This is my journal entry from September 28, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I got a fantastic night of sleep last night, which I’m so grateful for after two nights of being so upset and staying up late. The rest was exactly what I needed. I woke up feeling clearheaded for the first time in days. I’m also thankful a friend canceled tennis yesterday—the rain made it impossible anyway—because I don’t think I could’ve played with how exhausted I was.
This morning, I feel different. Lighter. Centered. Whatever happens with my ex-wife, I’m finally able to think clearly about it. I don’t know exactly what our future looks like, but I feel optimistic. I’m committed to listening to her and being on the same page, whatever that page turns out to be.
We had a nice morning with the kids. Then, around 8:30 a.m., her mom came to pick them up. Once the house was quiet, my ex-wife and I sat on the bed and talked for about an hour. She was very clear, calm, and grounded. She said, “I want a divorce. I don’t want to keep living in a relationship where one or both of us has to be wrong. I think we’ll both be happier going forward.” I told her I agreed. Hearing her say it so plainly somehow made it feel peaceful.
Yesterday, I’d been beating myself up about a message I sent to that separated mom I mentioned before—the one I texted and left a voice memo for. She never responded all day, and by the time I went to bed, I felt so guilty. The older guy in AA, the one I talked to for an hour and a half, told me, “She’s probably going to feel like you’re coming on to her. Women are going to see you differently now that you’re single. When you were married, you were safe—they could talk to you freely. But now, it’s complicated.”
That stuck with me. I felt embarrassed and ashamed, realizing that message might have seemed inappropriate. If my ex-wife and I had decided to stay together, that message would’ve been completely out of line. I also felt rejected, since she hadn’t replied.
But when I woke up this morning, I saw her response—sent right after I’d gone to sleep. She wrote that she’d had her kids all weekend and had been out all day, so she hadn’t seen my message right away. She told me she was sorry to hear what I’m going through and that she understands how difficult this process can be. She shared a little about her own separation and said that she and her ex are also working on having love and kindness in their separation, the way my ex-wife and I are trying to. She said her schedule is busy but that she’s sure we’ll get to chat sometime.
Reading that made me feel so good—just knowing someone else understands, that I’m not crazy for trying to approach this with love. It reminded me how important connection is during a transition like this. It helped me feel supported going into my next talk with my ex-wife.
When we sat down together again, we went deeper into it: Is there any point in trying to save our marriage? Haven’t we done everything we can? Wouldn’t we both be happier divorced? After another long, honest talk, we both came to the same conclusion—yes, divorce is the right path.
My ex-wife said, “That letter you gave me yesterday was beautiful. I really appreciate it. But I don’t want you to be wrong anymore. And I don’t see how we can stay married without one of us having to be wrong.” She said, “I want you to be with a woman who wants all the sex you want, who wants kids with you, who thinks your ideas about health and work and money are inspiring. You deserve to be with someone who’s turned on by all those things. If I met a woman like that, I’d try to connect you with her myself. I’d help you find her if I could. I just know I’m not that woman for you.”
Her words left me stunned. They were so selfless and kind. I told her I want the same for her—that I want her to be with a man who truly appreciates her and turns her on, someone who brings out her best. I admitted I haven’t done that for a long time, and that’s part of why I felt so heartbroken yesterday.
Even though there’s sadness underneath it all, today feels different. There’s relief in finally being honest, in finally agreeing on something so big without anger or blame. We’re ending our marriage, but doing it with love.
One thing I wrote in the letter to my ex-wife was that, while I’ve always been physically faithful, I haven’t been emotionally present with her for a long time. For at least four years, I’ve been getting crushes on other women, fantasizing about them, or focusing on how my ex-wife could be different—how she could be “better.” It feels liberating to finally admit that out loud. Because yes, we’ve shared many good times together. We’ve had laughter, joy, vacations, and plenty of sex—mostly satisfying for me, and often for her too. But as beautiful as so much of our relationship has been, it’s time to acknowledge that we’ve been forcing it for years. We’ve been trying to make something work that doesn’t fit anymore. Letting go feels like a deep exhale, a release I didn’t realize I’d been holding in my chest for so long.
