A weekly check-in on staying upright when work, the kids, and your own body all want a piece of you at once.
My 13-year-old needs me and doesn’t want me at the same time. That’s just Tuesday.
He wants dad at the footy. Doesn’t want dad near his friends. Wants advice but only if nobody’s watching. I’m navigating that daily and still getting it wrong half the time. Nobody gave me a manual for the part where your kid is half child, half stranger.
Meanwhile my wife got pulled into another restructure meeting at work. Third one in two years. She didn’t say much about it that night. She didn’t have to. I know that silence.
I’m watching the family budget like it’s a patient in intensive care. The holiday we want to take — I’ve run the numbers six times. Six times I get a different answer. None of them are the answer I want. The kids are at the age where these memories matter. I feel that pressure every single day.
My back is one wrong move from a full collapse. I know this. My doctor knows this. I know I should be going to the gym, eating better, taking it seriously. I also know that by the time I’ve worked all day, sat through the commute, sorted dinner, helped with homework and dealt with whatever the evening throws at me — the gym is a fantasy I visit in my head around 10pm.
I volunteer with Marine Rescue on weekends. I have a major assessment coming up. I’m proud of that work. It also adds to the pile.
This week I spoke to an AI more than I spoke to any of my mates. I’m not sure what that says about modern masculinity, but I’m putting it out there.
Here’s the thing though. I’m not writing this for sympathy.
I’m writing it because I know I’m not the only one. The guy next to you at work probably has a version of this same week. The bloke at school pickup with the tired eyes. Your old mate who stopped returning calls — not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s running on empty and doesn’t know how to say it.
We’re all carrying more than we let on. That’s not weakness. That’s just the deal.
My back will hold. My wife is good at her job and she knows it. My son will come around — they do. The holiday will happen somehow. And my Marine Rescue assessment? I’ll be ready.
Some weeks the goal isn’t to win. It’s to still be standing at the end of it.
This week I’m still standing.
That’ll do.
Jack Mercer writes about real life for men who are too busy living it to talk about it. No advice. No solutions. Just one bloke being honest.
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