The Cost Of Living

Fellas,

When a family splits, the world calls it shared parenting. But for most fathers, it’s double parenting. You’re maintaining your own home and contributing to another one.

You’re buying clothes for your place while also sending clothes to theirs. There’s school supplies but you’re also buying duplicates so your kid doesn’t have to haul a backpack full of essentials between houses.

Not to mention child support, and all the extra costs that don’t show up in paperwork. Like, her older kids you never stopped showing up for, even after everything ended.

No one prepares men for that. No one explains the structure. No one tells you that the emotional and financial demands don’t split in half they multiply.

And yet, when you struggle to carry that load, guilt whispers that you should be doing more.

Every divorced dad I know is being measured by a standard he never agreed to. One home becomes two, one income becomes stretched across two lives, and the world still expects him to provide as if nothing changed.

Time gets cut, finances get squeezed, and the responsibility sits heavy in the middle like a weight no one else seems to notice. The world is saying inflation is “cooling,” but prices don’t cool at the register when you are stocking two kitchens and filling the tank for every pickup and drop-off.

The court sees a stable address. It does not see the dad who took the smaller place so his kids could keep the bigger one.” The dad who swipes a card for uniforms, co-pays birthday presents, Ubers, and extracurriculars because he will “figure it out later.”

You are working one job on paper and two in practice.” Dads picking up overtime, or extra shifts and then beating themselves up for being tired when they finally see their kids.

“If you look at the data, the top worries in today’s economy are not exotic. They are the basics:

The Hidden Weight

A lot of fathers help their ex financially even though they’re not together anymore; not because they owe it, but because stability in her home means stability for their child.

Some pay their ex’s car note so their child doesn’t lose transportation. Others cover utilities during winter, so their kid doesn’t sleep in a cold (or dark) home.

Some pay for daycare because child support doesn’t stretch that far. If your kid plays a sport, you’re paying for registration, uniform, equipment, shoes, snacks, gas, clinics, travel, team events, and more. All the things that don’t show up on a court order but define a childhood.

Time no longer belongs to these dads the way it once did. It gets divided, reduced, scheduled. What used to be everyday parenting becomes a handful of hours each week.

And in that shift men respond, by trying to fill the gaps any way they can. That kind of pressure doesn’t just change a schedule; it changes a man.

It pushes him into a place where he’s not only fighting for time, but for the version of himself he remembers being.

Letting go isn’t a clean break. It’s a slow unwinding of the habits and hopes that once held the whole family together.

Most men aren’t trying to hold on to their ex; they’re trying to hold on to the version of themselves who lived in one home, kissed their child goodnight every evening, and woke up to laughter instead of someone else’s schedule.

Letting go doesn’t mean abandoning your family, it means beginning to rebuild yourself. When you separate the father you still are from the partner you no longer can be.

Wanting your family back is never shameful. Staying stuck there is what hurts. You are still a protector, a guide, a steady presence.

How Do We Redefine Success?

A steady tone.

A warm presence.

A child who knows they can talk to you.

Rituals that hold the relationship together.

A home where they feel safe.

A father whose word means something.

A father who does what he can without pretending to be superhuman.

What Fathers Must Remember

In 1993, after the Bulls beat the Phoenix Suns in Game 6, Michael Jordan stood in front of the press holding his third championship trophy. The camera lights were blinding. His teammates shouting, and in that moment, he had climbed a mountain most players never reach once.

Three rings. Three finals. Three years at the top. And he had no idea he’d do it three more times. No idea that the second three-peat even existed.

No map for how the next chapters would unfold. He just kept playing the next game.

He stayed steady through the wins, through the losses, and through the pressure the world stacked on him.

Keep going, Fellas.

A child doesn’t measure love in receipts. They measure it in how you respond when they text late.

How you talk when you’re tired. How you show up even when stretched thin.

How you adapt and carry more than anyone can see.

Success isn’t found in a perfect life.

It’s found in your presence, your steadiness, and your willingness to keep showing up even when it’s hard.

Just like Jordan couldn’t see the second three-peat from 1993, you can’t yet see what your consistency is building in your children.

Stay steady. Keep showing up.

That’s the kind of father a child never forgets.

Until next time,

Barkim