This is my journal entry from November 27, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Divorce Day — my real, unedited days, published in order.
It’s Thanksgiving today. The cats slept downstairs with me all night, and while I did manage to get about four hours of sleep, I was awake for long stretches between 2:30 and 4:30 a.m. The younger cat would not stop antagonizing the older cat. At one point, he stood directly over my face and brushed his whiskers across me, jolting me awake. Instead of fighting it, I decided to use the time as a kind of forced meditation—an opportunity to sit quietly, ask for guidance about my future, and appreciate where I am right now. I was surprisingly comfortable on the couch with my pillow positioned at the opposite end, and in that half-awake state, I kept circling the same thought: I think I can do this. I think I can move up here. It feels like a path that would offer more joy, more adventure, and make a lot of things simpler, even if it comes with real heartbreak when it comes to the kids.
Later in the morning, my sister came downstairs to say good morning and make tea. I ate a plate of beef stroganoff for breakfast, and we talked. She told me she appreciated the message I had sent and didn’t think I’d gone too far. I admitted that I felt like I had and that I want to be a better listener and a better brother for her. Right now, she needs my support, not my life coaching. If she asks for advice, that’s one thing, but offering it unsolicited isn’t fair. We watched a little of the parade together, and I talked with her more about the idea of moving here. She thinks it’s a fantastic idea and believes it would be better for me to do it sooner rather than later so I don’t lose momentum. She also said it would be really good for her and the rest of the family to have me nearby. She agreed with what ChatGPT had said, pointing out that there are a lot of great apartments around here that I’d enjoy. She was visibly excited about the possibility of me coming up, and she told me this was something she had been thinking about recently. Hearing that felt unexpectedly meaningful.
I also talked with her son, and his perspective caught me off guard. Not only does he think me moving up here would be good, but he believes it would help the kids build resilience. He said the challenges he’s faced in his own life have made him stronger, and while he acknowledged that it would be tough for the kids in the short term if I moved away, he believes they would grow from it. Hearing him articulate that so clearly stopped me in my tracks. I’d had a faint sense of that idea before, but listening to him lay it out made it feel real. Yes, in the short term, it could be painful for the kids to not see me except a few times a year. At the same time, it could show them how strong they are, how many people in their lives love them, and that they have a dad willing to face hard things and make big changes. They also have a mom who loves them deeply, who is always there, and who takes care of everything for them. Even thinking about that feels like a massive internal shift.
I FaceTimed with my ex-wife and the kids this morning because I don’t think I’ll have time to talk later today. Seeing them helped. Last night on our FaceTime call, I was hit with how much I miss them, and today it felt grounding to see their faces. My son was especially excited about playing badminton in the net they set up on the vacant lot, which will stay empty until my ex-wife’s sister builds her new house there. My ex-wife has her mom and her sister living nearby. She has incredible family support. Her parents are in a perfect position to help with the kids right now, and without me there, it creates even more space for them to step in and be present. If something didn’t work out with my ex-wife’s job, it would be easy for her to move in with her parents. With me in the picture, that would have been much harder. Without me there, my ex-wife is safe and fully supported. I like the idea that by stepping back, I’m making room for her parents to fill that space and that the kids, God willing, still have a lifetime ahead of them with me.
Still, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of it. In the short term, it’s brutal to think that my son, at seven years old, could lose his dad as a daily presence, or even a weekly one. There may be months when he doesn’t see me at all, and that fucking sucks. At the same time, my son might decide to move up here when he’s eighteen, or even earlier if my ex-wife is okay with it. Or it might not matter to him as much as I fear. He recently wrote a few paragraphs about his life in a letter to my mom’s sister, and his parents getting divorced was just a single sentence in the whole thing. The rest was about everything else he’s living and doing. There may be tears and pain, but I want to believe that this could be eustress—a kind of positive stress that builds character and growth. That’s the best way I can frame it right now.
