Mental Health

Starting with small movements

The anecdote

I am lying on my bed. I have looked at my clock about 20 times, wanting the night to end. I took a sleeping tablet before I went to bed, which gave me about three hours of sleep. And since then I have been tossing and turning in my bed. I get up, go to the toilet, have a drink of water; I give meditating a go. But nothing seems to calm my racing heartbeat. Nothing seems to be able to help me stop the racing thoughts in my mind. I have never been so anxious.

There were some very dark days during those weeks leading up to separation, and the weeks and months following it. There were nights like this where did not sleep at all; lying awake, wondering what would become of my life; wondering if I could find the strength to go on; wondering if it was worth living any more.

I felt lonely...so lonely. Like I had wasted my whole life, and that there was no hope for me. Thoughts of suicide crossed my mind.

Looking back on this time now it is difficult to remember what I was actually thinking about. But then I remember that I still have moments like this. Not as severe, and not as long lasting. But there are still moments where I feel like I have missed out on all the good opportunities. That I have made all the bad decisions. That there is no hope of a fulfilling life for me.

A lot of this comes from comparing myself with my ex-wife, and the life she is living, and what I interpret this says about me. It comes from remembering some of the things she said about why she wanted to leave. There are still moments, more than six years on, where I wonder if I am doing a good job at the improvisation that is living life.

For me, taking care of my own wellbeing is the most important thing I can do. One of the ways I think about my life is in four concentric circles. At the middle is my wellbeing; the next circle out from that is being a father; the next level out from that is create a home/community; and the final circle is my vocation.

One of the ways I think about these four areas is four things that build upon each other. Wellbeing is at the centre of everything I do. If I am not well, then things fall down.

And when I am well, I can be a great father. And when I am a great father, I have the space to connect with a community and create a home. And from this place of having a great home and community, I can experience libration in my vocation.

Of course it is not as linear as all that. These fours areas constantly interact and feedback on each other. But I find it a useful way to help me prioritise the things that I do.

So wellbeing is at the centre. And this I take care of first. And a big part of my wellbeing is my mental health. When I am taking care of this, I am in a much better position to enable other aspects of my wellbeing, and other aspects of my life.

As I have mentioned in other posts (Start with Sleep), optimising my life for sleep is a keystone habit for me. My day actually starts at dinner time the night before. If I eat well, and then get to bed well, I am well rested and full of nutrition for the next day. When I don't eat well, and don't go to bed well, I am setting my self up for a day of struggle the next day.

But there are some other very important parts of maintaining my mental health, which in terms of ongoing maintenance is just like other forms of health fitness: it is an ongoing process.

Therapy has been an important part of this journey for me. Finding somebody who would listen to me, no matter how I was showing up, and could provide empathy and care and perspective was one of the key elements of being able to get through this time. I was difficult to pluck up the courage to go to a therapist for the first time, but the risk was well worth it. In Australia, of course, we have access to subsidised rates through GPs on a mental health care plan.

Speaking to friends and family has also been a boon for me. I made a decision early on to talk with openness and vulnerability about what I was feeling and going through. I may have gone over the top with this, wallowing in my own victimhood and sorrow for too long, and burning some people out with my grief. However, it also enabled me to allow many of those painful feelings to pass right through me. To process them out-loud. To feel them all. To realise that they pass with time and are not permanent within my body.

For a period of time I was living in close proximity to my parents. This was also super valuable for me, giving me the support I needed, giving the kids some amazing time with their grandparents, and also giving my parents some rare, extended and deep time with my kids. It was a win for everyone, particularly as this was over the lock-down periods of 2020 where we all were able to pool together and support each other. I was also humbling to admit that I needed the help of my parents during this time. I wanted to be the tough, strong, capable and invincible dad. But the truth was I was suffering and struggling and there were moments of desperation where I needed all the help I could get.

The insight

Mental health is, thankfully, becoming a topic that is better understood, having less stigma attached to it, with more help becoming available.

For me, prioritising this, and doing what I needed to do to support my mental health, was one of the reasons I was able to make it through this difficult time.

The consequences

Today my mental health is in pretty good shape. But I am very aware that I need to keep up my practises to ensure this is maintained, and perhaps even improved.

There are some particularly tricky times of the year: the anniversary of my ex-wife moving out; father's day; my birthday. At these times I need to be even more vigilant, and also even more forgiving and gracious with myself when I am blindsided by grief.

The mindful wrap-up

Our mental health is a rhizome of interconnected factors, and it can be difficult to understand how one thing impacts another. Starting with small movements like talking to friends about it can be a liberating first step.

Alcohol

Improvement through subtraction instead of addition

The anecdote

I had a friend over for dinner. It was only a couple of months since I had started this solo parenting thing, and I was in the mood to have a bit of a chill-out and relax.

We opened a bottle of wine and I enjoyed a glass with my friend. One of my recent work gigs was at a wine company, and one of the benefits of working there was a staff cellar with discounted bottles of wine. I had been stocking up for quite a while. It was a nice drop.

I had a great night. I let off a little steam; shared some laughs, and got to bed at about 10 pm.

The next morning was a struggle. I was far from being hung over - although I was not a heavy drinker, a glass of wine was not enough to tip me over. However, it felt like I had had one of the biggest nights of my life. I had a headache. My body was sore. And because it was a weekend I had the kids to manage by myself for the whole day.

