I'm Running Out of Time, and My Family Can't Wait Anymore

My wife is drowning. I'm 8,000 miles away. And all I have left is content creation.

I hear it in her voice every day.

The breaking. The overwhelm. The tears that come before the words. The silence that lasts too long after.

My wife is alone in the Philippines. I’m in the U.S., trying to find work, again. Trying to keep the promise that one day, I’ll bring her and the kids here, that one day we’ll build something better, together. But that promise is starting to rot in my mouth. It’s been years. And we are back to square one.

She’s doing everything on her own. Running the house. Taking care of our two kids, including our autistic 6-year-old, who needs constant attention. And now her mental health is collapsing. She can’t keep going like this.

And the worst part?

I can’t help her.

I can’t hug her. I can’t take the kids for an hour so she can rest. I can’t do the one thing a partner should be able to do: show up.

I’m 56 years old and sleeping on a floor in Tucson, Arizona. The job I thought would carry us through? It ended suddenly. No warning. No safety net. Just done.

And now, every day, I hear my wife melting down across a Messenger call, while I sit here staring at a laptop screen, trying to write my way out of this.

This isn’t content creation for clout.

This is content creation for survival.

She told me yesterday, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired. It’s always the same. Nothing ever changes.”

And she’s right.

Fourteen years of struggling. Of “just one more job.” Of starting businesses, then losing clients. Of mental illness, hospital bills, poverty. Of me always chasing some fix, some answer.

She was supposed to be here by now.

Instead, I’m writing this alone, wondering if I’ve already lost the only thing that ever mattered.

I have no job. No savings. No runway.

All I have are the things I’ve built in the cracks between chaos:

My Skool community for second-act creators
My ebooks that teach people how to write again with AI — but with heart
My daily writing on Medium, LinkedIn, and wherever else someone might listen
My freelance work, for anyone who still values real content made by a real human

That’s it. That’s the list.

If this works, we survive.

If it doesn’t, I go back to the Philippines, not with my family joining me in the U.S., but with me giving up the dream of bringing them here. Because right now, she doesn’t care about the American dream.

She just needs help. And I’m the only one who can give it to her.

So what do I do?

I wake up and write.
Even when I feel broken.
Even when I want to scream.
Even when the numbers say “nobody read that post.”

I still write.

Because I have nothing else left to trade.

I’m sharing this publicly because I believe in showing up in the middle of the mess, not just after the comeback.

This is me, right now — broke, scared, and writing anyway.

If you’re a writer, a creator, a late bloomer, a human trying to build something real while your life is falling apart, I see you.

If you’ve been the one on the floor, listening to your partner crack under the weight of it all, I am you.

If you’re holding onto a dream by your fingernails, praying that the next project, the next post, the next product will catch, welcome. You’re not alone.

My wife is breaking.
And I’m running out of time.

But I’m not giving up.

Because if I do, we lose everything.
And I’ve already lost too much.

So I’ll keep writing.
Keep building.
Keep hoping.

And if you’re out there reading this, and you’ve made it this far, thank you.

You’re part of the reason I haven’t quit yet.

If you want to help:

Join my Skool community for creators who refuse to give up. First 25 members get free lifetime access.
Buy an ebook, like “How to Turn Old Essays Into an Ebook That Sells (with a little help from AI).”
Hire me for writing or content work
Share this post. Someone out there needs it too.

Second acts are messy. But I’m still writing mine.
Even if it’s with tears on the keyboard.