Monthly Archives: July 2013

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 2


There’s a huge difference between being “whipped” and being a man who puts his wife first.

Being whipped is cowardly. And unsustainable.

Putting your wife on a pedestal and putting her needs first is heroic.

Because it’s hard. And I think one of life’s most-obvious lessons is that doing difficult things is a worthwhile exercise.

And that’s what I’m going to challenge you to do, gentlemen. To be heroes.

To be in the business of saving families.


In every marriage, the husband and wife dynamic is going to vary.

There are very submissive wives, as well as domineering ones. There are very alpha-male husbands, as well as those happy to let their wives run the show.

I submit that all of those power structures are poor choices.

Conventional wisdom suggests that in a healthy partnership, both sides give equally. 50-50.

But guess what? That’s not enough.

If you want your marriage to work—and gentlemen, I implore you to want it to—you have to give everything.

Unbreakable marriages are built from two people giving 100 percent. Both ways.

Time and time again, I see the wives giving more.

This is by no means always the case. But it happens far too often.

Perhaps your wife stays home with the children. If you’ve spent any time caring for multiple children at once, you should realize this has its own unique set of challenges. She probably does the vast majority of cooking, shopping, and cleaning too.

Maybe you don’t feel bad about this arrangement. Because she gets to stay home while you slave away at whatever you do for money, putting food on the table for your family.

I get it. We grew up watching our fathers and grandfathers live this way. It became ingrained in us at a young age. Men make money. Women make children and sandwiches.

But I know you know that’s bullshit. At least I pray you do.

And if your wife has a career? She has all those professional pressures to deal with in addition to the heavy load she carries at home.

Respect her struggles. Care about the challenges she faces. And help her with them.


Shameless Self-Promotion Note About My Coaching Services

I started coaching in 2019. Clients and I work collaboratively through current and past relationship stuff in order to improve existing relationships or to prepare for future ones. Other clients are trying to find themselves after divorce or a painful breakup. We talk by phone or video conference. People like it. Or at least they fake it really well by continuing to schedule future coaching calls and give me more money. If you’re going through something and think I might be able to help, it’s really easy to find out for sure. Learn More Here.


Make the Choice to Love

Step One is always going to be to genuinely love and respect your wife.

And I have to believe you do if you’re still reading.

Step Two? Don’t treat her as an equal. Treat her like something more.

  1. I know how hard this is. All humans can be shitty and unreasonable. My guess is your wife is no exception. And when you give a lot and she doesn’t act appreciative or even considerate of what you do, it’s going to hurt. You’re going to resent it. You’re going to be angry. And maybe even feel a little shame.
  2. Guess what? DO IT ANYWAY.
  3. Write this down and remind yourself of it daily: Love is NOT a feeling. Feelings are fickle. They change and come and go with such frequency, it’s impossible to build a foundation on them. Infatuation is a feeling. Lust is a feeling. Love is a CHOICE. A decision. It’s a verb. It’s an action. It’s something you wake up every day and choose to do. The sooner we can get every human being on the planet to understand this, the sooner we can do something about our depressing divorce rate.

If your wife is the anti-Christ, I’m sorry. We all make bad decisions. Especially me.

More than likely, she’s not. More than likely, she’s just a girl trying to make it through this challenging life. Just like you.

She has hopes and dreams, too. And you’d be wise to figure out what those are and try to help her achieve them, big and small.

And she’s scared. Terrified, even. When all the lights are off and it’s just her and her thoughts? If you’re not doing the right things, she’s scared. She’s scared you don’t love her as much as you used to. She’s scared there might not be enough money to pay for little Jimmy’s braces. She’s scared that she might not have the strength to keep juggling everyone in your family’s schedule. That she’s losing the strength to be the glue in the household.

And when your wife is scared, her defenses go up.

And then she nags you. To clean your shoes before walking through the house. About that leaky faucet you still haven’t fixed. About how you spend so much of your time watching the ballgame, playing video games, or working in the garage, and how you don’t spend enough time with the kids, or planning family activities, or making her feel good inside or outside of the bedroom. The sex becomes infrequent or nonexistent.

“I love you” becomes a thoughtless daily thing you’re programmed to say before leaving for work.

It’s human nature to take things for granted. I’m not going to beat you up about losing sight of the big picture once in a while.