I remember it being one of the longest days of my parenting life. The boys were not particularly painful; just doing the normal thing that 3-year-olds and 5-year-olds do. But in my slightly dehydrated state, it felt like one of the hardest things I had ever done.

That was the day I had an insight. If I was going to give this fatherhood thing my best shot; if I was going to be the mindful dad I wanted to be; then alcohol is something that I would need to give up, even in small quantities, and particularly on the weeks when I had the boys.

The insight

As I have mentioned in previous posts (see post on My Chosen Constraint), the constraint I chose for myself after separating was that I was going to be an involved dad. Every other decision in my life was subservient to this.

So after my painful experience of attempting to parent the day after a glass of wine with a friend, I decided that alcohol was an inhibitor to me becoming an involved dad. Time to give this away.

The consequences

It has not always been easy to stay away from drinking. Two aspects of this have been challenging: dating and social gatherings.

After being quite strict about this in the beginning, I have made some concessions for dating in particular. It seems to allow the awkwardness of the situation to diminish, and I will write about dating in general in another post.

At social gatherings, I have found a few tips to help me through and answer the inevitable open-mouthed questions of, "Oh, you're not drinking?"

No, I say, I am not drinking. I am taking a break from alcohol. And I carry around a wine glass filled with sparkling water. That seems to do the trick, both for me to feel a little less conspicuous, and for people to be a little less inquisitive. Both are tips from a friend of mine who has gone through a program similar to AA.

But on the upside, I wake up each morning I am with my boys, having a clear head and a body full of energy, ready for the day.

The mindful wrap-up

Cutting out alcohol altogether will not be for everyone. For some, it will be a way for them to cope. For me, it has been one small thing that has had a significant impact on my ability to be a single mindful dad.

Sometimes we can ask, what do I need to add to my life in order to improve it? Instead of adding, removing something from our lives can be easier and more effective. Is there something you could remove from your life that might significantly increase your ability to be a mindful parent?

A constraint thought experiment

What constraints would I choose if I did not have kids?

The anecdote

This post was spawned from a previous post about the constraints I chose after being separated, which I wrote about here. The constraint I chose, and still choose, is to be an involved father.

But what constraint would I choose if I didn't have kids? Perhaps it is a useless thought experiment. Or perhaps it may reveal some important truth or desire within me. Let's see where this leads.

Given where I am, right now, if I did not have kids, and given I do not have a partner, there are not really any constraints that keep me in a specific place. So something around movement is not a constraint I would choose.

Perhaps it might be something about wellbeing. Can a constraint be something I choose to seek? It seems counter-intuitive: that I can be constrained to maintain my wellbeing. Or perhaps the constraint is, I am open to anything as long as it does not compromise my wellbeing.

Or is it something like growth? Is my number one, foundational constraint, to keep growing as a person?

Rather than thinking about the constraint I would choose, another way to look at this might be what I would choose to do right now if I did not have kids. My reflection tells me that I would look to build a strong community with a small group of people who were looking to do some good in the world. I would not be worried about building up wealth and capital. I would be working on a longer-term plan to find these people, connect with them deeply, and form a project that we were all working on together. This would be some kind of land-based project. Like creating an eco-village.

The insight

My insight from this thought experiment is that the long-term aim of my life would not be dramatically different if I did not have kids. The balance of activities definitely would be, as would the speed with which I was heading towards my long-term aim. But what is clear is that my constraint of being an involved father does not restrict me from finding this group of people and starting to build the level of trust and depth I am looking for.

The phase I am in with my family right now means that primarily I need stability - in the home and in finances and in relationships. I have found stability in some of these things and am working towards the others. At the same time, I am working with the groups of people I have found to start creating the projects. I am doing this in a way that does not compromise my stability, a balance I have not historically always gotten right.

The consequences

This has been a useful exercise. It has shown me that some of what I am doing is not so much about being an involved dad, but rather about wanting my kids to see me in a certain light. Like being a good provider.

So given that I am using my kids as an excuse for living in a way I don't necessarily want to live, how can I still be an involved father and also shift my life?

I think that I am on this path. I have recently changed jobs. I am connecting with a group of people. I have started these projects. And even more excitedly, I think these projects are things my boys can get involved with as well. Working side-by-side, like old-school mentoring and wisdom passing.

The mindful wrap-up

So there we go. Not sure I ended up where I expected. Or whether this was about identifying a hypothetical constraint. But I have found a blind spot in some of my decision-making. Where I am more concerned about the perception of my kids than I am about actually being involved with them, and showing them how to live a full, rich, aligned, curious life (see The tyranny of dreams for how my son is also grappling with this).

The tyranny of dreams

Letting go of that which is craved

The anecdote

I'm driving home with my eldest son after footy training. I have been coaching his team for around six years, and he loves the game. On many occasions, he has told me that he would love to be a professional footballer. The trouble is, his body is not built for it. Or perhaps not yet built for it. He is short for his age, and the power and speed needed for the brand of football played here is not something that sits within his current capability.

But still, he has worked hard. He has trained his ability to run. He has gone to the gym to build what muscle he can. He has developed his skills with the ball. And he has worked to build his game smarts.

The skills and the smarts are the things that come most naturally to him. He knows where to run to and always sets up his teammates because of the care he has when the ball comes his way.

One of the things I admire about him the most is that, despite his relative size, he plays with courage, putting himself in situations where he is contesting with much larger bodies, while still keeping himself safe.

