Strength in Community
“There are three needs of the griever: To find the words for the loss, to say the words aloud and to know that the words have been heard.”
I didn’t go looking for Sad Dads Club on the day I found it. In truth, I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for — maybe just a sign that I wasn’t the only one feeling like this. Grief can make the world feel very small, like the walls have closed in around you. Even when you’re surrounded by people who care, it’s easy to feel entirely alone.
The Sad Dads Club is exactly what the name says — a place for fathers who’ve lost their children. It’s a club no one wants to join, yet one that’s become a lifeline for so many of us. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, what the circumstances were, or how you choose to tell your story. Here, you don’t have to explain the weight you carry. You don’t have to justify why some days you can’t speak at all, or why other days you can’t stop talking.
What it offers is space — and in grief, space is everything. Space to say their name without feeling like you’ve made the room uncomfortable. Space to share a memory without rushing to the next subject. Space to listen, because sometimes hearing someone else’s story helps you understand your own.
It’s both an online lifeline and a real-world anchor. Messages sent in the quiet hours when sleep won’t come. Meet-ups where a dozen dads might stand together, some talking, some silent, all understood. In those moments, the isolation eases — not because the grief is smaller, but because you’re reminded that you’re not the only one carrying it.
The thing about this community is that it doesn’t push. There’s no pressure to “open up” before you’re ready. It simply holds the door open, month after month, year after year, until you decide to step in. And when you do, you realise it’s been holding space for you all along.
Why Holding Space Matters
Finding a group like Sad Dads Club — or any community that truly understands — isn’t always straightforward. In the early days, the thought of joining one might not even cross your mind. You might not know they exist, or you might not be ready to sit in a room (or even a virtual space) and hear your own reality echoed back to you. For some of us, it’s months or years before we even look. For others, it’s the first thing we reach for. There is no one right time, no one way in.
Part of the challenge is that the world at large doesn’t quite know what to do with grief — especially the loss of a child. In some cultures, grief is wrapped in formal rituals with defined periods for mourning. In others, it’s politely hidden away, expected to be “managed” quietly and efficiently. But love and loss don’t follow a timetable. They aren’t bound by etiquette. They will outlast every calendar you try to fit them into.
Even family and friends, as much as they care, can struggle. Some go silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Others try to offer advice or quick comforts that don’t quite fit. Over time, that gap can widen, and the isolation can grow. It’s not always because they don’t love you — it’s because grief is a language they don’t speak.
That’s where groups that hold space become so vital. A good support group doesn’t demand you “move on” or reach some invisible milestone. It understands that grief is a companion you’ll carry in different ways over the years — some days heavier, some days quieter. In these spaces, you can tell your story or sit in silence. You can speak your child’s name without hesitation. You can come back after months away and pick up right where you left off.
Holding space means giving people permission to exist exactly as they are in that moment. It’s a gift that can’t be rushed, and it’s something our wider society doesn’t often offer. But it’s out there — in online forums, in local meet-ups, in walks and coffee mornings and candlelight vigils.
The hardest part, sometimes, is taking that first step towards it. But the truth is, these communities are not just waiting — they are ready, with the lights on and the door open, whenever you choose to walk through.
Building Connection
While grief groups can be a lifeline, they aren’t the only way to find connection. Sometimes the most grounding moments come from stepping outside of the spaces where loss is the central focus — not to escape it, but to let other parts of life breathe alongside it.
If you still have family or friends nearby, those bonds can be a place to start. It’s not always easy. Relationships can shift under the weight of grief, and people may not know how to show up for you in the way you need. But even small acts of contact can make a difference: a quick message, a shared cup of tea, a short walk together. You don’t have to talk about the hardest things every time. Sometimes it’s enough to share the everyday — a story from work, a recipe, the latest episode of a show you both follow.
For those who feel more alone, creating opportunities for connection can be just as powerful. Volunteering, for example, can offer a sense of purpose while also opening the door to new relationships. It doesn’t have to be grand — helping at a local food bank, joining a community clean-up day, reading to children at the library. Acts of service often create a quiet, steady bond with others who are there for the same reason.
Shared activities can also be a bridge. A walking group, a book club, a local art class — these are spaces where you can meet people through common interests first. The connection might start with talking about a trail, a novel, or a painting technique, but over time, those conversations can deepen into something more personal.
Sometimes we think connection has to come from people who already understand our grief. But the truth is, it can grow anywhere there’s kindness, shared effort, and a willingness to show up. These other spaces don’t replace the need for communities that speak our language of loss — they complement it, giving us places to rest, to remember that we are more than what has happened to us, and to feel part of something larger than ourselves.
Resources
These are some of the places and communities I’ve found helpful — both for grief-specific support and for building connections in other parts of life. You might find different ones that work for you, and that’s the point: there’s no one right fit, only what feels right for you.
Grief & Bereavement Support
Sad Dads Club – saddadsclub.org
A community for bereaved fathers, offering both online groups and in-person meet-ups. A space where your story is understood without explanation.The Good Grief Trust – thegoodgrieftrust.org
UK-based charity connecting people to a wide range of grief resources and local support networks.Sands – sands.org.uk
Support for anyone affected by the death of a baby, including helplines, local groups, and remembrance events.Mental Health Mates – mentalhealthmates.co.uk
Peer-led walking groups that create safe spaces to talk — or simply walk alongside others — in your own time.
Broader Ways to Connect
Ramblers Wellbeing Walks – ramblers.org.uk
Gentle, accessible group walks in communities across the UK, ideal for meeting people through a shared love of the outdoors.Volunteer Scotland / Volunteering Wales –
National volunteer databases that can help you find local opportunities to give your time and connect with others through service.Local Libraries & Community Centres –
Often overlooked, these are hubs for everything from art workshops to conversation groups, many of them free or low-cost.