I wasn’t going to get a chance to go to the gym or do a yoga class today. We got up a little later, and I wanted to spend the morning with my sister, watching part of the parade with her. For exercise, I took a walk for about thirty minutes. It was thirty degrees out and snowing. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt under a Mammoth Cave–lined jacket—the kind with a waterproof exterior and insulation inside, the same jacket I wore when I went into Mammoth Cave and it was around fifty degrees in there. I had on jeans and tennis shoes, and thankfully the jacket has a hood. It was fucking cold. I walked a couple of miles with my hands shoved into my pockets and the hood pulled up. By the end of it, my ass was cold, the jeans were cold, my face was cold, and my hands were cold. And still, I felt fine. I could live here. I know it gets way colder than this at times in the winter, but I did this as a baby. As I walked around and looked at the beautiful homes near my sister’s condo, I kept thinking about the idea of raising a kid here—stuffing his ass into snowsuits the way my mom stuffed me into snowsuits when I was little. That image feels genuinely joyful to me.
I would love to raise kids up here. I would love to have a family here where my cousins’ kids could meet my kids and hang out with them at least a few times a year, if not more often. I love the idea that my aunt could see my kids, my daughter and my son, for a month or two in the summer instead of just a week. The picture of a life forming up here is starting to look really good, and I’m finding that I can stomach talking to the kids about it more than I thought. I talked to my ex-wife again today and asked her directly. I said, bluntly, would you appreciate me giving you more space? Would you appreciate me living far enough away that you wouldn’t have to deal with me outside of FaceTime calls? She said that while it would be hard to tell the kids and they might have some difficult initial reactions, yes, she would love that kind of space from me. Hearing that landed cleanly. I realized I probably need that kind of space from her too. The more time I spend around her, the more conflicted I feel, like maybe we should be getting our family back together. That’s the downside of having such a cooperative relationship—it makes you question why you separated in the first place. A geographic boundary feels like it could help resolve that.
I messaged more friends and talked with my sponsor. He told me not to make any rash decisions and to take my time with this, which I am. I plan to take several more days and talk to a lot more people because this is a huge decision. At the same time, ChatGPT reminded me that I could always move back if it didn’t work out. I shared a fear with my sister, telling her I worried about moving up here and discovering that people didn’t actually care that much about me being around, that I’d get lonely, or even relapse. She told me she sees that as very unlikely. She wants me around, and she reminded me of other family members who would like to see me more too. She pointed out that there are tons of places to go—yoga studios, AA meetings, all the same kinds of support I have back home. She thinks I’ll thrive making new friends here and that it will help me emotionally recognize that I’m in a new life. Based on her own experience, she said it’s hard to live in the house where you used to be married, see the kids regularly, and still feel like you’ve actually moved forward instead of just existing in the shell of a destroyed old life.
I asked ChatGPT more questions, fed it more information, and it kept analyzing things and reflecting back what I was saying. The more I talked it through, the more certain I felt that this is the direction of joy my intuition has been pointing me toward. I started wondering if I really have a choice. Am I definitely going to move up here? Am I kidding myself by pretending there’s another option? Am I just rationalizing something I already know is going to happen? I’d like to believe that I could draw a hard line and say no, I’m not moving away from my kids, not a thousand miles away. But that doesn’t seem like the best long-term scenario for me. Especially considering what my ex-wife said—that she would appreciate the space and that she isn’t going to be dealing with me daily anyway, no matter where we live. That part is temporary.
I did enjoy seeing the clock read 4:44 this morning. That felt like a quiet little nod from the universe. I keep coming back to the idea of canceling everything in St. Pete, moving up here, and starting over. At 3:30 p.m., we headed to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving. Everyone was in genuinely good spirits, which I was deeply grateful for, especially given my unexpected arrival and everything my sister had going on. When we arrived, the mood felt light and warm—no obvious tension, no awkwardness. The food was incredible, and I immediately found myself pulled into conversations with aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and cousins. As the afternoon unfolded, I had this overwhelming sense of recognition: this is home. This is what I need. A Thanksgiving where I fit in, where I’m welcome, where I know everyone and everyone knows me, where I can actually talk to people and be understood.