Another thing that I admire about him was epitomised in what he said on our way home from footy training that night. He is amazingly aware of himself and his context, and he is honest about what he is aware of.

We had made the finals for the first time, and training had been abuzz. We had great players in our team, and the boys were gelling at the right time of the season.

There is a moment of silence in the car before my son reflects by saying, 'Dad, I think it is going to be very hard for me to be a professional footballer. I am an above-average player in a fourth-division team'. We both silently weighed the significance of what he had just said.

He was right, of course; it was going to be very difficult for him to make it. It is very difficult for anyone to make it. Of all the kids playing football right now across the country, less than 0.1% of them will get an opportunity to play at the elite level.

I asked him how he felt about that. He said he felt sad, but that it was okay. That he realised there were other things he was good at and could aim for.

In that moment I felt a flood of love for him. I shared the pain of his realisation that a dream he had held was not likely to come to pass. I admired his self-awareness, his honesty, and his courage to share it out loud. It was a moment of connection between us. When the brutal realities of life crack our naive expectations, and through the resultant crumbling create something beautiful.

The insight

I can see that I have put my own expectations on my son and through osmosis planted my own unfulfilled dreams within him. And I can see how wonderful it is that he has been able to look at the reality of his body and his environment to see how unrealistic it is, and perhaps something he did not really want anyway.

The consequences

As this only happened a few weeks ago, I expect the realisations from this story to play out over the next few years. In the short term, I feel even closer to my son. I can see that he is starting to explore other things he is curious about, and as a result the world is opening up to him in new ways.

The consequences for me are that I am even more willing to let go of my own dreams, understanding at a new level that dogged adherence to them can be a self-imposed tyranny. And of course, to be even more aware of the expectations I put on my boys; to evolve my role to be one of a guide helping them discover what is true about themselves, and how this might play into their world.

The mindful wrap-up

I wonder if honesty is the most important trait in a human. If one sought to be honest about the experience of being here as their most important aim, could a life be well lived around that alone? It would beget a focus on ever-expanding awareness of one's body, one's mind, one's history, and one's context. And then a humble sharing of this expanding awareness in a reflexive, open exploration with others.

The mystery of anniversaries

Grief can sneak up on us in unexpected ways

The anecdote

I start to feel a little off. I can't quite put my finger on why. There is nothing in particular that is wrong. No sudden change that I can blame. But I feel quite lonely. I feel a pain in my guts that was not there a little while ago. It kind of feels like I am stuck.

I drive to the shopping centre, and when I get there I don't want to get out of the car. My despair is tangible. A song comes on through Spotify, and I burst into tears. Part of me wonders if it is worth going on. If I can ever feel happy again. I sit in the car, sobbing, allowing the pain the wash over me.

As I am sitting there I remember the date. It is the same week, five years ago, that my ex-wife moved out of the house we were both living in. The sudden onset of pain starts to make sense. This is a regular thing that happens to me around significant anniversaries. And each time it sneaks up on me and then slams my whole body. This is the grief I am still processing.

There are a couple of things I find amazing about grief. The first is that I am I still experiencing it, even though it is eight years since the breakup. I tell myself that I should be over this by now. That I have done enough crying and therapy and inner healing work that I should be over it by now. But the truth is I am not. That the pain still exists. That I am still working through it.

The second amazing thing is the way in which it sneaks up on me; almost tip-toeing its way into my consciousness; often at moments of significance in the calendar; and then envelopes my whole body in sadness. And it can happen in the most inconvenient times. At work. While driving. Often around other people.

I have noticed that it seems to be less intense and shorter in time with each occurrence. I am able to understand and label it as grief with less confusion each time.

And it always subsides. I allow myself to feel it intensely. I talk with people about it. And then it passes through my body. And the grief makes way for other feelings.

The insight

The insight I get from all this is that grief can be something that lasts a long time, can be triggered by any number of external factors, and that it is a process that is difficult to control.

In my case, I allow the grief to surface when it needs to surface. I find people I can reach out to in these moments. And I allow it to pass through so that new things can emerge.

Writing about it also helps. Acknowledging it. Noticing myself saying things like "I should be over this by now" and then loving myself and allowing myself to feel what I need to feel is perhaps most important.

The consequences

When it comes, the grief still hurts and can overwhelm. But in allowing it to pass through me, its intensity and duration have slowly reduced over time.

The mindful wrap-up

A friend of mine suggested one way to mitigate the feelings that these anniversaries bring up might be to create new memories on those key dates. Memories that spark a different reaction in my body, perhaps closer to joy. This is something I am going to put into practice, and I wonder what else you may have found that helps you move through any grief you experience.

Legal stuff

Or, the ability to have the calm, rational conversation in the midst of the storm

The anecdote

I remember being in bed. My wife was next to me, even though it had become quite apparent that we would be separating in the near future. I had the laptop open with a spreadsheet. I had listed all of our assets and suggested that we divide them in two. 50% for everything - kids, money, other assets.

Even though we were yet to separate, and I was doing everything I could to prevent this from happening, getting clarity on some of the more logistical matters was one of the most important things I did in that surreally difficult time. It has had implications that are still lingering to this day, and I count it as one of the most level-headed things I have done.

I remember talking to a friend about it, explaining how strange it was to be having conversations about how many days I would have the kids living with me versus their mother. But they are conversations that have to be had.

