Dear Dad: Dr Suzanne Zeedyk

The third edition of Dear Dad where Dr Suzanne Zeedyk writes a letter to you

Mar 16, 2025

"Dear Dad is a space where fathers reflect on their journey, sharing the wisdom they wish they had before becoming a dad. Each week, a different dad opens up about his experiences, lessons, and insights. This week's letter is from Dr Suzanne Zeedyk, who as a research scientist is an ambassador for children having the best childhood they could experience. She uses her knowledge to support parents and babies communicate with each other.
If you could go back and give yourself advice before fatherhood, what would you say? Share your thoughts in the comments."

Why I Created Dear Dad

“My idea to create Dear Dad as a side project within my regular Be a Super Dad posts came from my desire to amplify more dad voices. In the face-to-face sessions I run, I’ve witnessed first-hand the power of dads being vulnerable. Despite the old adage that men ‘don’t talk,’ many dads and dads-to-be have opened up about their worries and anxieties around fatherhood. I’m honoured to be part of a group of dads who aspire to be the best they can be by sharing their journeys, day-to-day struggles, and victories. This series is an online space to mirror that sense of community—normalising our imperfections, offering guidance from hindsight, and reminding each other that being vulnerable is a strength. I hope it inspires more fathers to speak up and feel less alone.”

Introduction by Gareth Wall

“I’m definitely not as young as I used to be. When I think about it, I’ve been working with children and adults in some kind of caring capacity for nearly 30 years—which sounds, and is, a bloody long time. And I won’t lie, a lot of that time has felt like battling against the system, often as a lone voice, trying to push for something better. That work is tiring.

But I’ve also been lucky. I’ve met people along the way who’ve helped shape my thinking, who’ve given me space to think and reflect on my practice. ( Thank you Tony Matthews, the best supervisor you could ever have) And that matters, because there’s always pressure to do. To respond. And far too often, that response is about punishment.

The world is full of people with different experiences, and one of the most dominant ways of looking at behaviour—especially in kids—is through the lens of behaviourism. Rewards, consequences, punishments. If this approach was as effective as people believe, then we’d see the results in places like our prison system. But we don’t, do we?

And that’s why thinking needs to be recognised as doing something. Thinking is a verb. But too often, we treat it as if it’s nothing. As parents, as a society, we want something visible—a punishment, a consequence—so we can say we’ve taken action. But the best action often comes from pausing, reflecting, and really understanding what’s going on before we react.

Now, I say all this because I’ve always felt that the system is flawed. I’ve seen the inequality. I see it. And I get frustrated when others don’t.

So when you come across someone who not only sees what you see but helps you think beyond it, you hold onto that. Suzanne is one of those people.

Suzanne validates so many of my personal and professional values in her writing. She feels like a kindred spirit, and I’m genuinely grateful for her involvement in this Dear Dad project.

I know you’re reading this because you want to be a good dad. And that’s what really matters. I’m a big believer in focusing on the things we can control—how we show up for our kids every day, how we respond to them, how we create an environment where they feel safe and loved. But look around you. Pay attention to the policies and systems that impact you as a dad. How much of it acts like wallpaper that just blends into the background?

I’m not expecting you to become a campaigner, but it would be fantastic if you could start noticing—because the first step to change is awareness. In the UK, The Dad Shift is campaigning for an increase in paternity leave. There’s overwhelming research on how having dads present in those first few weeks benefits everyone—dads, mums, babies, and society as a whole. Yet, right now, the system doesn’t reflect what we know is best for families.
And while we’re on the subject, I think it’s important to acknowledge that we’re still relatively lucky in the UK. To my knowledge, the US doesn’t have any statutory paternity leave at all (I’d love to hear people’s experiences). But here’s the thing—just because we might be better off than some doesn’t mean we should settle. We shouldn’t be measuring ourselves against the worst but instead looking to the best.

And if we’re doing that, then the gold standard is found in places like Sweden, Norway, and Iceland, where paternity leave is generous, well-paid, and culturally embedded. In those countries, dads being present in their children’s early days isn’t seen as an ‘extra’—it’s an expectation, a given, a fundamental part of family life. That’s the bar we should be aiming for.

