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Tue 29 Jul, 2025
Windsor, England
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Hey Reader,
Ever felt like you're doing your best to hold it all together, and still end up being the problem?
That hit me this week.
Quick life update before we dive in.
We’ve been on holiday visiting some friends outside London. First trip as a family with a toddler (since Cléo is no longer a baby, at almost 16 months). And yeah, traveling with a toddler… not exactly restful.
We had the usual packing conversations. The “what’s your contribution?” talks. I’ve been a bit sensitive these past few days.
But here’s what I want to share.
Last week, I mentioned I’d been listening. To your replies. To your stories. Some of you even got on a call with me. I really appreciate that.
And I noticed something. Most of you said you don’t have time to finish books. You struggle to show up for live calls. You prefer to figure things out on your own.
So I’m building something that meets you where you are. A 21-day challenge to help you communicate better with your partner. Based on your words, your pains. Each day, a short story, a reflection, and one real challenge to act on.
The goal? By the end of it, you’ll feel like you earned something. Like finishing an Ironman. You’ll know you’ve changed.
More on that soon. And if you want to help shape it, reply to this email. I’d love to bounce ideas.
Now, for what hit me this week.
How do you handle it when your partner criticizes you?
Not just when she says it directly, but when she’s overwhelmed, tense, throwing frustration around… and you start feeling like it’s your fault.
I call this a man’s kryptonite.
Because it cuts deep. Especially when it comes from the person we care most about. It hits that place in us that says, “You’re not good enough.” Even when that’s not what she’s trying to say.
You can plan, provide, protect, and still feel like you’re failing her anyway.
So here’s the story.
We were staying near Windsor and planned a day trip into London. First time for me, so I took the lead. I made the plan, mapped it out, calculated everything: trains, walking time, food stops. Kept it minimal. Just enough to get a feel for the city.
But our original idea was, “It’ll take about 30 minutes to get there.”
In reality… it took two hours.
By the time we were halfway there, Aurélie was spiraling. She was tired, didn’t sleep well, the trains were late, it was raining, everything was crowded. I could feel her storm rising.
And I could feel myself wanting to react.
Because I had put in the effort. I thought I’d planned well. And the old me would have gone straight into defense mode. Explained everything. Justified it all. Got irritated that she didn’t appreciate it.
I could already see where it was going. A long day turning into a longer evening. Both of us frustrated, disconnected. Me replaying it all in my head later, wondering why I even tried.
But this time, I didn’t.
I remembered something I read in a parenting book: “Get curious, not furious.”
Yes, it’s about toddlers. But it helped here too.
Instead of getting defensive, I gave her space. I stayed calm. I asked questions. I tried to understand. What expectation did she have? What made it feel so overwhelming?
Turns out, she had really believed the whole journey would take half an hour. Just the train ride, not the delays, the waiting, the transfers, the walk to the station, the metro confusion. It added up.
And her frustration wasn’t about me. It was about the mismatch between her expectation and the reality.
Just naming it, just understanding where it broke, was enough to take the sting out.
Once we cleared it up, the energy softened. We even caught a celebration parade—England’s women’s team had just won the European Championship. We wouldn’t have seen it if we’d been “on time.”
Look, I’m not saying the day turned magical. She still didn’t love it. The ride home was even longer.
But I didn’t make it worse.
I didn’t get pulled into her storm. I stayed grounded. And that made all the difference.
Because when one person loses their center, the other has a choice: spiral too, or hold the integrity of the family.
This time, I held it.
And I’m proud of that.
If I had taken her frustration personally, we would have spiraled together. But I chose presence. I chose to be the rock.
That’s my lesson this week.
Let me know if it speaks to you. Or if you’ve been in a moment like this. I always read your replies.
And I’ll keep you updated on the 21-day challenge too.
Stay rooted,
Mihai
Wake Up. Live Fully.
P.S. I’m not a TV. These emails aren’t a broadcast, they’re a conversation.
If this letter made you think of someone (a friend, a dad, a brother) forward it to them.
We need more rooted dads in our village.
(Need a little structure to wake up & live fully? The Dad Reset’s still open.)
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