Dad's Learning Volume 27: I'm Struggling

Blegh, life is hard.

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Struggle

As I go through what I have written and look for that spark, that next big idea, the thing that had me enraptured in what I was doing, I realize how much has changed.

I will not find that spark, that great ignitor of inspiration and zeal. I read what I have written most recently and I cringe. I read what I wrote originally and I cringe. I read what I have taken the most time to write and I feel ashamed. I read what took me all of twenty minutes, post therapy or in times of guilt and shame and I am struck by the gravity of it, the pull of it.

Truth be told, I am in an inspiration deficit. Dad should forever be strong, be available, have the answers, provide, and never waver. But by God that cannot be the case or I am cooked. Ring the bell, the round is over. Let me go to my corner, please.

Recently there has been a great deal of fluff and hopeful amendments to the problems we face and the troubles I write about. Those do tend to be true amendments. Meaning, I go back and amend what was originally written.

And how do I amend them? I run through and look for the silver lining and I look for the solution. I am, as we know, solution oriented. I like to fix things. But that’s just not how life works, so now I’m a liar. Or, perhaps, I feel like a liar and a fraud.

This is not a pity party, self or otherwise.

I do this, the post-rough-draft-amending, for a few reasons. The first reason is I hate the idea of being thought of as a “sad sap”. But sometimes I am, so may as well come out with it. I have some wonderful thoughts, but I also have horrifying and depressing thoughts.

I also do intend on making sure everything I write stays available for my children well beyond my lifetime into forever. The really good stuff that does well and the really garbage, recycled nonsense that flopped. I write for them, not for notoriety, so it should all go together. The thought of ever telling them “things suck and they cannot get better” is, simply put, never going to fucking happen. Ever.

Because it’s bullshit. It’s a load of bullshit. Things get bad, they’re bad, or they’re going to get bad. But the pendulum is there and it swings. So take your lumps.

Which means I have to LIVE that way. And that sucks because it’s hard and it hurts and I hate it.

Right?

So for my thoughts, the pendulum starts in the bleak and the depressing. The hopeless and the beaten down. I once tried to convince myself I would LOVE to write about all the good things I see. But that hasn’t shown itself to be true.

When I see the good and the beautiful, I feel no urge to write. I feel the need to be there and to see it. To take it all in and let it sit for a while.

When I’m on the other end of that swing, I don’t feel much like writing either.

It’s when the momentum starts moving towards to good and the beautiful that I feel like writing. As though I am rushing to capture those moments and the lessons that can be taken from them. I’m certain there has been some conditioning for this approach and I’m confident I did it to myself, but it’s there now.

I WANT to write about the darkest things and I have been attempting to find out why.

And right now I am STRUGGLING. I am in a BAD place.

BUT SOFT! WHAT LIGHT THROUGH YONDER WINDOW BREAKS?

It is Substack, and a few notifications.

Getting Substack notifications isn’t unusual, but these were following a pattern. A trend. Someone was going through a series I did once. One that was intended to be perpetual, until I wasn’t able to write anymore.

This series. Dad’s Learning. Learning doesn’t end, you just die. So if you aren’t learning, you’re dead. Therefore, why would this series end at any point? I ain’t dead.

Well, I allowed a change in situation to discourage me from continuing. I no longer had access to the therapist that was helping me through my shit. So what did I do?

I threw it all away as though it never happened. Not completely, mind you, but if I’m going to be whiney and bitchy, I’m going all out. I have, since then, worked from time to time on making sure those lessons and those insights gained weren’t lost. I have worked to make sure I practice them as I should.

Often I fail, but that’s not unusual. I’m bad at this life thing. Well, bad compared to my ideal. But isn’t everybody?

Back to the STRUGGLING that is happening. I saw those notifications and I thought to myself “I’ve been wanting to continue that. It really helped.”

Then I saw more notifications. And they were in the most beautiful pattern possible.

One by one someone was going through “Dad’s Learning”…

IN ORDER.

And she posed the question, “Am I too late?”

That about broke my heart. Once I saw that particular notification I had to respond ASAP. My God, you’re never too late.

So,

Freya Milos

, thank you for the signs, the activity, and the question. And rest assured you were exactly on time.

Because you’re a wizard. Like Gandalf.

And so now I’m doing this one. About the struggle-bus that I’m riding on.

Keep in mind that my mind is cloudy and unsure. I cannot see a way forward in this fog, though if I but touch it I know I can pass through.

I don’t understand why I work through problems like this. I mean, mental ones. Though that leads me to believe they may be worked out the way every problem is. Lay it out in front of you, look at the individual parts, and start fixin’ shit.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How life doesn’t hand you the answers wrapped in a bow. Instead, it drops you in the middle of the ocean and asks you to figure out how to swim. Right now, I’m flailing in the water, gasping for air, but here’s the thing: I’m still moving. And that’s something.

The fog I’ve described isn’t unique to me. Everyone gets their share—times when the path forward looks less like a road and more like a cliff edge. The beauty, though, is in discovering that you don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to leap. You can crawl if you need to. You can rest if you need to. The key is not stopping altogether.

When I think about the darkest moments, the ones I wanted to capture in writing but never could fully articulate, I realize they were always teachers in disguise. They didn’t offer comfort, but they handed me tools. A sharper perspective, a tougher skin, a deeper appreciation for joy when it finally came back around. Every hit taught me something, even if the lesson came later than I wanted.

This period of struggle, this fog—it’s not some unfortunate detour on the way to a better version of me. It is the path. The hard times aren’t roadblocks; they’re proof that I’m still in the game. If life were easy, smooth, and predictable, I’d probably sleepwalk through it. But it’s not.

It’s messy. It’s frustrating. It’s filled with moments where I ask myself, “Why bother?” And then, just as I’m ready to give in, something shifts. A sliver of light breaks through. A notification. A small win. A reminder that this is temporary, even when it feels endless.

What I’m learning—what I’ve always been learning—is that the struggle doesn’t define me. What defines me is how I choose to meet it. Not with perfection or even grace sometimes, but with persistence. With the decision, however reluctant, to get back up. To reach for something better. To believe that the pendulum always swings back, even when it seems stuck.

And this is where life gets tricky. It doesn’t reward you immediately. It doesn’t give you a pat on the back for showing up, for doing the work, for pushing through. But the rewards come eventually, often quietly. A peaceful moment where the weight feels lighter. A sudden laugh with your kids that reminds you why you’re here. A new insight you didn’t have before. Life doesn’t owe us anything, but it’s generous when we keep moving forward.

The best thing I can do in times like this is stop waiting for the fog to clear and start walking through it anyway. To trust that my feet will find solid ground, even if I can’t see it yet. To remember that nothing—not joy, not pain, not even uncertainty—lasts forever.

I want my kids to know this: life isn’t about solving all your problems. It’s about learning to live with them. To carry them without letting them crush you. To face them without letting them define you. If they ever find themselves in a moment like this, when the fog feels endless and their own thoughts seem like the enemy, I want them to remember that their dad had those moments too. And he didn’t figure it all out, but he kept going. He found meaning in the mess.

Because that’s the secret: you don’t have to see the way forward to move. You just have to take the next step. Even when it’s small. Even when it’s shaky. Because every step adds up. Every step matters.

So here I am, still struggling, still unsure, but still stepping. And if this resonates with you—whether you’re my kid reading this years from now, or someone else stumbling across these words—just know that it’s okay to not have it figured out. Life isn’t a puzzle to be solved; it’s a journey to be lived. Embrace the fog. Let it teach you. Keep moving.

And when you finally get through, you’ll look back and realize the fog wasn’t the enemy. It was part of the path. It always was.

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