Very early on in the piece, as soon as it became clear that my wife at the time was quite serious about ending our relationship, I went straight to a lawyer. The first one I went to was not amazing, but it was good to understand my position and to get some factual advice. The second lawyer I went to was better - I checked in with her every few months to update her on where things were. This gave me the confidence to hold my ground on certain matters and to be aware of what to look out for.

In the end, I felt like even this lawyer was trying to get money out of me, but that is a different story.

The key thing for me was about coming to a clear understanding with my wife at the time. And then enacting this. And keeping communication open at all times. This can be especially tricky when it comes to money, as the trust starts to deteriorate and people start second-guessing each other.

Thankfully we were able to stay on pretty good communication terms, able to go through the process of settling our finances and parenting arrangements through our own conversations with a small amount of help through mediation, rather than having to go through court.

The insight

Through all the deep and swelling emotions, it is important to have very practical conversations with a level head. Getting some advice really helps here, as does have a few very close and trusted confidants to draw upon.

For me, it was all about setting a precedent about time spent with the kids right from the beginning. Even though my kids were only 2 and 5, I decided I needed to have them 50% of the time. I believed in what I had to offer as a Father and that, even though it would be super-tough in the beginning (future post on Gap Year to come), I would be worth toughing it out so that I could have 50% of their time living with me, for as long as they wanted this arrangement to continue.

The consequences

The consequences of ensuring open, level-headed communication and setting an early precedent that I wanted to stick with have been huge. Today I still have the kids 50% of the time, with which I am completely happy. The boys obviously need their time with their mum as well. And I need to have my rest.

Open communication has meant that we were able to maintain a level of trust and ability to operate with some coherence through those difficult times, and onwards since then.

The mindful wrap-up

In the most difficult of moments it can be the hardest time to think clearly, but often the most important time to do so. What kinds of things can we do to prepare ourselves for the inevitability of those difficult moments? And when we are in the midst of them, how can we give ourselves the best chance of having good conversations and making good decisions?

For me building a meditation practice has been a part of this. As has learning about things like the thinking environment. And there is not much that can substitute for wise, close friends. I'm interested to hear your reflections as well, so feel free to leave a comment with your own insight.

Internal Family Systems

Seeking to understand, rather than judge, the different parts of ourself

The anecdote

I am chatting on the phone with my friend. I'm talking about a time when I broke with a commitment that I had. The commitment was to not date until I had completed six months of working at my new job. I wanted to direct all of my energy to this, and I knew that as much as I would like to date, it was not going to help with this in the first six months.

And it worked. I was super focused and kicking ass. I was in my flow and delivering heaps of value to the organisation. The final step in my six-month plan was to complete the delivery of an offsite. And then she came back into my life.

I had been dating somebody for two years on and off, and it had been pretty special. The physical connection we shared was simply beautiful and at times spiritual. We trusted each other and intuitively knew what the other wanted. But we also knew that it could not last. She had decided that her life was going to be living in another country. And perhaps among other reasons, that was the one that meant we could not have a relationship that had some kind of ongoing nature to it.

She had been travelling for a couple of months and asked if we could have a coffee. And after catching up again it was clear that the chemistry was still there, and despite not being at the six months point in my new job, I decided to give in and start dating again.

As amazing as it was, part of me was disappointed in myself. I had gone against my commitment, and I felt a sense of internal betrayal. However I decided to keep seeing her, and this went on for another four amazing months. Amazing in the sense of the connection that we had together. Not so amazing in terms of the impact it had on other aspects of my life. I started to feel run down and sick. My work output was not at the same level that I wanted it to be. I stopped exercising as much. And I started to feel more anxiety.

What had happened here? There was so much good in the connection that we had. Part of me loved it. It was a wonderful release and so pleasurable. But other parts of me were suffering.

This was essentially the conversation I was having with my friend. He is a single dad himself, but more relevant in terms of the conversation we were having, he is a therapist. He reflected that what I was experiencing could be explained by a way of seeing our internal psychology which is called Internal Family Systems.

The insight

Through my friend’s insight, I started to immerse myself in an Internal Family System way of seeing the world, reading as much as I could and turning my meditation practice to focus on these things. I eventually started seeing an IFS therapist and slowly started to reconnect with different parts of myself and to understand the role they play in my life, and what they are looking to protect me from, sometimes in misaligned ways.

I came to learn that there was a part of me that wanted to connect deeply with another human. And when it got the opportunity to do this again, it jumped at it. And it jumped so hard that it was willing to stop all over other parts within myself. It was behaving in a way that was for its own benefit, and what it understood to be for the benefit of my whole self, however in doing this it was hurting me in many ways at the same time.

The thing I loved about this process is that it moved away from being disappointed in any of my parts, to thinking that I needed to ignore them or to move away from them, to embracing them and connecting with them, listening to what they wanted to say, and allowing them to move into the role they want to play in my life.

The consequences

I am still working through this process - bit by bit I am learning about new parts of myself, and I am understanding why they behave they want to do, and what they want to bring into my life. I can sense my system is realigning, and the consequences are yet to play out fully. However, I can see some things starting to come to life that have been dormant in me, like writing this essay.