I wasn’t expecting to be writing this introduction to Suzanne with such vigorous criticism of the system around families—but when you get in the flow, these things come pouring out.

And in all this, I almost feel like I’ve forgotten some of the most important aspects of Suzanne’s work. Her focus on babies, on those crucial early days, is instrumental for their development. She talks about the natural mismatches that occur in relationships—those inevitable disconnects—and how what really matters is repair. That’s something I bang on about all the time in my work, because it’s so important.

Chris, who wrote the first Dear Dad letter, posted a note this week about the value of having dissenting voices in our lives—people who challenge our thinking. And I’ll be honest, that’s something I’ve struggled with, particularly when it comes to things like George Floyd, or the morally bankrupt politicians and systems that make me angry.

But Suzanne doesn’t challenge in a way that creates division. She promotes this idea of Fierce Curiosity—a way of looking at the world that says we have a moral responsibility to examine our own behaviour. Not just what we do as parents, but how our actions shape the world for all children. She creates a space where reflection is encouraged, where we can sit with uncomfortable feelings without shame.

That’s something I try to bring into my own writing too—to help you explore your parenting, not with guilt or blame, but with curiosity.

In my reply to Suzanne last week, I told her that she “helps me think around corners.” And I love that phrase, because sometimes we can only see what’s right in front of us. But when we have people in our lives who help us look further—whether that’s at systemic issues or just why our child is having a meltdown over something we think is insignificant—it changes everything.

We’ve only ever exchanged written messages, but I hope one day we get to meet in person—whether that’s in Scotland or Wales—over a long lunch and several pots of tea because I think we’d have a lot to talk about.

Suzanne, thank you for taking part. It’s an absolute pleasure, and I really appreciate you agreeing to be involved. Please keep writing so I can keep reading and continue to have my thinking challenged in a constructive way.

Dads, I know you’ll enjoy her letter. I know it’ll make you think—not just about the big stuff, but about the little, everyday interactions you have with your kids. Because those moments matter more than we sometimes realise.

It’s a privilege to introduce Suzanne Zeedyk’s letter to you all.”

Dear Dads,

If I accepted Gareth’s invitation to write a letter to you all, what would be the most useful thing I could tell you? That was the question I was asking myself as I looked out from the top deck of the bus.

I was sitting in the very front row. I was gazing through that big window, the one that gives you the sense you are a giant, towering over the whole street. I was aware of my inner child, thrilled to have found that seat empty. I had been faced with the task of explaining to her why grown-ups don’t pretend to drive the bus.

Across the aisle from me sat a dad and toddler, playing a spontaneous game of ‘Name That Thing’. It was they who gave me the answer to the question I was pondering.

Toddler, pointing: “Bus!” Reply from dad: “A bus? Where? Oh, yes! Another bus!” The child giggled because he had spotted the bus before Daddy had.

Toddler pointing with vigour, proclaiming in a louder voice: “Lights!” Reply from dad, delivered with a tone of doubt: “Where? I don’t see any…. Oh look! Lights!” The child squealed with delight that he was beating Daddy at this game.

Toddler pointing so excitedly that he nearly bumped his forehead on the window: “Bin lorry!” Dad shaking his head, looking in entirely the wrong direction: “I don’t think there can be! Where? How could there be…. What??? That’s a bin lorry! How did that get there??” The child was now cackling with the pleasure of knowing he was better than his dad at this naming game.

Daddy, taking his own turn, pointing: “Stairs! Ready?” And down they went.

I don’t think Dad thought he was doing anything special. In fact, I imagine it was taking effort for him to play this game. The story sounds charming as I tell it, but the reality is that the father looked tired.

I wondered about their life together. Maybe Dad had just collected the child from nursery? Maybe it was his mid-week visitation day? Maybe they were on their way to grandparents? Maybe they were going to the food bank? Maybe Dad worked nights and hadn’t got much sleep?

