I consider myself a writer. Sometimes I use the word journalist. Sometimes playwright. Other times sketch comedian. I’ve been called a blogger. I try not to use blogger, although that is what I’m doing right now.

I’m telling you this because I’ve hit a wall. Not writers block or anything like that. I’ve hit a wall where my personal health has declined to the point that I’m very aware of it.

Sure, there have been exterior influences. Funerals, loved ones being sick, having a vast distance from my family…that stuff.

Since I married the most inspiring woman I’ve ever met, and we had the most magical being, I’ve lost sight of what makes me me.

I’ve gained close to thirty pounds. I get, maybe four hours sleep a night. I’m emotional and unpredictable. I try to be a good dad, which I think I am doing. I try to be a good husband, which I’m still referring to the manual. And within all this, I try to fit in my personal therapy: writing.

You see, I don’t do this because I consider it an art form (although I do). I don’t do it as a way to make money (although I do). I don’t do it to connect with society (although I do). I do it because it is a way of staking my existential claim. I put a flag down. I’ve put many flags down. I make myself real.

In the morning, for about 10 minutes before Elizabeth goes to work, I’m a husband and a father. When Elizabeth leaves, I’m a father. This goes on for 10 to 14 hours. Then I’m a husband again. A tired, confused husband. And father.

Then when family is in bed, say around 8 or 9 or 10, I become the writer. I become my own personal therapist. I become the best and worst writer I’ve ever known. I exist in the opulent sphere of self creation sliding between empowerment and doubt. Then I go to bed at about 2 or 3 and the machine starts all over again.

As a stay-at-home father I’ve chosen this life. I have idiotically put myself in this position. I’ve ignored help. I feel that I’ve put myself and my health in the back seat. I’ve pushed myself out behind the chemical shed. I’ve become secondary to my own needs. What I’m realizing now, as so many parents and individuals and monks and animals have realized, I’m better when I’m at my best. When I’m at my best is when I’m healthy. This is something I need to remedy.

I would like to add that I’ve made the decisions that lead to this point. Elizabeth and I have talked about, on several occasions, about ways to alleviate this pressure. We talked about child care and shifting schedules…workable solutions to which I said, “No I got this. I got this good.” What I didn’t realize what the impact it would have on me. It’s akin to pushing someone out of the way of a transport truck then looking at it as I stupidly stand in the middle of the road saying, “Oh hey, a transport truck”.

This is where I contacted Michael at Overhaul Fitness. I gave Michael the pitch: I’m a stay-at-home dad. I don’t have time. I love my son and wife. I want my life to be better. Yadda yadda.

Within days I was in a coffee shop talking to Michael as the Bean ran amuck. He talked through a series of examples, realized what I needed and how he could offer it. Michael came to my house, walked me though a series of workouts. Using Michael’s Trainerize app, I can work out everyday whenever I want. And, Michael is only a text away. I’ve been doing it for a week. I need to keep doing it.

It is a step. A step that enhances my quality of life. And therefore helps those I love and I love them so very very much.

But ultimately it is a selfish choice. I want to be around my wife and son for as long as I can because they offer me an incalculable amount of positives.

This session is now over.