The Empty Room

In partnership with

Fellas,

It started with a Nintendo DS.

One Christmas when my son was about 11, he campaigned for that thing like his life depended on it. All through fall, it was his main talking point.

At breakfast. In the car. While brushing his teeth. He dropped hints like a politician drops promises. Strategic, relentless, and impossible to ignore.

He’d research colors, games, and bundles, then present them to me. He was dead set on getting this device.

Christmas Eve, we played it cool.
He unwrapped gift after gift. Sweaters, jeans, socks, even a pair of sneakers. Each time, he’d give a polite “Thanks,” but I could see his eyes scanning the pile like a detective at a crime scene.

Then came the last box. Small. Light. Wrapped twice over.
He tore through the paper like it was slowing him down, shredding layer after layer until... He froze for half a second and then it hit him.

“I GOT THE DS!” he screamed, bouncing in place. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I just stood there, taking it in, letting the joy on his face be worth every dollar. Then I turned around, walking towards the kitchen. I heard him scream “Dad!”

And I woke up.

That Christmas was a year ago. I’m in my new apartment. Alone. The only sound was my neighbors arguing through the wall. That’s what woke me.

I stared at the ceiling, and the reality settled.
I didn’t live with my kids anymore.

There’d be no coming home to “Dad, guess what happened at school.” No dinner debates about whose turn it was to do the dishes. Just me. A mattress. The hum of a refrigerator.

The Bittersweet Silence

If you’ve ever left a bad relationship, you know the strange paradox. On one hand, the chaos is over. The shouting matches, the tense silences, the constant edge-of-your-seat readiness for the next blow-up. Your nervous system finally gets a break.

But on the other hand? That chaos was part of your daily rhythm. The noise, the schedule, the emotional climate even if it was toxic; it was still the world you knew. When it’s gone, you’re left with a silence so deep it feels like it has weight.

The first few weeks alone, you might enjoy it. Sleep better. Eat what you want. Watch whatever you want. But soon, the silence stops being peaceful.

It becomes hollow. You’re not tucking anyone in. You’re not hearing your name called from the other room.

And that’s when the loneliness sets in.

The Early Adjustments No One Prepares You For

When you first move out, the smallest things can wreck you.

It’s not just emotional it’s physical. Your routines collapse. The structure that held your life together, even if it was chaotic, is gone.

Ways to Survive the Transition

You can’t muscle your way through loneliness. You have to give it places to go. Here are a few things that actually help:

The Bridge Back

If you’ve been through it, you already know: co-parenting isn’t always civility and neatly split weekends. Sometimes it’s rude text messages, disagreements on visitation, court dates, etc.

And when the air between you and your ex is tense, the temptation is to think this is going to ruin my relationship with my kids. That every disagreement spills into their lives.

But it doesn’t have to.

The real magic? Staying consistent. Kids don’t measure your worth by how smooth things are between you and your ex; they measure it by whether you keep showing up.

Whether your word means something. That the plans you make with them happen even if you had to bite your tongue and grit your teeth to get there.

When you can create a bubble around your time together where the co-parent tension doesn’t leak in you give your children something rare. It tells them, “Your relationship with me is yours alone. Nothing else can take that from you.”

One of the best ways to do that? Encourage their dreams without hijacking them.

That’s where a shared dream board comes in.

How a Shared Dream Board Works

It’s simple, but powerful.

Why It Works

A dream board is not about “achieving everything.” It’s about connection through shared vision.

You don’t have to be there every night to help them dream bigger. You just have to show up in ways that keep the spark alive.

The Way Forward

I still think about that morning sometimes.
How real the dream felt; his voice, the way he jumped up. And then, the gut punch of waking up to quiet walls.

It’s a strange thing, holding on to moments that live only in your head now. But what I’ve learned is, the memory isn’t just a reminder of what I’ve lost; it’s proof of what I’m still capable of giving.

We can’t rebuild yesterday. But we can build tomorrow even if the pieces don’t look the same as before.

You might not be under the same roof anymore. You might be figuring out how to be a dad in weekend doses and Wednesday night phone calls.

But the truth is, the bond isn’t gone.

It’s just waiting for you.

The next move is yours.

You’re not lost.

You’re here.

Until next time,

Barkim

P.S. My son came over to play streetfighter 6….🤦🏾‍♂️I lost Bad 30-1. Its back to training for me.

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