I’m so glad I wrote that letter yesterday and faced that truth. It felt like the last key piece of resistance standing between us and peace. My ex-wife said she was touched that I was willing to be “wrong” in the letter—telling her I’d change whatever she wanted, that I’d do anything to make it work—but she saw right through it. She said, “That’s not going to work, is it? If I took you up on that offer, you’d end up being a martyr. You’d twist yourself into something you’re not, and you’d end up hating me for it. I don’t want to wait until we hate each other to get a divorce. I think this is a good time to do this.”
She even said she’d love to be part of that future—she’d love to babysit our kids and be part of my new family, for her kids and mine to play together. It was one of the kindest, most generous things she’s ever said to me.
We clarified again that we’re not going to have sex anymore, that we’re both free to be with other people. We agreed to wait another week before telling the kids, just to give ourselves more time to adjust.
After that talk, I went to the 10 a.m. yoga class at my yoga studio. My yoga instructor led it. There was a beautiful girl practicing right in front of me, and I caught myself smiling—not in lust, but in simple joy. It hit me that I’m going to have so many new experiences with women, and that spark of aliveness is coming back. The spark my ex-wife and I shared early in our marriage will return with someone new. And that excites me. I want my ex-wife to find that spark again too, with someone who suits her better. It feels out of reach for us now, but for someone else, I know it will be effortless.
After yoga, I went home and cooked beef stroganoff. It’s one of my favorite meals from childhood—something my dad used to make—and it felt comforting to prepare it on a day like this. I cooked slowly, taking about an hour and a half, grounding myself in the process.
While I cooked, I made phone calls. I wanted to talk to as many people as possible about what’s happening—to get different perspectives, to process everything out loud, to let people know I could use their support. I called my sister and a friend, but neither answered. Then I reached another friend who had time to talk for about forty minutes. She’s been through a similar divorce and shared her story with honesty and kindness. It helped so much.
I realized how differently I listen now compared to when she was going through her separation. Back then, I judged her more. I supported her, but deep down I thought, They could’ve made it work, or They shouldn’t have gotten together in the first place. I see now how blind that was. Life isn’t supposed to look one way. There’s no single “right” relationship model. The belief that you’re supposed to marry once, stay together forever, and die side by side—it’s absurd. Where did I even get that idea? I don’t remember ever choosing it.
By the time I finished cooking and hung up the phone, I felt peaceful again. I sat down and ate my stroganoff alone in the quiet house, feeling both grounded and grateful. Change is happening fast, but for the first time in a long time, it feels right.
My ex-wife and the kids came home for a couple of hours in the afternoon. She went to take a nap while I played with the kids and cleaned up the kitchen. We played Uno No Mercy, laughing and teasing each other, and it felt good to have that kind of lighthearted time together. For all the heaviness of this week, moments like that with my children remind me how much joy still exists right here in the middle of change.
After we finished playing, my ex-wife took the kids to Michael’s and Target. I considered going with them since I needed a chip holder for my new AA meeting, but something inside me said not to. It didn’t feel right. I realized that giving my ex-wife and the kids some space is the healthiest thing I can do right now. We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, and even though it’s been mostly positive, I think it’s better if we’re not out in public as a family while we’re still figuring everything out. We haven’t told the kids yet, and keeping that boundary makes it easier for everyone.
I was especially glad I stayed home because almost as soon as they left, my sister called. We ended up talking for over an hour, and it was one of the best conversations we’ve had. She’s been through a divorce herself, so she understands the emotional process and how complicated it can be. She’s done incredible work staying friends with her ex-husband and co-parenting their children peacefully. She was immediately supportive—of me, of my ex-wife, and of the way we’re handling things.
She reminded me that in our family, we “keep the exes.” She said everyone loves my ex-wife and would be happy to see her anytime. That touched me deeply. It’s such a comfort to know that my ex-wife will still be loved and included by my family.
We also talked about the letter I sent her and our other sister a couple of weeks ago. She said she appreciated it overall, especially that I had the courage to address the “pink elephant” in the room—our relationship with our father. The only feedback she offered was about the tone. She and our other sister, who are both from Dad’s first marriage, have already worked through much of their grief and feelings about his passing, while my letter may have come across as if they hadn’t. She pointed out that my tone felt more like something written to a younger sibling rather than two women older and more experienced than I am.
I completely understood. After I sent the letter, I actually felt awkward about that exact thing. I realized I might not have given enough credit to their maturity or the work they’ve already done to make peace with Dad’s memory. Hearing her clarification helped ease that discomfort.