But you can train your mind to focus on that which matters most. And boys, your wives and families matter most. And if they don’t, you’re in the wrong line of work.

Sometimes it takes losing your spouse or a child to truly understand what gifts they are.

I’m asking you to not be that way. To be mindful of their importance in your life and to consider how devastating the loss would be if they weren’t there anymore. So that you don’t have to feel the brutality of the alternative.

You’re going to have to disappoint your buddies once in a while when they want to take that golf weekend away, or tailgate at the college football game, or just go out drinking on a random weeknight.

You’re going to have to watch a cheesy romantic comedy once in a while, or take her to the theater.

You’re going to have to listen to music you don’t want to on road trips, and vacation places that aren’t your first choice.

The Righteous Brothers sang about losing that loving feeling. And maybe you’ve felt it in your own life. Maybe you’re not feeling motivated to get it back because she’s on your ass all the time about some chore you’ve been putting off, or because she never acts interested in you anymore, mentally or physically.

You have the power to change everything. You really do.

Love her.

Dude. Just love her.

Love her by being kind. By small displays of thoughtfulness. By recognizing and respecting her contributions to your life. By being a strong father. By making her feel loved and wanted when others are watching. And by making her feel loved and wanted when no one’s watching.

Don’t sit around waiting for something to happen. It’s not going to. Nothing good, anyway. Don’t be a statistic.

Make it happen.

Show your sons what heroism looks like. How to treat women. Show them the path to a happy and sustainable relationship.

Show your daughters what it looks and feels like to be treated well and respected by men. That will pay dividends later.

And show your wife—every chance you get—that she is loved and valued.

Give without asking for anything in return. For it is in giving that we receive.

Find a way to be the bigger, more patient, more loving person during conflict. For it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.

Find a way to be the hero.

Because you are the man of the house. And it’s time to start acting like it.

You May Also Want to Read:

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 1

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 3

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 4

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 5

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 6

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 7

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 8

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 9

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 10

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 11

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 12

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 13


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Facing the Fear


I have an unhealthy and unreasonable fear of failure.

I recognize that I have this problem and that it holds me back. I have less fun because of it. I probably make less money because of it. I’m probably not published because of it. And I almost certainly have worse “luck” with women because of it.

I’ve written previously about the need to adopt the rhythm of change in our lives, creating our own luck, and taking more chances because almost all humans overestimate the negative risks of putting ourselves out there. We also fail to recognize the cost of inaction. The opportunities lost by not acting boldly.

Well, it’s time to try something different. It’s time to take more chances.

My initial efforts in this department will be focused on approaching women in public places. I was talking to a lady yesterday who had read my “I’m a Total Pansy” post. She strongly encouraged me to try harder in this department. She had just returned from the grocery store where not one, but TWO, different men had chatted her up—one about avocados, the other about re-engineering grocery carts to make them better. This guy?

I need to attract a mate. Maybe some of the ladies I see walking around out there are every bit as neurotic as I am. Maybe one of them wonders why guys never talk to her at the grocery store.

I don’t think it can hurt to try. And if it does? I’ll lick my wounds and whine about it which is what I spend my time doing anyway.

I vow before God and before you, to make a concerted effort to talk to more strangers. To be less of a wimp. To trust that my failures will be easy to get over and my successes will add a new level of self-confidence to my chemistry and enhance the opportunity for positive experiences in my life.

I figure at the very least, it will be valuable writing material—documenting when I chicken out, when I embarrass myself, and God-willing, when I do something awesome.

Hell, even shitty batters hit the ball 20 percent of the time.

It’s an opportunity to learn something about myself.

And it scares me. Which is exactly why I need to do it.

Adopt the Rhythm of Change

change ahead

Don’t get too comfortable.

I don’t mean that in an inner-peace kind of way. It’s hard to even get out of bed in the morning without that.

Just don’t get too comfortable with the status quo in your personal life—even if you like it.

This is particularly hard for men. We crave routine and stability. And our bodies don’t respond well to harsh or drastic change.

But our entire lives involve change. Hell, it might be the only real earthly constant we have.

Like it or not, change is coming.

This manifests itself in the form of social, political, economic and seasonal weather changes.

But even more importantly, it happens in our personal lives.

