This is my journal entry from September 26, 2025, part of my daily autobiography The Kind Divorce — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I woke up very sad this morning after walking away from my ex-wife last night. I don’t know where things are headed between us. There wasn’t much time to talk today anyway. I took the kids to school, but I decided to skip a school event that morning because I knew my ex-wife would be there, and I didn’t want to face her in public before we’d had a private conversation. Instead, I went to one of the studio’s co-owners’s power flow class at The my yoga studio. Her classes always ground me, and today I needed that more than ever.
After yoga, I came home, made myself a big salad for lunch, and then left a little before noon for my massage in Sarasota. A massage therapist was ready early, as usual. I’d felt awkward after our last session, so I made sure to be more embodied this time—to stay in my body, present with the experience. She asked how I was doing, and I told her the truth: I was very sad. I told her where things stood with my ex-wife, how uncertain everything felt, and how grateful I was for her loving, relaxing touch in such a painful time.
We talked about her book project. She said there were subjects she was afraid to write about, so I gave her Rachel Dolezal’s In Full Color as an example of someone who put everything out there fearlessly. I also reminded her she has Author in St. Petersburg to read, since she just started it, and that it might help her see how much power there is in total honesty.
I got home just in time for my 4:00 p.m. Alcoholics Anonymous meeting—the one I started myself. I was relieved to see people there today. Two were returning from relapses, one was brand new, and a few of us had been sober for a while. The meeting felt open, warm, and supportive, especially for the ones who were struggling. Since there were seven of us, everyone had plenty of time to talk. I read a few passages that felt especially relevant: the end of Step One in the Twelve and Twelve for those confronting their powerlessness, and a section from Came to Believe about prayer and surrender. It felt good to offer something helpful.
When I got home, my ex-wife and the kids were out. I took advantage of the quiet to work on I Was Famous on the Internet. I wrote a new introduction and uploaded the full manuscript in RTF format to ChatGPT so it could analyze the book as a whole and help me refine the opening. We went back and forth for twenty or so messages, shaping and revising until the introduction finally felt right. Collaborating with ChatGPT is strange—it can’t do much on its own, but with my direction, it becomes an incredible creative partner. Together, we produce something better than either of us could alone.
Later, after the kids were in bed, I talked to my mom while my ex-wife was with them. My mom has this amazing ability to lift me out of despair. She could see I was down, and she did what she always does—reminded me I’m loved and helped me regain perspective. She shared more about her marriage with my dad, about the hard moments they had and how they kept going. By the time I walked back across the street to my house, I was ready to face my ex-wife again.
We sat down on opposite corners of the bed, diagonally apart. Yesterday had been brutal—both of us using mean words. I’d said hurtful things. She’d said my writing was nothing but word vomit. I’d mocked her struggles. It had been ugly, and I didn’t want to repeat it. So I just looked at her and asked quietly, “What are we going to do?”
What followed felt like a massive release. We finally said the thing we’ve both been afraid to admit: that our marriage isn’t working. My ex-wife said it beautifully. “I love you,” she told me. “I think we make great parents and friends. I love raising the kids with you. But our marriage is not working. We’re not on the same page with sex, money, work, health, or having more children. And those are major things. We can still be friends and raise our kids well, but you deserve a woman who’s on the same page with you in all of that.”
Hearing her say that felt like a huge relief. I’ve wanted a woman for years who truly fits with me—a woman with an abundant mindset around money, who isn’t stressed about every dollar or obsessed with certainty. Someone optimistic, trusting, and unafraid of life’s unknowns. Sure, that kind of person and I might end up homeless if our optimism went too far, but I’d rather live that way than in constant fear.
When it comes to sex, I want someone who’s excited to be with me almost every day. And I can admit that I haven’t done a great job inspiring that in my ex-wife. We’ve been stuck in a feedback loop—she feels disconnected and unturned on, and I respond by saying, “You need to do this, or we’ll end up divorced.” That only makes her feel pressured and resentful.
Tonight, though, there was peace in naming the truth. We finally agreed that maybe what we need most is to protect our friendship—to hold each other’s hands through this divorce process instead of tearing each other apart. Saying it out loud felt like the truth we had been avoiding for a long time was finally ready to be seen.
Yesterday there were some ugly words thrown around about having a “mean divorce,” but sitting across from my ex-wife tonight, all of that melted away. I looked at her and just thought, I want to do whatever I can to help her have a wonderful life. That selflessness felt so good, so freeing. I realized I don’t want to fight her. I trust her completely to be fair. She’s an attorney, and if there’s anyone I don’t want to go to battle with in a divorce, it’s her. But the truth is, I don’t want a battle at all. I don’t want to waste our money or time fighting over things that don’t matter. I want both of us to walk away with peace.