I told her how much I appreciated her openness and explained that my intention in writing about Dad was to bring us closer—to acknowledge our shared history and how it’s shaped us. Our father had an earlier family before ours. He was married to their mother years before he met my mom. He traveled constantly after that, living around the world, and barely maintained a relationship with my sisters. By the time he died, they hadn’t spoken to him in years.
I wanted to write about my experience forgiving him for the pain and anger I carried from my own childhood, and how long it took me to understand his behavior and let it go. I hoped that by sharing my process, they might find it helpful or at least feel more connected to me. Even though their experiences with him were very different, I thought it might give us a sense of what we all had in common: the same father, the same longing to understand him, and to make peace with the past.
My sister appreciated that and said the letter helped her see me more clearly, too. I shared much more in that letter about myself, my marriage, my life—things I hadn’t discussed with them before. Writing it put me in a place where they could support me through this divorce with real understanding.
Toward the end of our conversation, I asked how we should let our other sister know about the divorce. She doesn’t like to talk on the phone much, and I didn’t want to make it awkward by sending a text or a voice message. We agreed that the sister I spoke with today would tell her in person. That way, she can deliver the message gently, answer questions, and create a real moment of connection rather than something abrupt or impersonal.
By the time we hung up, I felt grateful—grateful for my sister’s love, her perspective, and the healing that’s happening within our family. Talking to her made me feel steadier, like I’m not going through all this alone.
After talking to my sister, I called my aunt—my dad’s youngest sister. She sounded sad when I told her about the divorce and asked gently if we had thought of everything, if we had truly tried everything we could to stay together. She reminded me that many people in our family, including her parents, had stayed together no matter what. Her dad—my grandfather—stayed with her mom until the day he died, and then my grandmother passed not long after.
Listening to her brought up an old image of what marriage used to mean to me: permanence, endurance, duty. But that no longer feels like truth for my life. I told her that to me, marriage is something that has to be chosen every single day—it’s not a default. I don’t see it as till death do us part anymore. It’s more like, I choose to be here today because this is where I want to be. And if that stops being true—if we’ve done all we can and staying becomes self-betrayal—then it’s time to move on.
I told her if get married again, I’ll be clear from the start that to me, marriage is day-by-day, not a lifelong contract of obligation. I don’t want to stay with someone out of fear, habit, or duty. I want it to be a conscious choice we both keep making.
After talking with my aunt, I called my mom to set up a time to see her, then spent a few hours working on my books. I love that work. Even with everything changing, writing still feels like the most natural thing I can do—it’s grounding, clarifying, and joyful.
While I worked, I also started thinking about the next big step: where I’ll live. This morning I’d sent a voice message to the neighbor across the street, asking if I could rent her house. It’s been empty for about a year, and I felt such a strong pull toward it. I told her in a three-minute message how perfect it would be—that I’m getting divorced and there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather live. The location couldn’t be better.
She wrote back later saying that once she gets the house fixed up, the rent would be fairly high, and she eventually plans to sell when the market improves. I told her that sounded great—I’d love to rent it.
Just hearing that possibility gave me a surge of motivation and clarity. I realized that finding my own place is the first priority. Once I have a home of my own, everything else—dating, working, building community, expanding my family—will flow more easily from there.
If the house across the street doesn’t work out, I’ll simply widen the circle. I’ll look for the next closest house, and then the next, until I find something nearby. I’m certain I’ll find a home within walking distance of my ex-wife’s house and my mom’s. That way, I can stay closely involved in my kids’ lives, help my mom as she gets older, and build my next chapter right in the same neighborhood.
My mind has been racing with possibilities, thinking about how to manifest this. Right now, I’m making close to zero income. To afford that rent plus utilities, groceries, and basic expenses, I’ll need around $5,000–$6,000 a month after taxes—which means earning closer to $8,000–$10,000 before taxes just to stay afloat.
The numbers sound daunting, but I don’t feel fear. It actually excites me. Having that clear target gives me direction. It feels like the universe is saying, Here’s your next challenge. Step up.
What’s amazing about my view on money—and what aggravates my ex-wife endlessly—is how differently I see it from her. I believe in thinking about what I want, putting it out into the universe, and trusting that my mind will figure out how to make it happen. My ex-wife, on the other hand, prefers to be practical—apply for jobs, make spreadsheets, plan for every contingency. That’s just not me. My philosophy is simple: I want $10,000 a month doing something I love—figure it out. And already, my mind is spinning up ideas.