What I did not have to imagine was the frequency of this game in their life. It was clear they played it a lot. The toddler knew ‘the rules’. He knew how to be an active participant. He knew when to take to take his turn, when to leave space for a reply. He knew naming was something he was good at it. He knew that Daddy was trustworthy, that Daddy would want to play this game with him.

If I had had a chance, I would have leaned over and congratulated that tired father on the trust he had nurtured in his little boy. That trust came from no one else. It was a relational bond between the two of them. Noone else could have taught his son that Daddy was emotionally reliable. He was the only person in the world who had the power to do that.

What was it exactly that the child trusted? That Daddy would play this game with him. That Daddy wanted to play this game with him. That Daddy could be counted on to be predictable, that he wouldn’t be easily distracted, that he would usually be ready to take his turn when it was his turn. That Daddy would be funny. That Daddy would be fun. That Daddy was interested in the things in the world that interested him.

If I had had a chance, I would have told that tired father that he was changing his little boy’s biology. If you learn, as a child, that other people in your life are emotionally trustworthy (even if that is only one other person), then it brings a sense of safety to your stress system. Your nervous system knows that you won’t have to do tough times alone. Your body believes someone will be there to help. Your immune system doesn’t have to figure out how to endure chronic loneliness. Your brain grows neural pathways that let you take warm attention for granted. Your hormone levels adjust to the delightful knowledge that somebody in this big wide world shares your interest in busses and lights and bin lorries.

Tired dads on the top deck of the bus don’t think much about changing the long-term biology of their child. Probably they just hope they can get down the stairs without a loud wail of disappointment. But the modern science of child development tells us that’s exactly what they are doing. The ordinary moments turn out to be profound.

Since I didn’t have a chance to tell this dad about his talents (and imagine if I had tried – he would have found me very odd!), I thought I might put it in my letter to all dads. I hoped it might help when you are feeling tired. Or uncertain. Or impatient. Or frustrated. Or scared.

You don’t have to worry about getting it right every time. Just look out for the moments you laugh together. Pay attention to the times you pay attention. Savour every tiny time you manage to meet your child where they are at. You are shaping who they are becoming, right down to their biology. You are shaping their body’s unconscious beliefs about how safe love feels.

Those beliefs will be passed on. They will show up again in a few decades’ time, having been stored deep in the nervous system, when your child reaches for your grandchild’s hand, walking down the street. Or when they curl up to read a book. Or when they brush teeth as part of a bedtime routine. Or when they negotiate the difficulties that come with the word ‘no’. Or when they part at the school gates.

Or when they climb up the stairs together to the top deck of the bus.

Wishing you many moments of joy,

Suzanne

Meet Suzanne Zeedyk

🧑 Who she is:
Dr Suzanne Zeedyk is a research scientist who spent decades at the University of Dundee, exploring babies’ innate drive to connect. With a PhD from Yale, she’s devoted her career to uncovering how early emotional bonds shape children’s resilience and wellbeing.
Stepping beyond academia, she now runs an independent training enterprise, bringing these vital insights to families, schools, and communities. Her organisation, connected baby, translates research into simple, practical tools for building stronger parent-child relationships.
Renowned for her inspirational and thought-provoking talks, she highlights how meaningful connections can transform both our minds and our hearts. Ultimately, Dr Zeedyk believes that by nurturing empathy in our children, we lay the foundation for a kinder, more resilient society.

🌍 Where to find her:
Substack

Bluesky

Website

💬 What stood out to you in this letter?

Want to Write Your Own ‘Dear Dad’ Letter?

✍️ We’d love to feature your story in an upcoming ‘Dear Dad’ post. If you’d like to write a letter to your past self before becoming a dad, or you have a professional perspective that will help dads, drop me a DM

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Reflections on Fatherhood & Coaching

“Fatherhood is a journey we’re all learning from. Through my coaching, I help dads build stronger relationships, improve communication, and find confidence in their role. If that’s something you’d like support with, check out my coaching sessions here. Let’s help you become the dad you want to be.”

🔹 Want more dad-focused insights? Read Chris’ ‘Dear Dad’ letter and Tony’s Letter here or explore my latest blog posts.