After my second child was born, I remember standing in line at city hall in Tokyo—still recovering from childbirth, baby in one arm, paperwork in the other—thinking:
“Is this really the best we can do?”
Don’t get me wrong—Japan does offer child-rearing support. We have health checkups, free vaccinations, child allowances, nursery subsidies, and more. The pamphlets are colorful. The services are… there. But as a mother who has lived through the chaos of baby years, toddler tantrums, and the desperate hunt for daycare (hoikuen sagashi hell, anyone?), I’ve often felt this unspoken message between the lines:
“We’ll support you… but only if you don’t need too much.”
And then, I started reading about parenting systems overseas—especially in countries like Sweden, Germany, and even France. Paid parental leave for both parents. Affordable childcare that doesn’t require a lottery system. Workplaces that actually expect dads to take time off.
And suddenly, my frustration had a new name: comparison.
The more I learned, the more questions I had:
- Why does Japan offer up to a year of paid parental leave on paper, but most fathers still don’t take more than a week?
- Why are daycare waitlists still so long, despite “free childcare” being a government goal?
- Why is it easier to find a cram school (juku) than a childcare spot for a 1-year-old?
I began to realize something important:
Japan’s parenting system isn’t just about what support exists—it’s about how accessible, equitable, and emotionally supportive that system actually feels.
And to be honest?
It often feels like a maze built by people who’ve never raised children themselves.
This post isn’t about bashing Japan.
It’s about asking: What could we learn from countries that are doing this better?
Because I believe most parents—Japanese or not—don’t want luxury.
We just want breathing room. We want to be able to raise our kids without feeling like we’re drowning in paperwork, guilt, or fatigue.
So in this post, I’ll walk you through a comparison of parenting support systems:
- Parental leave: Who gets it, how long, and whether people actually use it
- Childcare access: Public vs. private, affordability, waitlists
- Workplace culture: Does “support” end the moment you walk back into the office?
- Emotional support: Who catches mothers when they’re falling through the cracks?
I’m not a policy expert. I’m just a mom who has Googled “how to apply for daycare in Tokyo” more times than I can count. But maybe that’s the voice that needs to be part of the conversation too.
Because policy only matters if it reaches the people it’s meant to help.
And from what I’ve seen—both here and abroad—there’s still a lot we can do to close that gap.
Let’s start with the big one: parental leave.
On paper, Japan looks like a global leader.
Mothers can take up to 14 weeks of maternity leave, followed by up to 12 months of parental leave, and fathers are entitled to the same (technically!). Some couples can even split up to 18 months between them if both take leave.
Sounds generous, right?
But in reality, only 13.97% of Japanese fathers took any parental leave in 2023—and most took less than two weeks. The reasons?
- Social pressure from coworkers
- Fear of being seen as “uncommitted”
- Lack of clear communication from HR
- A workplace culture that says it supports fathers but rewards long hours instead
Compare that to Sweden, where 90% of fathers take paid parental leave.
Or Germany, where both parents can share 14 months of paid leave, and doing so actually results in bonus months.
In these countries, it’s not a “favor” to take leave—it’s expected. Even CEOs take time off when they have children. Imagine that.
Then there’s childcare.
Japan has made major strides—especially with the 2019 law making early childhood education and care (ECEC) free for children ages 3–5, and partially subsidized for ages 0–2 depending on income.
But free doesn’t mean available.
Many urban mothers (myself included) spend months—even years—on daycare waitlists. The dreaded term “taiki jido” (waitlisted child) haunts families. And even when you get a spot, the paperwork can be so complex that some just give up.
In contrast, France’s crèche system offers affordable public daycare starting as early as 2.5 months old, with guaranteed slots for working parents and clear application guidelines.
In Norway, municipalities are legally required to provide childcare to all children over 1 year of age whose parents request it. And the fees? Capped at affordable levels.
Next: Workplace culture.
Even if you’re lucky enough to get daycare, Japanese working moms face a daunting reality:
- Long work hours
- Little flexibility
- Lack of on-site childcare
- Unwritten rules that punish you for leaving “too early”
It’s no wonder that many women, especially after their first child, quietly exit the workforce—and don’t return.
In Denmark, parents often work 30–36 hours a week, with flexible hours as the norm, not the exception.
In Canada, more companies are experimenting with “returnships”—paid training programs to re-integrate women who took a career break for childcare.
In Japan? Most of us face a choice: full-time or nothing. And both come with guilt.
Finally, let’s talk about something that often gets left out of the policy charts: emotional support.
Yes, Japan has “kosodate support centers” and some parenting hotlines. But there’s still stigma around reaching out.
Mothers are expected to gaman (endure) and shikkari suru (be strong).
There’s no real space to say, “I’m overwhelmed,” without being seen as weak or selfish.
In contrast, Australia offers free postpartum counseling through its national healthcare system.