The mindful wrap-up

IFS practice is in itself a mindfulness practice. It is about coming to an understanding of Self, and the other parts that make up who we are. In IFS, Self is the part of us that is compassionate, confident, curious, calm, connected, courageous, creative, and clear. And as we are able to connect with this part of ourselves, and engage with the other parts of ourselves, we can create a separation between them, and the ability to heal and align our internal family system.

Allowing the non-essential to fall away

What is important can become clear when we have moment to slow down

The anecdote

I once lived in Sydney and I got really into cycling. I loved it. Sydney is a beautiful place to ride a bike, if not a bit scary at times. The roads are narrow. But the scenery is magic.

I found a crew there and we cycled together basically every morning. I woke early to join them and we would head for the beaches or the hills. I got really fit. I started racing criteriums and handicaps. I even managed to win a couple.

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This was all helped by being involved in setting up a bicycle shop with a friend, and having access to amazing gear at a great price.

I started to drop off the cycling upon the birth of my first son. In fact my fitness dropped away quite a bit during this time. I still enjoyed riding, but I much more enjoyed spending time with my son and shaping our new family.

We moved back to Melbourne where my second son was born. I changed jobs as well, moving back to a more corporate environment and away from the entrepreneurial focus I had in Sydney.

And this is when cycling really changed for me. Instead of being a fun thing that I loved doing, something that I was quite good at, that enabled me to see so much beauty in nature; instead of all these things, it became something to do for work. To network with others. To be one of the crew. To do it not for the love of cycling, but for what cycling could do for me professionally. I started to loath it.

And then I had my [[Single Minded Dad: Gap Year]]. One of the amazing things during this gap year was that it allowed my mind to stop racing. My routines changed. I started spending time with a different group of people. And I was not earning any income.

All of this meant that many of the things I was doing out of obligation and perhaps cultural expectation became apparent to me. When my finances were limited, the things I chose to do were more carefully considered. And when my understanding of my context expanded, I started to see the things I could walk away from.

Cycling was one of these things for me. I had no desire to go riding any more. I started to develop a deeper understanding of what wellbeing and movement and fitness were all about for me. And so I sold my bike and never looked back.

The insight

The insight here for me was that in stopping and going slower, I could start to see the things that were detracting from my life but that I was persisting in doing. Stopping meant that I could allow many non-essential things to fall away. Cycling was the pin-up child of this for me, but there were others. Like the amount of money I was spending on clothes and other things for the house. I did a massive clean out, Marie Kondo style, asking myself if this was something I actually needed in my life.

The consequences

Some of these changes were quite hard to make at the time. I loved my bike, and wanted to hang on to it forever. I wondered if I spent less on clothes whether I would still be seen as cool.

But after the decision was made, the liberation was wonderful. It created space for other things; things that were more fulfilling and life bringing for me. And sometimes these things were not material. They created space for different kinds of friendships. For different kinds of thinking. For creating in a way that I had not been able to up to that point.

The mindful wrap-up

I heard Tyson Yunkaporta talk recently about stopping; slowing down; listening more. The land is talking to us. It is saying that we are going too fast. That there is too much going on. That we need to do less.

This was what I experienced in stopping. I am actually at the point right now where I need to stop again. Life has got too hectic. I am trying to move up; have more; go faster.

Time to listen again. And to allow the non-essential to fall away.

Start with Sleep

Within the web of wellbeing, sleep plays a interconnecting role

The anecdote

I am a mess. My wife has just moved out and I have two young boys to look after by myself for a whole week at a time. They are 2 and 5 years old. How the hell am I going to do this?

I lay in bed. I have had a glass of wine after putting the boys to sleep. It is the first time I have done this in a number of weeks, and it was so good to be able to chill out for a while. A friend came over and we had a few laughs and for a minute I could take my mind off my crumbling context.

In bed I am on my phone. Checking who knows what for unnecessary reasons. I put my phone on the charger next to my bed.

In the middle the night I wake up. I check my phone to see what time it is and see that I have got a message. I check the message; nothing important. But now my mind is awake, my heart is beating faster, and I am stressing that I will not be able to get back to sleep.

I somehow manage to drift off after about an hour, and before I am ready to wake up the boys are awake. The days is on. And I feel terrible. I have a dull headache from the wine. I am hazy from lack of sleep. And the boys sense it right from the outset.

The day is difficult; much more difficult than it needs to be. I somehow struggle through with bursts of anger and tears and quite a bit of time in from the of the TV.

Sitting on the couch in this state I had a realisation. I already knew that I was going to have to take excellent care of myself to be able to get through this. But now the first step I needed to take was clear: I needed to ensure that each night I got the best night's sleep I could. Sleep became my keystone habit.

The insight

The thing I realised is that tomorrow doesn’t begin when I wake up; it begins starts at dinner time the night before. That is the moment when I have the opportunity to enable the next day to get off to an excellent start. I do this through eating well. Through putting down technology. Through winding down before bed. And through getting to bed at a time that enables me to get eight hours of sleep.

The consequences

In an upcoming post, I talk about the web of wellbeing (future post on Wellbeing to come). What I found to be the most useful node to optimise within that web is the sleep node. Getting this right requires the organisation of a number of other things, but it also has an uplifting impact on everything else. Being present becomes easier. Making good decisions becomes easier. Exercise becomes more effective. I am more creative. I am more relaxed. And I get sick less often.

The mindful wrap-up

What might be the one node of wellbeing that you optimise for? And could it be sleep? Are there some basic things you can do this evening to give yourself a chance at a better night’s sleep?

