I want to start something here — a weekly space to share our wins. And I mean any wins. The tiny ones count just as much as the big ones.
My win this week? I went for a long walk on Wednesday evening and for the first time in a while, I felt genuinely at peace. Not the forced kind where you tell yourself you should feel better. The real kind. The kind where you suddenly notice the sky and the trees and you realise you’ve been breathing normally for an hour without your chest tightening.
In the book, I write about how pursuing meaningful goals became a critical lifeline during my darkest years. After I lost regular contact with my children, I threw myself into completing an MBA — studying evenings and weekends alongside my full-time job. It wasn’t escapism. It was survival. I needed something to pour my energy into that moved me forward instead of sinking into the pain.
That MBA, and the career growth it enabled, eventually gave me the financial means to move closer to my children. So even in the darkest period, those small daily wins — finishing an assignment, getting through a difficult exam, mastering something new — were building toward something meaningful.
So that’s what I mean by wins. They don’t have to be dramatic. Did you get through the day without falling apart? Did you resist the urge to send that angry text? Did you eat a proper meal instead of just coffee? Did you laugh at something for the first time in weeks?
All progress. All worth celebrating. Because nobody else truly understands how hard some of these “simple” things actually are when you’re carrying this weight.
Drop your wins below. Let’s end the week on something good.
Malcolm
I love this idea, Malcolm. My tiny win this week was that Lily texted me back about her chemistry exam — just “thanks mum, got a B+” but it made my whole week.
Progress really is progress, isn’t it? Even when it feels microscopic.
Malcolm, mate — this is bloody brilliant. I’ve been reading your posts for months and seeing you get to this point… honestly, it’s giving me goosebumps. Chapter 12 sounds like it was a real bastard to write, and you pushed through it. That’s massive.
My win feels tiny next to yours, but here goes. Yesterday was my daughter’s 18th birthday. Last year on her 17th I was still completely locked out, hadn’t heard her voice in three years. This year? She actually replied to my birthday message. Not just “thanks” either — she sent me a photo of the cake her mum made (chocolate mud cake, still her favourite apparently) and told me she got into uni for psychology. We had this weird, careful conversation for about twenty minutes. Nothing deep, just… normal parent-kid stuff about course loads and whether she’d live on campus.
The whole time I’m thinking “don’t stuff this up, don’t say too much, don’t mention how proud you are that she chose psychology after everything she’s been through.” Just trying to be present for whatever she was willing to give me. And it worked. She said “thanks for remembering, Dad” before she logged off. First time she’d called me Dad in four years.
It’s mental how these moments that should be ordinary — your kid telling you about uni, finishing a chapter of your book — become these huge victories. But they are victories, aren’t they? We’re still here, still fighting for connection in whatever way we can.
Love this idea, Malcolm.
My win? Made it through Tuesday’s mediation without losing my shit when she claimed I “never supported Emma’s dance classes” — when I literally drove 40 minutes each way twice a week for three years.
This is brilliant, Malcolm. I’m absolutely doing this.
My win? I meditated for ten minutes yesterday without spending the entire time thinking about whether the kids are okay. Just ten minutes of actual quiet in my head instead of the usual spiral about Sophie’s school photos or wondering if they still remember our bedtime stories.
Felt like a miracle honestly.