I sat down next to my cousin’s husband at the table, with the guys grouped together along with my sisters and her daughter, and we shared an excellent meal. I had a bite of white chicken, some white turkey, some dark turkey, all of it delicious, along with multiple helpings of stuffing and the vegan shepherd’s pie. I felt a little silly eating vegan food alongside meat, but it didn’t matter. Over the next couple of hours, I ended up talking to just about everyone. At one point, I told my cousin that I’m thinking about moving up here. My sister had suggested I probably shouldn’t tell everyone yet, which is solid advice since I’m still working through it myself. But my one cousin asked thoughtful, grounded questions. She’s a medical doctor, and I trust her discretion. It felt right to share where I’m at with her without turning it into a big announcement. I know I still need another day or two to talk with my other cousins, my aunt, and my mom—to really firm up what I’m thinking and how I want to say it.
Dessert was apple pie, plus something my other sister made that was kind of like a pumpkin pie filled with whipped cream. It was so good I had two helpings. I felt full but not bloated, which felt like a big win on Thanksgiving. We left right at 6:15 p.m. to make it to the movies, said quick goodbyes, and headed out. Sitting in the theater with my sister and her teenage kids, it hit me again: this is where I belong. This is what I don’t have in St. Pete. Down there, it’s basically my mom and my kids. Yes, my ex-wife and her family are there too, but that’s not something I want to rely on or build my life around.
We watched Predator: Badlands, which I found funny because I don’t usually watch action movies anymore. The plot was actually solid. I sat next to my sister’s son, who’s seventeen, and we spent half the movie talking shit about it and laughing. The seating got split up, my sister and I shared a huge tub of popcorn, the kids got their drinks, and the whole thing felt easy and fun. I also really enjoyed driving the new rental car afterward. I drove everyone around for about an hour, and it gave me time with my sister’s daughter, whom I haven’t gotten to see much yet. That time together felt quietly important.
When we got home, the clarity from the evening really settled in. My sister talked me through imagining a conversation with our aunt. She made it very clear that our aunt is the key person if I want to move up here. If she’s on board, everyone else will be too. The two aunts are essentially the matrons of the family—the leaders. If they support me moving up here, the rest of the family will fall in line and offer the support I need. Hearing that framed things in a very practical way and made the next step feel both daunting and oddly reassuring.
My sister pushed me hard in the best possible way. She said, “What do you actually need out of moving up here? Why is this best for the kids?” She reminded me that the aunts aren’t focused on my self-actualization or adventure—they’re focused on one thing: what’s best for my children. I can sound strong and confident talking about building a better life, but she wanted me to get honest about where I feel weak and exposed, because that’s what’s actually driving this. She kept drilling until it clicked, and once it did, it was painfully clear. I feel weak in St. Petersburg. I’m spiraling. I feel like I’m failing. I need my family right now. I am breaking apart, and I’m scared that if I stay in St. Pete and just keep trying to show up as a dad, I’m going to spiral further, or I won’t really be there for my kids anyway.
I’ve already talked through versions of this fear before. What if I meet someone and move away? People say, “Just tell women you’re not moving.” That sounds simple on paper, but it’s not simple in real life. It becomes this constant tension where everything in my life is supposed to be subordinated to staying put, regardless of whether I’m actually healthy there. One of my aunts said something last night that stuck with me, even though I didn’t bring up moving. She told me I should think about how to set things up for the next decade for my kids. And when I really sit with that, my answer surprises me with how obvious it feels. For the next decade, what’s best for my children is having a father who is healthy, stable, and genuinely available to love them. What’s worse for them is me spiraling, relapsing, burning out, or disappearing in some other way—emotionally or physically.
Up here, the kids could spend two or three months a year with me. I’d have family all around. If I had to work during the day, there are people they could be with—cousins, aunts, relatives who actually want to be part of their lives. I don’t have that in St. Petersburg. Down there, I have my mom, and even she can only do so much. Maybe an hour or two at a time, sometimes three or four in the evening. And she lives very close to my ex-wife, which keeps me psychologically stuck in this constant loop—hovering, second-guessing, spiraling. Being that close doesn’t help me stabilize; it keeps me emotionally raw.
It felt like a real breakthrough to admit this out loud with my sister. I need my family right now. I feel vulnerable, fragile, and honestly like I’m falling apart in St. Pete. I don’t see a clear path there that both fixes that and puts me in a position to be a good father. If I get a regular job in St. Pete, I’m not in a position to have fifty–fifty custody and work full time. I’m delicate. I really am. I’m a strange instrument—I can do extraordinary things, like build an online platform with billions of views or write books that people find emotionally stimulating, disturbing, or deeply resonant. And yet something very ordinary, like being a standard, nine-to-five, fifty–fifty custody dad, feels like something that would quietly destroy me.