The Netherlands provides “kraamzorg”—a trained maternity nurse who comes to your home for up to 8 days after childbirth, helping with feeding, emotional care, and housework. Imagine that: someone offered to help you, without you having to beg for it.
After spending weeks researching parenting systems in Europe, I found myself asking the same question over and over:
“Why can’t Japan implement this too?”
But the more I dug, the more I realized… maybe it’s not just about policies.
It’s about mentality.
It’s about what a society believes parenting should look like—and who is expected to do the work.
For example, when I brought up Sweden’s father-focused leave policies to a Japanese friend, she laughed and said:
“Swedish men want to take leave. Japanese men would rather stay at work. It’s safer.”
I paused. Not because I disagreed—but because I understood.
In Japan, the workplace isn’t just a job—it’s a duty, a second home, a measure of identity.
Taking time off—especially for parenting—feels like stepping away from loyalty.
So even if the law says “You can take leave,” the culture whispers, “But should you?”
And it’s not just men.
We women also internalize the idea that asking for help is somehow weak.
That we should do it all, quietly and without complaint.
I’ve caught myself saying “I’m fine” when I’m clearly not, just to avoid being a burden.
One afternoon, after finishing a call with my city’s hoikuen center, I sat with the application forms spread across the table—pages and pages of checkboxes, income charts, and criteria I barely understood. My youngest was napping on my lap. My oldest needed help with homework. Dinner wasn’t started.
And in that moment, I had this strange thought:
“If this is what support looks like, is it really support?”
I thought of my friend in Denmark who said her childcare application took 15 minutes online and included a guaranteed start date.
I thought of my cousin in Canada who gets a monthly check without needing to apply every year.
And then I looked at my own form and realized—I wasn’t just tired from parenting. I was tired from navigating a system that doesn’t trust me. A system that assumes I’ll cheat it, so it makes me prove my need, again and again.
It made me reflect on how Japan tends to approach social support:
- Uniformity over flexibility
- Control over trust
- Order over empathy
It’s why so many mothers here say nothing.
Because the energy it takes to explain, to ask, to push back—it’s too much when you’re already running on empty.
But maybe that’s exactly what needs to change.
Not just the policies, but the assumptions behind them.
We need to start asking:
- Why is caregiving still seen as a “female issue” in 2025?
- Why are full-time working moms expected to function like they have no children, and stay-at-home moms like they have no ambition?
- Why do we call it “support” when it often feels like a bureaucratic obstacle course?
Something has to shift.
And maybe that shift doesn’t start in Parliament or a Cabinet meeting.
Maybe it starts around dinner tables, at PTA meetings, in blog posts like this one—where people finally start saying:
“This isn’t working. We deserve better. Our kids deserve better.”
I used to believe parenting support meant benefits.
More money. More programs. More pamphlets.
But now, I see that real support means more than policy—it means possibility.
The possibility to raise children in a society that doesn’t exhaust you.
The possibility to ask for help without shame.
The possibility to work and parent without being penalized in either role.
And for that to happen, Japan doesn’t just need better systems—it needs a better story.
A story where:
- Fathers who take leave aren’t seen as exceptional, but expected.
- Mothers aren’t trapped in a binary of full-time worker vs. full-time housewife.
- Parents aren’t required to “prove” their worth before receiving basic services.
- Emotional wellbeing is part of the conversation—not just economic productivity.
When I look at countries like Sweden or France, I don’t see perfection.
I see priorities.
They’ve decided, as a society, that supporting families isn’t an afterthought—it’s the foundation.
And while Japan is slowly moving in that direction, we still rely too heavily on individual mothers to fill the gaps with their bodies, their time, their silence.
So what can we do?
I don’t have all the answers—but I believe in small actions with collective impact:
- Speak up. Whether it’s at your workplace, in your local city hall, or on social media—your experience matters.
- Share stories. The more we talk about the realities of parenting here, the harder they are to ignore.
- Support each other. Not just emotionally, but practically. Trade babysitting. Form chat groups. Offer meals.
- Challenge norms. If your partner hasn’t considered taking childcare leave, ask why. If your boss assumes you’ll never travel because you’re a mom—ask why not.
And if you’re not in Japan? Maybe you’re in Germany, Canada, Singapore, the U.S.—wherever you are, take this as an invitation to look closer at your own systems too.
Ask: Who is being left behind? Whose burden is being normalized?
As for me, I’m still figuring it out.
I still navigate waitlists and confusing forms.
I still feel overwhelmed some days.
But now, I no longer think the problem is me.
I see the structure.
I see the gaps.
And I see the strength in parents everywhere who are tired—but still dreaming of better.
We may not all speak the same language, but we share something deeper:
A desire to raise our children in a world that cares not just about their future, but about the people raising them right now.
If we can center that truth—in policy, in culture, in conversation—then maybe the next time a mother walks into city hall with a newborn and a stack of paperwork… she won’t feel so alone.
Maybe she’ll feel seen. Supported. Empowered.
And maybe that’s how change begins.
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