I have to believe all of you—while experiencing very different realities than me—must have felt the weight of all the changes in your life as we’ve collectively flipped the pages on our calendars.

Everyone’s life stages are going to look and feel different depending on our individual set of circumstances.

But for many of us, it starts with being a very young child at home. We go to elementary school. Then eventually high school. Some of us head off to college, or the workforce, or join the military.

We experience life on our own for the first time. Some of us get married. Some of us have children.

We change jobs. We gain friends. We lose others. People you know get divorced. People you know start to die.

The only constant is change. Sometimes radical change.

And it’s hard. Even when it’s good—like getting your first job out of college in a gorgeous beach community 1,000 miles from everyone you know and love—it’s hard.

One of the world’s best modern thinkers is a man named Seth Godin. Anyone working in sales and marketing has almost certainly heard of him. The great thing about Godin’s work is that many of his lessons aren’t just about maximizing profits. They’re about maximizing the human experience.

Godin is a great marketer because he understands people. I sometimes think he knows us better than we do.

He’s a magnificent thinker and writer. Please read him.

He wrote recently about professional change. About staying flexible and nimble. About staying ahead professionally by adapting to the new culture of change.

And it got me thinking: Can we adopt the rhythm of change in our personal lives? And could doing so somehow save us from some of the stress and heartache we feel?

I’m not sure. But it feels worth exploring.

Maybe you’ve heard this before: Chance favors the prepared mind. Louis Pasteur, a French scientist, said that in 1854.

We don’t get lucky. We don’t find luck. Luck finds us.

Because we make good choices that put us in a position to capitalize on the opportunities life grants us.

So, let’s be mindful of this.

Mentally. Physically. Spiritually.

To be strong and courageous in the face of hardships.

And perhaps more importantly, so we’re in a position to seize good fortune when it finds us.

Because you and me? We’re on a collision course with something life-changing and beautiful.

Let’s be prepared for it.

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Carrying Crosses


Everyone has their cross to bear.

The phrase comes from the story of Jesus of Nazareth’s death by crucifixion. Regardless of what you may believe about Christ from a theological standpoint, it’s a generally accepted historical fact that there was a man named Jesus, and that in the year 33 A.D., he was sentenced to death by a Roman magistrate at trial.

The historical accounts of Christ’s crucifixion describe a man tortured, beaten, mocked, hit by stones, cursed and heckled by some of those watching as well as the Roman soldiers, and other atrocities.

In every account of this story, it is written that Christ carried his own cross through the city and eventually to the top of a hill where he was nailed to that cross, pierced by a spear, and put on display along with two other convicted criminals to bleed out and die in front of anyone with the stomach to watch.

Forgive the elementary recap. But I think it’s important to understand exactly what “carrying your cross” means.

Not a lot of people know what it feels like to be angry. In your bones.

We all have them. Every one of us. Crosses that need carried.

Some people don’t have access to fresh, clean, safe water. Their children are constantly at risk from violence, disease, starvation, and other dangers I’m too ignorant to think of half a world away.

Others are hungry and homeless. Or addicted and impoverished. They’re the Have Nots living amongst the Haves.

The more fortunate of us have different crosses. We lose jobs, or have medical expenses. We lose a parent or grandparent. We have struggles with family and friends. We have physical, spiritual and emotional struggles.

And there’s no getting out of it.

We’re so blessed to be among the chosen few that get to be alive. For those of us living in wealthy, developed nations, pleasures and luxuries abound. Even for those of us planted firmly in the middle class.

I’m glad I recapped the struggles others have to face. Because I need the reminder. It doesn’t make me feel any better that millions of people have it way worse than I do. But it does help keep my mind focused on the right things.

The cost of being alive is carrying crosses.

When I was a child, my cross was always being far away from one of my two parents at any given time. It was having very few financial resources.

As an adult, my crosses have come in the form of an unexpected layoff and some financial uncertainty, to a distraught wife that lost her father overnight one autumn evening, to now. To my divorce. To my quiet shell of a house. To my son being gone far too often.

I’m embarrassed that I’m about to quote a Batman film, but it’s simply too perfect not to. Because John Blake (played by actor Joseph Gordon Levitt) absolutely nails it:

“Not a lot of people know what it feels like to be angry. In your bones. You gotta learn to hide the anger. Practice smiling in the mirror. It’s like putting on a mask.”