After talking with a friend yesterday, I started imagining a 28-day digital detox live-in program where people could stay with me, disconnect from technology, and work through life transformations. They’d pay thousands of dollars a month for the experience, and I could host two or three guests in a four-bedroom house. They’d participate in yoga, meditation, walks, writing, coaching, and silence—everything I’ve built my life around. That idea came to me within just a few hours of setting the intention, and it’s only the beginning. I can’t wait to see what else my mind creates now that it has a clear mission.
Later in the evening, my ex-wife and the kids got home. I said goodbye to them before heading to my Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, where my sponsor was speaking. My sponsee was there too, so it felt like the perfect time to tell my sponsee about the divorce. But the meeting ran twenty minutes longer than usual, and I didn’t want to miss saying goodnight to the kids, so we only had about five minutes to talk. When I told him, he said he was sick to his stomach hearing about it. I appreciated his honesty, but I didn’t feel that way.
I told him I actually feel excited. Yes, there’s grief, sadness, and loss, but I’m not overwhelmed by them. I’m prepared for another crying day if it comes—I’ll grab a t-shirt and a handkerchief and let it all flow through me. But I don’t feel any self-pity, guilt, or shame. To me, those are the emotions that make divorce miserable. My goal is to go through this process without judgment, without regret. And if any of those feelings come up, I’ll let them move through me and out of me, the same way I did on Saturday when I cried and purged for hours. That release made me feel so clean afterward.
My sponsor gave a short, heartfelt talk, and I felt proud to be there. I gave both him and my sponsee copies of Author in St. Petersburg. When I got home, I said goodnight to the kids, then talked with my mom once they were in bed.
She said something that made me laugh—she said it felt like a complete 180, that just yesterday I was talking about doing anything to save my marriage, and today I’m talking confidently about divorce. I told her I don’t think it’s a good idea to fight for something that isn’t worth saving. This marriage has run its course. My ex-wife and I can still love each other, co-parent, and be part of each other’s lives forever through the kids, but we don’t need to be married to do that.
“This isn’t 1920,” I told her. “my ex-wife will be fine without me. She’ll probably be happier.” And I meant it. I think this divorce will give her exactly what she’s needed for years—the space to grow in ways that have been impossible with me constantly demanding things from her, whether it was sex, attention, or financial support.
I told my mom that this separation isn’t sudden—it’s something we’ve been putting off for years. We just weren’t ready to admit it until now. I even remembered a conversation my ex-wife and I had about a year and a half ago. We’d been arguing, as usual, about sex, more kids, and money. Out of frustration, she said, “Why don’t you just get a new girlfriend? I’ll move into the house next door.” That house has since been torn down, but I still remember it vividly.
She said, “You can stay here with your new girlfriend and have your new family.” And the truth is, I’d been fantasizing about that exact scenario for days before she said it. But at the time, I thought honesty was the wrong choice. So I told her, “No, we should fight for our marriage. This family is enough for me. I don’t need more kids. I don’t need to deal with another woman.”
Looking back now, I can see how dishonest that was. What I really wanted to say was, Yes, I would love that. I would love for us both to have our own lives, our own homes, to raise our kids together but separately. I want new love, new energy, new kids. I thought saying that would be wrong. I thought it would make me a bad person. But today, I know it would’ve just been honest.
If I’d agreed with her then, we might have saved each other a lot of struggle. But maybe this was how it had to unfold—one step at a time.
You know, from the outside, we were happy enough—and that’s the thing most people see. They look at us and say, “You two seem fine. You don’t fight much, you don’t yell. Why would you get divorced?” And they’re right, in a surface-level way. We weren’t screaming at each other. Even when things were bad, we usually spoke calmly, in even tones. The nastiness showed up more subtly—passive-aggressive comments, long silences, quiet resentment. There was no chaos, no big scandal, just a steady erosion of closeness.
We did so many good things together. We took the kids on a three-week road trip this summer—one week first, then another two weeks later—and we had plenty of laughs, photos, and family memories. From the outside, it looked like a perfectly happy marriage. Too happy to end. That’s what makes this decision so hard for people to understand.
But to me, this is exactly when to end it—before it turns toxic, before bitterness replaces kindness. A lot of people wait until things get ugly before they finally let go. I want to let go while we still care for each other, while there’s still respect and peace.
