just like mothers do. It’s our job as a community to assume that every parent is doing their best, and to give all parents the knowledge and skills to do better, without judgement or casting aspersions.

F.E.A.S.T. is truly committed to family-centered recovery. As such, our community needs more fathers in it. And our community needs to improve at making them feel welcome. Sometimes it’s the small things: a post that opens with “Hi Mamas!” likely alienates every father who reads it, even if that was never the intent. Other times it’s something more pointed, like a comment born from someone’s painful personal experience that radiates outward, landing on fathers who don’t deserve it in the least. Intent doesn’t erase impact. We may not mean to do harm, but we’re doing it anyway.

When fathers feel judged, stereotyped, or unwelcome, the loss is collective. Dads who might have found support, shared hard-won wisdom, or simply felt less alone withdraw instead. The community gets smaller. Families get more isolated. And the child at the center of all of it loses the chance to have both parents fully resourced, supported, and present.

We can’t let that happen.

Our Men of FEAST group offers more than support for dads, it offers an incredible community. If you’re a father, please check it out!