Blake and Batman deliver violent judgment to those intent on hurting them or those they love.

I don’t think vigilante justice is in my future. Nor am I interested in harming anyone. Ever.

But I’m angry. In my bones.

A text message exchange with my soon-to-be ex wife made me shake today. It was the first time I’d ever been so angry that my hands shook. I pray it’s the last.

The most-important aspect of Christ’s crucifixion story is that he never lashed out. He never retaliated. He never spoke ill of those who hit him, and cut him, and screamed at him, and shoved thorns into his head.

He accepted his fate on behalf of all people. Those who loved him as well as those who didn’t.

He begged forgiveness for those who put him to death.

“They know not what they do,” he said.

I want to carry my cross with strength.

I want to exhibit kindness. And class. Forgiveness, even.

You’ve heard it before: Be the change you want to see in the world.

Keep your head up when carrying your crosses. Help others carry their’s and you’ll feel strength you didn’t know you had.

And graciously accept a little help from those who want to help you now and then.

And together, we’ll get to the top of the hill. And God-willing, find salvation.

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Fishing With Mandy


As far as I know, this woman’s name is not Mandy and has nothing to do with the people I know in real life. That’s not a very impressive fish, is it?

I had an interesting conversation about marriage yesterday with the woman I respect most in the world.

Her marriage is in trouble.

And without getting into the whos and the whys, let’s just chalk it up to a lot of philosophical and personality differences.

She said something important that I thought about the rest of the day. She said she felt sorry for her husband. Because she wonders whether he should be with a type of woman much different than she is.

She even has one in mind for him. A girl from his high school named Mandy.

My friend loves foreign literature. And she loves international travel. And discussing philosophy. And keeping up with current events. She loves conversation. And intimacy. Her children, and extended family.

He loves video games. And golf. And fishing. And fantasy football.

We’ve all seen this movie before.

She’s from a very well-educated, well-traveled, relatively well-to-do family.

He’s from a very uneducated, uncultured, semi-dysfunctional family.

They married young. And now they have to iron out the kinks, or it’s going to break.

The reality is they are two very different types of people. And my friend believes her husband might be better off with a girl like Mandy.

Mandy lives very simply in Texas. She didn’t graduate college and probably never considered going.

What she does is put on a bikini every day and go fishing in her bass boat.

That’s her husband’s dream girl, my friend said, totally putting words in his mouth. But that didn’t make her wrong.

Just a bunch of fishing, sex and sandwiches. I guess I can think of worse things. Like fishing, sex and no sandwiches.

But that’s when I got introspective: How important is it for us to find our Mandy?

If there’s ever going to be another special someone in my life, how important is it that she meet my Dream Girl criteria?

And in my life, what does Fishing with Mandy look like?

Does defining your ideal mate close your mind to people who might actually be your perfect match?

Does not defining your ideal mate keep you wandering aimlessly through the dating wasteland?

These are questions worth pondering, boys and girls.

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The Other One That Got Away

got away

Not everyone has one. A “one that got away.”

I have two.

Once my parents split prior to my fifth birthday, I started living two separate lives.

One was in small-town Ohio with my conservative, overprotective, sometimes overbearing, but always loving and caring mother.

The second was 500 miles away on the Iowa-Illinois border along the Mississippi River with my fun-loving, less-strict, but equally loving and caring father.

So I have two homes. The Ohio one—where I lived during the school year—always seemed like the real world. The Iowa-Illinois one always seemed like the fairytale during my summer and winter school breaks.

I know it sounds silly—America’s heartland seeming magical in some way. Let’s chalk it up to a little boy smitten with his father whom he rarely sees.

So I have two very different sets of memories and feelings about my past, depending on whether I was with my mother in Ohio, or my father in Illinois.

Yesterday, after more than 11 years, I came face to face with the Illinois version of the one that got away.

Her name is Erica. She’s still sweet. She’s still gorgeous.

Had I never met my wife, and stuck to my original college plan of graduating with a business degree and eventually joining my dad’s Iowa-based company, it’s not a stretch for me to think that she and I might be living under the same roof.

But life happens.

I pursued writing. I did meet my ex wife. And we started a life together in Florida after graduating.

Erica eventually married and moved around to exotic places like Puerto Rico and Hawaii before returning to the mainland to live in Arizona with her husband and two daughters.