Looking back, I see it so clearly now. A year and a half ago, when my ex-wife suggested we split up, I was too buried in my online work to handle it. If I’d been truly present back then, I would’ve said, “Yes, I agree. That’s what I want too. I’d love for you to have your space, your own house, your finances separate from mine. I’d love to have my own life and start fresh with someone new.” But at the time, I felt like I couldn’t deal with both a divorce and my online business—it was too much chaos at once. So instead of being honest, I buried myself deeper in my content. I told myself I couldn’t afford to face the truth yet. I clung to the illusion that things were “good enough.”
Now that I’ve shut down the online stuff, I finally have the time—and the emotional space—to deal with real life. I wrote the final chapter today of I Was Famous on the Internet, and I titled it “The Highest Cost.” It’s about exactly this: how years of being consumed by the internet kept me from being present in my own life. All those hours, all that obsession, cost me the chance to either build a better marriage or end it gracefully years ago.
When I was chasing followers and fame, my marriage was collateral damage. If I’d been more grounded, more focused in person instead of online, I might have agreed with my ex-wife when she first suggested splitting up. But I wasn’t capable of that honesty then. I was too distracted, too exhausted, too warped by the constant need to produce, post, and perform. That distraction didn’t just steal my marriage—it stole my ability to even see what was happening.
It’s ironic, because you’d expect this kind of burnout from a doctor, a lawyer, a police officer—someone with an obviously consuming job. When you marry someone in one of those fields, you know upfront that their time and energy are going to be swallowed by their work. But with a content creator, it doesn’t look that way. You’d think someone working from home, uploading videos and live streaming, would have endless time for family.
That’s the deception of it. Physically, I was there all the time. But mentally, I was miles away—always chasing views, engagement, performance metrics, the next idea. The work was invisible, but it consumed me completely. And that’s what made it so hard to notice.
It’s strange to say, but the quietness of that distraction—the fact that I was home while it was happening—might have made it even more damaging than if I’d been working seventy-hour weeks somewhere else. Because at least then, everyone would have known what was happening. Instead, I was home in body but gone in spirit. And now, I’m finally back.
I’m really grateful to be dictating books like this now and to be doing it with full presence. Writing in this way doesn’t distract me like making videos used to. There’s no instant gratification with a book. No likes, no comments, no algorithm to chase. Nobody’s even likely to read this for at least a couple of weeks, maybe a month or two. Most people who eventually read it might not do so for years. And that’s exactly what makes it meaningful.
Dictating allows me to slow down, to think clearly, to be in my own experience instead of constantly reacting to an audience. It’s a kind of meditation. The stillness of it, the patience it requires, is what heals me. You don’t realize how much constant stimulation warps your mind until you step away from it. Once you do, the difference is enormous—like being underwater for years and suddenly taking your first deep breath of air.
I went to bed tonight feeling deeply grateful. After a couple of intense days filled with sadness, anxiety, and uncertainty, it’s amazing how calm and clear I feel now. I’ve noticed this pattern in myself: when I have a “bad” day—when I’m heavy with grief, fear, or anger—I can almost guarantee that a euphoric, peaceful day will follow. Emotions move like waves; when they crash low, the next swell is already forming.
I found a healthy outlet for release today, something that hasn’t happened since the hurricanes last year. I laughed thinking about it, calling it a “helpful tool,” but the truth is, it is one. It’s a way to release tension, to move energy, to manifest. During the hurricanes, that kind of release kept me sane. I was home alone while my ex-wife and the kids were evacuated in Orlando, and all I could do was clean, write, and take care of the house. I couldn’t go to yoga or do any of my usual routines, so it became the simplest, healthiest way to release stress and flood my body with good chemicals.
It feels the same way now—like a cleansing. I’m amazed by how much energy has been freed up through this decision to get divorced. My ex-wife said she feels it too. She told me she finally has space to figure out who she is without me taking up so much emotional room. She wants to rediscover herself outside of being a wife and a mother, and I love that for her.
I told her I feel grounded and certain of who I am—maybe for the first time in my life. I know what I want now. I want to expand the family, to build a new life filled with love, honesty, and excitement. And I want to find a woman who feels lit up by who I am and what I do, someone whose energy meets mine with joy and curiosity. It’s strange to say it after such a hard week, but tonight I feel alive again—clean, open, ready for whatever’s next.
Energized
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.