Six weeks in, I caught sight of myself in a shop window in the city. I'd lost five kilos without trying, my shirt was hanging off me, I hadn't shaved properly in nine days, and I was carrying a sandwich I couldn't remember buying. I looked exactly like a man whose marriage had just ended. Which I was. But I also looked like a man who was about to lose his job and his health to the same event. Which I wasn't going to.
That window was the moment I realised: the separation will not kill me. The way I respond to it might.
This module is the bare minimum you need to do, every week, to come out the other side functional. Not optimised. Not winning. Functional.
The principle: shrink the surface area
In a normal life, you maintain about thirty things at once. Work, relationships, fitness, hobbies, friends, family, hygiene, housework, side projects, finances, the dog, the car. In the first 90 days after a separation, you cannot maintain thirty things. Trying to is how men implode.
Pick the smallest possible set of things to keep alive, and let the rest go for now.
The non-negotiable list, in order:
- Sleep
- Food
- Movement (not training, just moving)
- One human contact per day
- Showing up to work at a passable level
- Time with your kids on the days you have them
Six things. Everything else is optional in the first 90 days.
Sleep
Sleep is the first thing to break and the most important thing to protect. In the first month, you will probably either be sleeping four hours or twelve hours. Both are bad. The goal is to drag it back to seven, ish, by week six.
What works:
- Same wake-up time every day. Not the same bedtime. The same wake-up time. Even on weekends. The body resets off the wake-up.
- No phone in the bedroom. Charge it in the kitchen. Buy a cheap alarm clock from Kmart for $12.
- No alcohol after 8pm for the first month. Alcohol gives you the first hour of sleep and steals the rest of the night.
- Cold room, hot shower before bed. Cliché. Works.
- A book, paper, on the bedside table. The act of reading something physical pulls the brain out of rumination.
If sleep doesn't come back in 4-6 weeks, see your GP. Short-term sleep medication exists for exactly this kind of period.
Food
You will either stop eating or eat constantly. Neither is the answer. The minimum:
- Three meals a day, even small ones. Set alarms if you have to.
- Protein in every meal. Eggs, tuna, mince. Boring, sufficient.
- Water before coffee, every morning. A pint of it.
- One bag of frozen vegetables in the freezer at all times.
- Stock the cupboards on a Sunday for the whole week.
If you are living somewhere new, the kitchen is unfamiliar. Make it familiar fast. One pan, one pot, one knife. The fewer decisions, the more meals get eaten.
Avoid for the first 60 days: skipping breakfast, drinking your dinner, ordering Uber Eats more than twice a week.
Movement
Note the word. Movement, not training. This is not the time to start a new programme or sign up for a triathlon. This is the time to make sure your body moves every day so the chemistry stays roughly normal.
The minimum:
- 30 minutes of walking, daily. Outside if you can. No podcast for the first 10 minutes.
- 10 minutes of something that makes you breathe hard, three times a week.
- 5 minutes of stretching before bed. Even badly.
If you already had a training routine, scale it back to 60% and protect that. The structure of going to the same gym at the same time holds the day together more than you would think.
Work
Work is where the structure of your life lives now. Don't blow it up.
- Show up. Physically, on time, every day. The act of being where you are supposed to be is half the recovery.
- Lower the bar deliberately for 90 days. Aim for "good enough", not "best work of my career".
- Pick one project to actually engage with. Just one. Be visibly competent on that one. Cruise the rest.
- Cancel the optional. Volunteer committees, side projects, the conference talk. Pause them. Come back in 6 months.
- Take leave deliberately. Use a day for the lawyer's appointment. Don't crowbar everything into your lunch hour.
One human a day
The fastest path to imploding is going three weeks without a real conversation with another adult.
The rule: one human contact, every day, that is not transactional.
What counts: a 20-minute call with a mate, a coffee with a colleague where you actually talk, a walk with a neighbour, a long text exchange that goes both ways, a therapy session.
What doesn't count: the barista, your kids (love them, doesn't count for this), work meetings, reply-and-react in a group chat.
The data on isolation in separated men is grim. Being alone is not strength.
Time with the kids
The days you have them are the most important days of your week.
- Be physically and mentally present. Phone in the kitchen drawer. Laptop closed.
- Do small, ordinary things. Cook dinner together. Walk the dog. Don't try to make every weekend a theme park.
- Don't slag their mum. Even when they bait you.
- Let them be bored at your place. Bored at Dad's is part of feeling at home there.
- Have your sad moments away from them. The bathroom with the door locked. The car after drop-off.
The kids do not need you to be cheerful. They need you to be steady. There is a difference.
What to drop, what to keep
For the first 90 days, drop:
- Any new commitment that wasn't already in your life. New gym, new club, new dating app. Wait.
- Side projects and hobbies that require sustained attention.
- The ambition to "use this time" to become a better version of yourself. You will. Just not on a schedule.
- The big house decisions. Repaint, renovate, sell. Not yet.
- Caring about what people think.
Keep the boring, unglamorous, daily things: brush your teeth twice a day, make the bed, wear a clean shirt, cook one real meal, walk for 30 minutes, talk to one human, be where you said you would be.
This is the unsexy floor of being a functioning man. It is not glamorous. It is structural.
A note on therapy
If you are not already seeing a therapist or psychologist, get one. Not because you are broken. Because you are about to navigate the hardest year of your life and you need an external operator paid to be on your side.
In Australia, your GP can write a Mental Health Care Plan that gives you 10 subsidised sessions per calendar year under Medicare. Out of pocket varies, usually $30-$120 per session after the rebate. Wait times can be long. Book early.
If therapy is not for you: a men's group (Tomorrow Man, Men's Table, Mr Perfect), a close mate who has been through it, or a coach if you can afford one. Externalise, out loud, to someone whose job or instinct is to listen.
A closing note
The men who come out of separation in one piece are not the ones who go hardest. They are the ones who do the smallest possible set of right things, every day, for long enough.
You do not need a 5am routine. You need to brush your teeth, eat something, walk, sleep, talk to one human. For 90 days. Then you reassess.
Smaller floor. Steady reps. Repeat tomorrow.
Further watching
- 01Shrink the surface area. Six non-negotiables, drop the rest for 90 days.
- 02Same wake-up time every day. No phone in the bedroom. No booze after 8pm.
- 03Movement, not training. 30 minutes walking and three short hard sessions a week.
- 04One real human conversation every day. The barista doesn't count.
- 05Get a Mental Health Care Plan from your GP. Externalise to a professional.
What keeps you functional in the weeks after a separation?