Three years ago, her relationship soured as they so often do these days. And she is now divorced and lives back in her hometown with her girls, just minutes from my father’s house.

And, of course, because she’s still sweet and gorgeous, she is in a serious relationship.

She and her boyfriend spent much of the Fourth of July with my family and friends at my dad’s place where my son and I are staying for the week, and which is truly a playground for adults. We have fun here.

When Worlds Collide

Her boyfriend’s name is Jason. I liked him right away.

He works in the same industry as my father. And he’s a car guy as are so many who hang out around here.

Most importantly, he’s kind. That’s something that’s hard to fake. I was thrilled to see she’d found a good one.

We stood around dad’s massive garage bar the rest of the day, drinking beer and tequila and swapping stories about this and that.

Then Jason mentioned he has family in Ohio.

“You ever heard of Greenville?” he asked.

“Shut up,” I replied. “My mom lives there. Which is crazy, because no one lives in Greenville. It’s smaller than this garage.”

Jason mentioned the town in which I attended kindergarten. He’s actually been to the small town in which I grew up with my mom more than 500 miles away.

His mom lives there now with his stepdad.

“What’s your stepdad’s last name?” I asked.

He told me.

“Rick?” I asked.



His stepdad graduated from the same small high school in 1976 with my mother—the center of my other life, my other world.

I had started day drinking around lunchtime so the weight of the coincidence didn’t fully hit me until this morning.

There are things in this world—awe-inspiring, humbling, thought-provoking things—that reinforce my belief that there are greater forces at work in our lives.

Sometimes it’s looking into my son’s handsome face.

Sometimes it’s the gorgeous night sky.

Sometimes it’s the powerful sound of the surf as the ocean dances with the beach.

And sometimes it’s being reminded that it’s a small world after all.

And that someone who matters to you is happy and well cared for.

And that two worthy souls can find each other at just the right time, staking claim to their well-deserved slice of Happily Ever After.

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An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 1

Photo by Mike Klemme

A tradition unlike any other?
Photo by Mike Klemme

Dear Shitty Husband,

Yep. You.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s one of, or some combination of, the following:

  1. I’m not a shitty husband! I work 50-hour-plus weeks to pay for our house, and our cars, and our vacations, and her jewelry, and the kids’ activities. I love my wife and family!
  2. I’m not a shitty husband! I would do ANYTHING for my wife.
  3. I’m not a shitty husband! I fix things around the house that need fixed. I mow the lawn, and walk the dog, and take out the trash, and help change diapers, and run the kids to their little league games.
  4. I’m not a shitty husband! I always make sure she has an orgasm when we have sex once a week!
  5. I’m not a shitty husband! I don’t drink excessively, I’m drug-free, I work out, I don’t hit her, I don’t call her names and I don’t cheat!

And listen. I get it. You really truly don’t believe you’re a shitty husband. And I commend you for all of the good things you do, and applaud you for all the sacrifices you make on behalf of your wife and/or family.

But guess what?

Shut up. You’re an asshole and a shitty husband.

I don’t know everything there is to know about marriage. I might not even know a lot. But I know one VERY important thing: I’m an asshole. And I was a shitty husband.

On Easter Sunday of this year, my wife took her ring off after nine years of marriage and informed me she was leaving.

It hurt. It took my breath away. It frightened me.

But I wasn’t shocked.

Because we (husbands) have an awful lot more control than we think we do.

And all of us—male and female—need to accept more responsibility than we do for our circumstances.

And that’s what I’m going to do now. Accept some responsibility.

As of this writing, I don’t have much of an audience. But what little audience I have has read me talk about how my wife ended our nine-year marriage by leaving me the day after Easter.

But the question on the table today is: Had I been the husband I was supposed to be during the beginning and middle years of our marriage, would we ever have gotten to the point where my wife was looking elsewhere for inner peace and happiness?

She most definitely sucks for ending our relationship the way she did. She doesn’t get a free pass for that.

But this is where I have to take responsibility—at least part of it—for the position in which I find myself.

I was NOT a perfect husband.

I’m not even sure I was a good husband.

I loved her. I was kind to her. I wanted to make her happy and win her approval. I wanted to take care of her and provide for her. I went to work every day for her. She gave me purpose. I wanted to be with her forever.