And in that same moment, something in me finally relaxed. I’ve known deep down for at least a year that this moment was coming. I can remember the exact day it hit me—when I was in Michigan by myself visiting my sisters last year. I saw this beautiful woman at yoga who was playful and radiant, full of life. I remember thinking, That’s the kind of energy I want to be around. I felt guilty at first, even ashamed for wanting that, but then I realized it was a reasonable, honest desire. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with someone whose energy matches mine. I remember thinking, You can have that kind of connection and still live with integrity—you just have to get divorced first.
When I came home from that trip, I told myself we couldn’t get divorced, that we needed to try harder. I told my ex-wife I wanted to have sex every day, that she should just do it so we could stay together, because it seemed stupid to throw our marriage away over something like that. But a year later, I can finally admit we’ve tried. She’s tried. I’ve tried. And it still doesn’t feel good for either of us.
My ex-wife has genuinely given her best effort in our sex life, but too often it hasn’t been enjoyable for her—or for me. It’s not fun being intimate with someone who doesn’t really want to be there. Though we’ve had some great sex in recent months, more often it feels like an obligation, a chore. There’s been too much resentment on both sides. I can’t keep pretending that’s healthy or sustainable.
Oddly enough, I feel relief—deep, unexpected relief. I’m shocked at how light I feel now that the truth is out. My ex-wife said she doesn’t even want to be with anyone right now, that she just wants to be on her own for a while. I told her I love that for her. She explained that she’s been with someone almost her entire adult life, that she’s never had the chance to be truly alone, and that she doesn’t even know who she is anymore without molding herself to fit someone else’s expectations. Hearing that made me genuinely happy for her. I’d love for her to have the space to rediscover who she is, to live without needing to please me or anyone else.
I even told her I hope she finds a man who’s more compatible with her someday—maybe someone who has a stable job and fits better with her values. Someone who could be the partner she deserves. I said honestly that I’m not the kind of man who’s good at taking care of a sick wife, and that’s something she’s feared for a long time. She told me she’s sometimes thought that if she ever got sick, she’d just divorce me quietly rather than say anything, because she didn’t think I’d want to deal with it. That broke my heart, but I also understood it.
I feel that our beliefs about health are just fundamentally different. We’ve both tried to bridge that gap, but it’s never really worked. Tonight, instead of fighting about it, we finally acknowledged what’s true: we’ve outgrown each other as partners. And somehow, that honesty feels like love.
My ex-wife told me tonight that she’s finally going to start seeing her own therapist and work through the Al-Anon steps—and that she believes it’ll be much easier to do that if we’re not a couple. I appreciated how clear and grounded she sounded, and I asked a few clarifying questions, which felt essential to have everything out in the open.
I said, “So are you saying we’re not going to have a sexual relationship anymore? That we shouldn’t have sex again? That I shouldn’t expect intimacy—and that I’m free to start dating and have sex with someone else?” She looked at me calmly and said, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” She explained that she plans to be celibate for the foreseeable future, not interested in being with anyone, and that she would actually be happy for me to find a woman I could date and share that part of life with.
Then she surprised me even more. She said she’d still love for us to take family vacations together, that she hopes I’ll find a woman who could get along with her and the kids, and that we could all be a big, blended family of sorts. I was amazed by her openness. I love that kind of honesty and emotional maturity. I’ve carried this desire for years—to be with someone new, to build something fresh—and I’ve always felt guilty about it, like wanting more was wrong, like I should just be content with what I had. But repressing that desire only made me resentful.
One of the clearest signs, as my ex-wife pointed out, is that I’ve wanted more kids for seven years, and she hasn’t. That’s been a quiet but steady source of tension. She told me I should go find someone who wants that too, someone who shares that vision for family and life. And she’s right. I finally agreed.
We stayed up talking until around midnight, and afterward I found myself filled with hope about the woman I might meet next. It wasn’t just about attraction—it was emotional, even spiritual. I felt excited. Excited to be free. Excited to meet someone new. Excited that my ex-wife and I could part ways with kindness and respect, still loving each other in our own way.
I’ve never known anyone who’s gone through a divorce like this—so kind and considerate right from the beginning. It feels like we’re breaking a generational curse, rewriting what separation can look like. I’m genuinely excited to go through this process.
At the same time, it’s emotional chaos. Waves of grief and relief keep crashing over both of us. My ex-wife and I have been alternating between crying and calming each other down. My mind is spinning, struggling to adjust to this new reality. But I know my mind is flexible. I’ve spent years training it to be that way. I trust that with a couple nights of sleep, it will adapt to this new truth.
Still, it took me until 1:00 a.m. to finally fall asleep. I kept crying in the dark, feeling everything—love, loss, excitement, fear, hope—all at once. I’m writing this entry two days later because what happened next changed everything.
Reborn
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