Everything is uncertain

What happens when our most deeply held truth crumbles

The anecdote

I grew up in within a household and community culture that was resolute in its conviction that marriage was for life. This was not something I even questioned for myself. For those around me that had marriages that ended, they had failed. They must have given up too early without trying to work things out properly. This was part of a religious bundle of certainties that my life was framed around, including the certainty of God, the certainty of an afterlife, the need for certainty and 'faith' about anything written in the Bible.

At the time of my marriage, I was still firmly in this world of certainty. Over the unfolding years, however, I started to see that there were many things that were less certain than I realised. I become less certain that there was a plan for my life. Less certain that evil did not prosper. And less certain that there was a God in the form that I had once believed. However through all of this, my certainty about the foundations of marriage, and in particular my marriage, remained steadfast and unquestioned.

So when my wife at the time came to me and said that she was starting the think about a divorce, I was rattled. Not only was I completely taken by surprise by this - I had thought that our marriage was in good shape (see future post on How is your marriage going?) - but the one thing I thought was certain seemed no longer to be the case.

In the unravelling that occurred over the following 3 months, and then the following year, this was a profound truth that completely changed my perspective about the world. If the one thing I thought was certain was actually uncertain, then that meant everything was uncertain.

David Chapman might call this a moment of realising that there is no pattern to this world. That everything is meaningless. That everything is nebulous. That I have been walking on clouds this whole time, thinking that I was walking on the most solid of rocks.

This is, of course, an intermediate phase. A moment of necessary crumbling and potential nihilism where nothing seems meaningful or worth doing. If everything is uncertain, how can I proceed in any direction? Perhaps it doesn't matter then. Perhaps I can be destructive.

This it what it felt like for me for some time. That I could not depend upon anything. That I was walking on clouds that could give way at any moment.

It was both liberating and terrifying. If nothing was certain, then I could change anything. What did I want to change? Who did I want to be? What constraints would I choose for my life (see Single Mindful Dad: My Chosen Constraint)?

The insight

If the most unshakable thing in my life was actually shakable, and in fact disintegrating, then that meant anything in my life could change at any moment. My job. My health. My relationship with my kids. My friendships. The structure of our society. It was all fundamentally fiction (see Yourav Hurari in Sapiens on fiction being one of the key tools of our species).

If my marriage could change, then anything could change.

The consequences

The immediate consequence of this insight was that I unravelled. My life no longer made any sense. All the futures I had planned would no longer be. The idea I had of myself was no longer relevant. I spent some time allowing myself to unravel (see future post on Unravelling).

And then I was able to start picking myself up again. I could see that this uncertainty was something I could play with. Something that could be a liberation for me.

Because it meant that many of the things I thought of as given and as inevitable, actually were not. Things like not enjoying my job. Like being able to quit my job. Being able to explore my creativity. These were things that were not certain. I could play with these things. I could create in these margins.

The mindful wrap-up

As it stands I am able to live within the tension of pattern and nebulosity. There is pattern to our reality - there are things that have a degree of certainty. And there is also a lot of fiction, some of which is useful.

The idea of marriage can itself be useful. But more useful is realising that it is a made-up concept that serves some purposes, and that it can crumble at any minute.

And so it is with my kids and my job and my health and my sense of narrative about my life. There are helpful things about them, but they are fragile and temporary and I allow them to change.

What things do you hold as been unshakable certainties? And what might loosening the grip you have on their certainty enable?

My chosen constraint

The paradox of constraints is that sometimes they can enable

The anecdote

It was my off-week with the boys, and I was sitting with a friend in a bar (pre my commitment to stop drinking…future post on Alcohol to come). He was one of my longest-standing friends; somebody I trust deeply and at the same time somebody who has challenged many of my most fundamental ideas about my perception of the world, including my view of relationships and sexuality. A friend from childhood, he was one of the first friends I had that came out as gay. Although I don't see him that much any more, he is a person I have a deep love and respect for.

As we were sitting in the bar, I was talking about the sudden change that had occurred in my life, relaying the story of the early days (future post on Origin Story to come). I was down in the dumps you might say. The most certain thing in my life had been taken away from me, and now everything seemed uncertain (future post on Uncertainty to come).

In one of his many pearls of wisdom and fundamental challenge, my friend opened up a world of truth to me. He said, "You know what: you can do anything you like from this moment. You have all the options in the world. If you wanted, you could travel to South America tomorrow and forget about this whole life you have here, and start something completely new".

I didn't know what to say. It jolted my sense of reality; something that was becoming quite common at this point in my life. Although I didn't want to acknowledge the choice and power I had, I intuitively knew he was right. Of course he was right. I had the money for the travel. I had a passport. I could leave tomorrow and start again. Removing all reference points to this painful episode; giving myself a clean start.

So if that were possible, then many of the constraints I experience in my life are constraints I choose. So what constraints do I choose?

In the coming days I thought deeply about this. What constraints do I choose in my life? I could come up with one fundamental constraint, which is still valid to this day.

The constraint I choose is to be an involved father in the life of my boys. Every other decision I make is built upon that constraint.

Thanks for your unique way of seeing the world, C, and for the moments of clarity you have enabled in my life.

The insight

The big insight for me is that I can choose many of the key constraints I have in my life. This is exciting and empowering, and also scary because it means I have more agency and responsibility than I might have been willing to admit.

