Day One

I’m writing this from a room that isn’t mine.

Technically, I live here. But it doesn’t feel like home. It’s being loaned to me out of kindness, and I’m grateful—but every wall reminds me this isn’t mine.

I’m over 100 miles away from the family I cherished for over two decades. My teenage kids only get bits of me now—text messages, short calls, half-weekend visits if we’re lucky. I miss them in a way I can’t explain without choking up.

This past weekend, while I sat here in silence, their mother was off with one of her boyfriends. She’s already moved on, and I’m still here—trying to figure out where I’m sleeping by the end of the week.

I’ll drive those 100+ miles tomorrow morning back to the place where I work. I’ll put on the uniform. I’ll show up like I always do. But at night between shifts?

I’ll sleep in my truck. Because I have nowhere else to go.

This is what starting over looks like. It’s not polished. It’s not inspirational. It’s cold. It’s humiliating. It’s lonely.

But this is Day One. Not literally Day One, but today’s Day One.

And I’m writing it down—not because I’ve figured anything out—but because I refuse to stay silent about how hard this actually is.

If you’ve ever had to start over, or if you’re in the middle of it right now—I see you.

You’re not weak for struggling.

You’re not broken for hurting.

You’re still standing.

So am I.

This is the Clean Slate Dad journal. I’ll write once a week. One post at a time. No lies. No pretending. No fluff.

Just the truth—and the fight to rise again.

—Robert
The Clean Slate Guy