But I was an asshole. A selfish one. And while I truly believe I redeemed myself during the final two years of our marriage, when I was growing and she was withdrawing, I was a shitty husband for the seven years prior.


Shameless Self-Promotion Note About My Coaching Services

I started coaching in 2019. Clients and I work collaboratively through current and past relationship stuff in order to improve existing relationships or to prepare for future ones. Other clients are trying to find themselves after divorce or a painful breakup. We talk by phone or video conference. People like it. Or at least they fake it really well by continuing to schedule future coaching calls and give me more money. If you’re going through something and think I might be able to help, it’s really easy to find out for sure. Learn More Here.


Watching The Masters

I didn’t know it at the time, but four years ago, a defining moment in my life happened during the Sunday final round of The Masters golf tournament—generally considered to be the most-popular golf tournament of the year by American golf fans.

Living in Ohio, that general time period around Easter and The Masters is when you can count on the weather to break and really give you some beautiful days.

My ex-wife absolutely loves being outside. She grew up in the country, and sitting inside on a beautiful day is not her idea of a good time.

So, inevitably, it was gorgeous outside during the final round of The Masters. Our son was not quite a year old. And my wife wanted us, as a family, to go enjoy the weather together.

Go hike in the nearby national park.

Go to the zoo.

Go to a metro park trail.

Sounds pretty reasonable, right?

I think so.

But on that particular Sunday, without the benefit of failed-marriage hindsight? It sounded perfectly unreasonable.

It went something like this:

Me: “Babe. I’d really just like to watch my favorite golf tournament. This only happens once a year.”

Wife: “I can’t believe you want to sit inside on a such a beautiful day. You don’t want to go do something nice as a family?”

Me: “I don’t want to sit inside on a beautiful day—I kind of wish it was raining—and of course I want to do fun things together, but again, this golf tournament happens just one weekend a year. And that happens to be today. I’d like to watch it. I’m sorry.”

This all hit me a few months ago during the 2013 Masters. It was on TV at my house. But nobody was home. She’d already left. My son was gone. I was there. I was awake. But I wasn’t home.

I’m tempted to look up who even won the damn golf tournament this year. Because I truly can’t remember. Maybe Justin Rose or Adam Scott. But honestly, who cares?

I chose The Masters over a perfect Sunday afternoon with my wife and son.

And guess what, Guy Who Thinks That Sounds Perfectly Acceptable?

You’re an asshole. And a shitty husband. Just like me.

I committed marriage’s worst crime, after all the obvious stuff like cheating, and abuse, and the like.

I left my wife alone in our marriage.

It looks a lot like that Masters Sunday four years ago.

It’s what it looks like when she stays home on a Friday night to take care of the kids and do chores and watch “Desperate Housewives” alone on the couch while you’re out with the boys.

It’s what it looks like when she invites you to bed during Monday Night Football, but you’re too busy monitoring your fantasy football team to join her.

It’s what it looks like when she asks you to join her for a family function at the in-laws, and you decline so you can watch a movie at home alone, or sit around playing video games, or playing golf, or playing poker.

It’s what it looks like when you go to a party and you spend all of your time drinking and laughing with your friends, and never once squeezing her hand, or whispering in her ear how gorgeous she looks, or making eye contact from across the room and mouthing the words “I love you.”

It’s what it looks like when you leave the hospital to get a good night’s sleep the day your son was born even though your wife is begging you to stay.

It’s what it looks like when you don’t acknowledge all of the many things she carries every day so that you don’t have to—managing schedules, and the household, and buying gifts for birthdays and weddings and graduations, and keeping the house clean, and a million other things I’m STILL too fucking dense to recognize even though I’m still picking up the pieces in my now-empty home.

The hardest lesson I’ve ever learned is that you can have all of the good intentions in the world. You can be kind. And charming. And willing to sacrifice.

And it can STILL break.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I’ve heard that proverb my entire life and I never really knew what it meant until now.

You know, it’s funny. I could have just DVR’d the fucking Masters.

And you can too.

We’re broken people. We’re shitty husbands.

But gentlemen—we don’t have to be.

You May Also Want to Read:

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 2

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 3

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 4

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 5

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 6

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 7

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 8

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 9

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 10

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 11

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 12

An Open Letter to Shitty Husbands, Vol. 13


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