I was able to see that there is only one constraint that I choose for the time being: to be the best father I can be.

The consequences

The consequences of this have been probably the most profound of any insight I have had. Every other choice I make is built upon this one.

For example, choosing not to drink, choosing where to live, choosing the type of job I want, choosing to take a year off work: these are all things that are tied back to this fundamental constraint.

This has been clarifying and energising for me. It has helped me to make many decisions, while also reminding me of what is most important to me.

I suppose one day I will discover that there is actually something more fundamental that this decision; perhaps underneath my decision to be an involved father there is something like a desire to create life, love and beauty in the world. That is not yet clear to me; but a good thought experiment for another time: What primary constraint would I choose if I did not have kids?

The mindful wrap-up

Whether we are aware of it or not, we are all making choices about the things that will constrain our lives. I am grateful for a friend who helped me to see that I could bring more awareness to the constraints I choose.

Choosing to be an involved father has brought clarity and purpose to many of the subsequent decisions I have had to make from that point on.

What constraints are you choosing in your life? Are there some that are no longer valid? Are there different constraints you could choose that may enable more of what you want in your life?

Talk to people

Reaching out can be hardest when things are most difficult

The anecdote

It was my week without the boys. The Monday after I have dropped them off with their mother. In these moments I usually felt deep grief. Like somebody had ripped my guts out. That is where I felt it - in my guts. And it was like there was an open wound there, with intestines dangling out. I felt raw and lonely and abandoned. I was in an apartment all alone. What do I do?

I remember sitting on my bed, looking at my phone, going through my contacts list. I was thinking, who can I call about this? Who haven't I drained too much already?

I found somebody and gave them a call. They picked up. I burst into tears and they listen to what is going on. It was just what I needed.

In many ways it was my friends that got me through this difficult period. Since we had kids, some of my close connections had dropped off as I found most of my time was taken up either with work or looking after the kids. We kept in contact, but there was no depth to our friendship.

Going through a separation changed all of that. I decided to talk to people about what was going on, no matter how raw it felt. Sometimes this would have been hard for them. A couple of people I leaned upon too much (one of them being a family member), which meant that even though we were drawn closer for a while, we also drifted apart soon afterwards.

But it was amazing to be able to share my emotion. To be heard. To have somebody willing to hold that space while I unravelled. Who encouraged me and gave me time to pick myself back up again. These people included family members and other close friends.

It helped me to process was I was thinking and feeling. And it helped me to move through those feelings and onto what was next.

The insight

I think there can be pressure during a relationship crisis to keep it in the family. This pressure can come from ourselves as we tell ourselves to toughen up; that nobody has time for this; that we are being weak; that we should be able to deal with this ourselves. Or it can come from the person we are having the crisis with; that this is a private matter; that we can work it out ourselves; that nobody else needs to know.

This, I think, can be detrimental to our mental health. Sure, we don't need to go and tell everyone, as tempting as that may be. But we do need to talk with a group of people that we can trust, and who we know will give us what we need.

I think finding at least two people is crucial. One of these could be a therapist. But somebody to share what is going on, and who is open to being called upon when things are really dire.

The consequences

As I said, this got me through some very dark moments. I am super grateful to my friends. They listened and laughed and cried. They hugged me and heard me. I apologise to those whom I drained and took advantage of.

The mindful wrap-up

I found talking to someone for the first time to be the most difficult. I knew that as soon as I opened my mouth to say that something was not right, I would probably fall apart. And I did. But how beautiful and necessary it was. It is a bold move to tell somebody. But probably the most important move to make.

Quitting

Creating the space to think and feel

The anecdote

I had been on stress leave for about two months. This was after using all of my sick leave, and all of my annual leave. It was time to go and have a chat with my boss about where to from here.

When it started to become apparent that my wife was considering separation, I found myself in a position where I could no longer work. I had not been enjoying the job itself for more than a year but had been sticking at it because my wife was only just getting back into her work after a period of maternity leave and a redundancy. But also because I did not know how to find more of the work that I loved to do. I had experience moments of doing work that felt in my flow, but the current job certainly was not this.

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I could put up with poor work while other things in my life were going well. But as soon as there was trouble in my relationship, the stress and dissatisfaction in my job become too much to continue with. I started to freak out at work, having moments of anxiety and overwhelming stress. And so taking some leave was the only thing I could do.

My workplace was pretty good through all of this. Perhaps they could have offered me more support - emotional awareness and understanding of mental health was not one of their strong suits. However, they did reach out, and gave me all the time I needed to get through the difficult situation I found myself in. This meant being able to take as much leave as I needed.

During the period of my stress leave I had come to the conclusion that I needed to stop doing this kind of work. It was well-paid, but it did not bring me any joy. I did not know what else I would do. I did not even know when I would have the mental strength to be able to work again. But I knew that I had to make a decision.

My boss was amazing. A great listener and although unable to fully understand my experience, gave it his best shot. I told him that it was time for me to resign. He heard me, encouraged me to stay, and said that I could take all the unpaid leave that I wanted. At this point my resolution to resign waivered. I said I would have a think about what he said and get back to him.

Riding the tram on the way home I thought things through. It became clear to me that having the safety net of a job waiting for me was actually something that would hold me back. I wanted to step out into the unknown. I wanted to feel the risk of not knowing what was next. I needed that in that moment. It was time to be decisive.