There’s shame wrapped up in that. I compare myself to other dads who go to work all day, split custody evenly, and then maybe see a fuck buddy once a week when they don’t have their kids. I know, with complete clarity, that that lifestyle would make me lose my shit. I would spiral fast. On the other hand, if I try to keep my costs low in St. Pete, I won’t see the kids much at all. Or I’ll keep going over to my ex-wife’s house to see them, which isn’t sustainable for anyone. It’s too expensive to live there in a way that actually works. Right now, I’m paying $1,700 a month in rent, and once utilities are included, it’s closer to $2,000. It’s a two-bedroom, one-bath place, and the kids don’t even want to come over. Even if I had beds set up, they don’t want to stay there. They want to be at their mom’s house. To have a place they’d actually want to be, I’d be looking at something closer to $3,000 a month, and I had imagined that being the setup that would make fifty–fifty custody work. But financially, and emotionally, that doesn’t feel like a solid position for me at all.
When I really lay it out honestly, between my available credit and my cash, I’m sitting at essentially zero net. I’ve been paying my credit cards in full. I have about $6,000 in balances and roughly $6,000 in cash. That’s a wash. I am not in a position to pay $3,000 a month in rent plus another $500 or so in utilities just to have a two-bedroom place where the kids might sleep half the time. That’s not realistic. And if I move into a house with three other guys, I’m not going to be seeing the kids much either. I’d be stuck between two worlds—living with single guys who are out in the community chasing girls, while I’m dating and drifting farther from the family life I actually want.
This is when something really clicks. I realize that a big reason dating has been so hard for me isn’t just the divorce. It’s the loneliness. I’m desperate for someone to fill the family-shaped hole in my life. If I move up to Michigan, that space gets filled by actual family. From there, I can date patiently, without desperation. That’s what I need. There is no substitute for my sister in St. Petersburg. There’s no one there I can crash on a couch with, talk things through for days, help out, and feel genuinely held by. I have men in AA, and they’ve helped me a lot, but my sister could also watch the kids. I wouldn’t ask AA guys to do that. I know them too well. They’re good people, but that’s not the same thing. I have people in St. Pete who support me—AA, tennis friends, massage therapist friends—and I could build those things again in Michigan. What you can’t replace is family. That’s the one thing you can’t manufacture or swap out.
As I’m going to bed tonight, it finally lands. Holy shit. We got it. The core reason to move to Michigan isn’t adventure or novelty or running away. It’s that I’m vulnerable and I need help right now, and I don’t have the help I need in St. Pete. I could technically make it work there, but I don’t think that’s what’s best for the kids anymore. Based on how the last couple of months have gone, it’s not sustainable. I need family. I need a chance to rebuild my life with my own family at the center, supported by people who actually know me, and then build my AA life and everything else around that foundation.
I’m already thinking about how to explain this to my aunt. If I frame it as running away from the kids or just wanting a fresh start, that sounds wrong. But if I’m honest—if I say I’m struggling, I’m scared of how alone and unstable I’m becoming in St. Pete, and I don’t see a way to stay there that works without effectively abandoning the kids anyway—then it feels real. Right now, staying there means barely seeing them, hovering on the margins, maybe taking them to a mall once a week, and spending the rest of my time alone or drifting. That doesn’t feel like being a present father.
This realization brings an enormous sense of relief. I’m deeply grateful to my sister for helping me get here, for talking it through with me over and over until the real truth surfaced. I can tell this process has been good for her too. She thrives on helping people, and this has given her clarity and a sense of purpose, which helps her feel stable in her own life. Tomorrow, I’m looking forward to talking with my cousins about it. By Saturday, I feel ready to talk with my aunt. The idea of moving to Michigan is starting to feel almost divinely aligned.
I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for how good today was. Given my divorce, my instability, and everything my sister was going through, this could have been a chaotic, dramatic Thanksgiving. Instead, it was warm and joyful. My cousin even announced she’s pregnant with her first baby, which will be the fourth grandchild for my aunt and uncle. What an absolute gift of a day.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.