This is my journal entry from November 10, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Divorce Day — my real, unedited days, published in order.
This day went off the rails fast and only barely found its footing again. The morning itself was smooth enough. I took the kids to school without any issues, then headed to my yoga studio. The woman from yoga was in class, and we had a brief, pleasant conversation. Everything felt normal. As I was getting ready to leave, one of the front desk staff—someone I’ve known for years—stopped me and asked if she could talk with me on the way out. I said yes, assuming it was something routine but sensing otherwise.
She told me that I had given my book to another staff member at the desk the day before and had left my phone number inside it, which she said didn’t sit well with her. She explained that she wanted me to keep my relationships at my yoga studio purely platonic and that leaving my number in the book could be perceived as inappropriate, like I was trying to pick the girl up, and that it had created a situation she felt was uncomfortable. I explained that I include a phone number in every book I give away. When I prepare my books, I sign them and add my phone number as a matter of habit. It’s a second phone number, not the one I carry with me, and it’s publicly listed on JerryBanfield.com. I put it in all my books so people who know me or meet me in person can reach out with feedback—questions, comments, or thoughts about what they’ve read. I told her that this was exactly what I had said to the woman at the desk when I gave her the book, that my number was there in case she had questions or comments. To me, it was clearly a professional gesture, and the woman I gave the book to seemed pleased with that explanation at the time.
The staff member asked a few more questions, and at one point mentioned that she was aware I was having a hard time with my situation at home. By the time I left, I felt hurt and disrespected. That feeling didn’t just pass; it spiraled. It set the tone for the rest of the day in a way I had a hard time shaking.
Later, during my massage with my massage therapist, I told her what had happened. She said it was pretty fucked up and questioned why they wouldn’t just ask me directly what my intentions were with the phone number or if there was any additional context instead of making assumptions. I told her that, given how many hookups openly happen at my yoga studio, it felt ridiculous to single me out and tell me I needed to “keep things platonic,” especially without specifying with whom. The whole thing felt out of place and left me not wanting to go back there at all.
She and I ended up having a really good conversation beyond that. I told her how exhausted I feel about having to figure out dating and money again at the same time. They’re both hard problems on their own, and tackling them together feels overwhelming. I’ve been feeling stupid about it, like I already figured these things out once before and shouldn’t have to do it again. I just don’t want to go through the process another time. But when I look honestly at it, there doesn’t seem to be any real alternative other than figuring it out again anyway. She said she could relate, which helped, even if it didn’t fix anything outright.
After that, I picked the kids up from school, dropped them off with my ex-wife, and went to my meeting. There were a couple of new guys there, and we worked with them, but internally I was in a rough place. I felt unnecessary, like I wasn’t really needed. All the things I had once been proud of—my marriage, my business—felt completely wrecked, and life itself started to feel hopeless.
What weighed on me most was how detached I felt, like I was just going through the motions. Even on a day that heavy, I kept coming back to how much I love the kids, and that love was a steady anchor. I shared all of this at the meeting and talked it through with my sponsor.
After the meeting, my ex-wife was going out, so I took over with the kids and handled bedtime. I took them over to visit my mom first, and we hung out there for a little under an hour. By the time I was putting the kids to bed, I felt deeply depressed. Thankfully, the kids helped more than they probably realized. I lay in bed with my son and had a good, loud cry with him there—real crying, including those wailing sounds where you’re just moaning because the feeling is so big it doesn’t come out as words. As raw as it was, that release helped.
Later, when my ex-wife got home, I talked with her and did some work on my book. She told me that she really needs me to be there as a father for the kids. She said she pictures my life going really well and imagines that one day I’ll look back on this period and think it’s crazy how hopeless I felt. She told me it’s hard for her to even imagine a version of reality where my life doesn’t turn out well. I told her that, from where I was sitting, all I could picture was how hard things could get—if I don’t get help, if I don’t figure out my money, if I don’t find someone to date. But hearing her hope for me started to loosen that grip.
Talking with my ex-wife helped a lot. I realized I hadn’t been thinking straight all day. I went home feeling steadier, recognizing that she has hope for my future even when I don’t. I could see that even if no one strictly depends on me, there are still a lot of people who genuinely want me in their lives. My massage therapist wants me in her life. My mom wants me in her life. The kids obviously want me in their lives. My ex-wife very much wants me in her life too. She doesn’t want the marriage we had anymore, but she wants me around. She enjoys seeing me.
I also realized something that surprised me a bit: I’m still married right now. I’m not even really single. I have a wife I see two or three times a day and spend an hour or two a day with. That’s not very single. In fact, that sounds a lot like many people’s marriages. Plenty of married couples live together, have close to no sex, and only spend an hour or two a day actually interacting. By that standard, I’m not really single at all. I have my own place to live, and I’m available to date, but I still very much have a wife in my life. Even though the divorce will be finalized soon, I still have a woman who cares about me and wants to raise our kids with me, even if we do it from different houses.
I went to bed that night feeling a bit more straightened out, recognizing that I simply hadn’t been thinking clearly earlier in the day. The immediate call to action that felt right was joining another gym. As for the garden meditation at a friend’s house the next day, I decided I didn’t need to resolve that yet and could make the decision in the morning. It was also noticeably cold that night—the first night I would be sleeping there with the heat turned on—which felt oddly significant, like another small marker of transition.
Before going to sleep, I deleted the dating apps. I had just read a post on Reddit from a guy who detailed how much time, energy, and money he had poured into his dating profile, including spending about $3,000 on professional photos. Despite getting thousands of matches, he said it translated into maybe twenty actual dates, most of which weren’t very good, plus a couple of hookups that went nowhere. What stood out most was his realization that, out of all those matches, only two of the women were people he would have approached in real life and genuinely tried to build something with. That felt like all the confirmation I needed. If that wasn’t a clear sign that the dating apps needed to go, I didn’t know what was. I deleted all of them again, canceled the subscriptions, and forgave myself for dumping a couple hundred dollars into the process. At least I’d kept it relatively cheap.
I also decided not to watch any porn that night. It felt important to use my imagination instead. I already have rules around screen time—I generally don’t watch movies unless it’s a very social situation, I don’t watch TV shows, and I don’t play video games. Watching porn the last two nights felt like it belonged in the same category as video games. I could see how that slippery slope works: porn leads to wanting to play video games, which leads to TV and movies, and before long it feels like I’ve completely gone down the drain. So that night, the plan was simple. Fantasize. Enjoy my imagination. Focus on manifesting what I want. Then go to sleep.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.