As soon as I got home I sent him an email saying that I was resigning. In that moment I was elated. And the next day I crashed.

I was single, unemployed, balding and grieving. What the fuck had I just done?

The insight

I was in a fortunate position where I had some savings that allowed me to resign without needing to have a job to go to straight away. That and a family I knew would support me if things go really tough.

However, it was still a moment of courage for me to say no to my only employment option and to step into the unknown. I created a precedent in my life: of trusting my instincts and my ability to dance with whatever comes my way. Of not choosing the safe option. Of creating space for new things to emerge.

The consequences

The consequence of quitting for me was the instigation of a gap year, from which many wondering things come.

And there are ongoing consequences of this decision for me, like giving me the experience to choose this kind of thing again and again. This is something I am doing again right now. I have resigned from my current position to start my own independent consulting business. There is the same fear and desire for certainty. But I feel the rightness of it. I feel the need to move with my body.

There are also some downsides to this decision. I took a big financial hit by resigning from the job and taking a gap year. As I look at it now, that money would have been very handy in going towards creating a home for my kids and doing more of the work I want to do.

But managing finances is the subject of another post. Something I need to get much better at myself.

The mindful wrap-up

Not everyone is in a position to safely resign from their job when going through a difficult time. And there are consequences for doing so. Paul Millerd writes a great newsletter for people considering doing such a thing and building a different kind of life in an incremental way. There is a tension and fine line between recklessness and courage.

Quitting altogether may not be a good idea. But being able to talk with your boss about the situation, to perhaps move to part-time work, or take a longer break to collect yourself, maybe just the thing you need to find your bearings again before getting back into things.

Go slow. Create some space to think and feel. Talk with trusted people about all the things you are thinking through. As individuals we can be poor decision-makers, particularly when under stress. We are much better when we can draw upon the collective wisdom of three to five others.

Single, mindful dad

Bringing up kids as a solo dad, in a mindful way

I am a number of years into my single, mindful, dad experience, and about eleven years into my experience of being a dad in any form.

I love being a dad. It has had its moments though, particularly in the immediate weeks and months after the end of my marriage.

This fortnightly publication, in the form of a newsletter, is a way for me to share some of the insights I have garnered from this time, particularly since the time of becoming a single dad.

It is also a way for me to earn a small amount of income so I can continue to share these insights, develop as a person, and grow as a father.

I know how tough those moments of single parenting can be. I'm going to share some personal parts of my story, some tips and suggestions for getting through this, as well as some anecdotes from the dads I know who are in similar situations.

And far from being a pure dad thing, I also want to understand the perspectives and insights of friends, relatives, partners and ex-partners. And I hope that it is relevant for parents of all genders, not just dads, even though it is written from the perspective of a male-identifying parent.

I'm looking forward to starting this conversation with you. Feel free to reach out.

You can sign up below, and if you think this might be valuable for a friend of yours, I would appreciate you sharing it with them.

Survive

Sometimes surviving is enough

The anecdote

Sometimes surviving is enough. Dropping the expectations of anything more than getting through the day with everyone in one piece is all that is necessary.

The slowly deepening realisation that my marriage was ending, and that all the future plans I had in my head would no longer come to be; this was sometimes more than I could handle.

I remember a day when I wanted to get the boys out of the house. We had been inside all day; they would have been about 3 and 5 at the time. I can't remember what we had done with the day up to that point. Probably watched a film. Got some food. My youngest probably had a sleep at some point. But I was destroyed regardless. And yet I wanted to get us outside.

But I was so distraught that I could not even get the shoes on the boys to get outside. The slightest resistance from them was more than I could handle at that moment. It would plunge me into deep sobs of grief and despair.

I had to ring up my sister to come and help me. She came over and helped get the boys dressed so that we could get out of the house.

I remember another instance where I was driving in the car. My mind was racing with all the scenarios that could play out from this moment. Would I find another partner? Would I be able to work again? Would I ever get through this grief? I was sobbing in the car. The boys were in the back seat. How could I ever get through this?

It was a minefield of dangerous, speculative thoughts that had no answers. At that moment I remember thinking, this is not that time to thrive. This is not the time to have answers. This is not the time to think any more than beyond this day or this car trip.

The insight

At moments like those, when despair is at its peak; when grief is overwhelming; when the situation seems like it will never improve; the most important thing is simply surviving.

And that might mean driving home safely. That might mean getting basic meals on the table so that everyone eats. That might mean just going to bed. That might mean watching movies all day. Or it might mean reaching out for help with the most basic of tasks.

Sometimes surviving is more than enough. It can be a monumental effort just to simply survive.

And in allowing ourselves to survive, we give ourselves a chance to start thriving again.

The consequences

I did survive. I got through all of those really tough days. It was not glamorous. It was quite ugly and gritty and pitiful at times. But somehow I found a way. I realised that I was much stronger than I thought. And that has put me in a place today where I could build upon that. Where I can think about thriving again.

And of course, there are still days when the only thing that matters is survival.

The mindful wrap-up

You might be in the middle of one of these moments at the moment, where you are wondering how you might even get through the next few hours. I hope that these words of encouragement can help you at that time. You are stronger than you think. You have resources within you you don't even know about. And you can tap into them to help you survive. That might mean strength to ask for help. It might mean strength to cook the next meal. It might mean strength to put down the device and go to bed.