When Chainsaws & Changing Nappies Mess With Your Head
Alright, let’s get real for a minute. This one’s a deep one and I’m just ‘putting it out there’.
If you knew me years ago, you might have seen a guy running a busy design agency, sharp suit, networking events, presentations – the whole Director shebang. Later, after shifting gears into the work I do now – helping people tackle anxiety – and also moving from the UK to Australia, I was still in that entrepreneurial hustle. Building Mynd Works, connecting with people, aiming high – big smiles and business cards. My identity? Very much tied up in my career, my drive, my ability to provide.
Life threw some curve-balls. My first daughter arrived during a different chapter of my life, and honestly, distance and circumstances meant I wasn’t the hands-on dad I’d have loved to be, or was allowed to be. That stung, way more than I probably admitted at the time.
Fast forward!
I married, and my amazing wife and I welcomed our second daughter. This time, I had a choice. A real choice. And I made a big one: I decided to flip the script. I stepped back from the full-time business grind to be the primary caregiver – the stay-at-home dad – while running Mynd Works part-time. My wife graciously became the main breadwinner, supporting my decision and our family.
Sounds modern, maybe even idyllic? On paper, yes. In my head? It’s been a battlefield at times.
Here’s the raw truth: swapping boardrooms for baby parks, client calls for colic, and a primary income for a part-time one has triggered anxieties I never anticipated.
When client work inevitably ebbed and flowed, that old voice piped up, loud and clear: “You’re not contributing enough.” Suddenly, my sense of worth felt directly tied to the dollars I was bringing in. Or rather, the dollars I wasn’t.
Intellectually, I knew I was contributing massively – running the household, raising our daughter, doing the school runs, the majority of the cooking, the cleaning… essentially, the traditional ‘mum’ role (Oh, I’ll face backlash for that), plus running a business.
But emotionally? I felt… less than.
Less than my wife, who carried the main financial load. Less than the man I thought I was supposed to be. There were days I felt like a failure, wrestling with guilt. Was I focusing too much on trying to drum up business when I should have been purely present with my daughter? Was I being a good enough dad if I was worrying about the next client?
This wasn’t just about money. It tapped into those deep-seated, almost primal societal expectations of what it means to be a ‘man’. The provider. The breadwinner. And let’s be honest, we’re living in a time (as of May 2025) where ideas about gender are intensely debated – passionate discussions about identity, womanhood, and, inevitably, a renewed focus in some circles on what constitutes a ‘real’, traditional, masculine man. It puts even more pressure on navigating these non-traditional roles.
Choosing a path centered around caregiving, even willingly and joyfully, felt like it put me at odds with that ingrained stereotype.
And here’s the irony: by most traditional metrics, I tick the ‘manly’ boxes. Aside from being a mental health therapist… I’m a black belt martial artist, trained with champions, fought internationally. My younger years weren’t easy – I survived situations that tested my resilience to the core, literally escaped life or death situations (more than once).
Nowadays, I live a pretty rugged rural life here in Australia – heavy labour, wielding chainsaws, chopping wood, managing pests around the property with a finely tuned rifle, checking the fence-line late at night with the dog. Externally, it probably looks like the traditional ‘man’s man’ aesthetic.
But none of that – not the fighting skills, not the physical labour, not the resilience forged through hardship – silences that inner voice when it whispers “You’re not providing enough financially. You’re not enough.” That anxiety isn’t about lacking ‘manliness’; it’s about the role and the deeply conditioned financial expectations tied to it.
I know I’m not alone in this.
As more men step into primary care-giving roles, whether by choice or circumstance, they’re colliding with these outdated expectations, sometimes amplified by current cultural debates. The pressure can be immense, leading to stress, anxiety, even depression – things men are often notoriously bad at talking about. We bottle it up, feeling ashamed or confused by emotions that don’t fit the ‘strong male’ mould. If this is you, please know: you are not alone, and there is hope.
Navigating this has been (and still is) a journey. It requires constant self-awareness – catching those negative thoughts, challenging the ingrained beliefs about worth and contribution. And yes, I absolutely use the same therapeutic tools and techniques I teach my clients on myself to navigate these moments of self-doubt and quiet the anxiety.
There is a way through this. It means reminding myself, repeatedly, that my value isn’t solely defined by my bank balance. Aside from my continuing work with clients globally, my contribution to my family, to my daughter’s upbringing, holds immense worth. It also means having honest conversations with my wife, who has been an incredible pillar of support.
And perhaps for the women reading this, maybe this glimpse into these often unspoken insecurities – coming even from someone who chops their own firewood – offers some understanding. Perhaps it sheds light on what your own partner, brother, or friend might be silently thinking or feeling in those quiet moments of uncertainty about their role or contribution.
If you’re a guy out there in a similar boat – maybe you’re the primary caregiver, working part-time, or navigating a career shift that’s changed your financial role – hear this again: those feelings of unease, of not being ‘enough’? They’re real, they’re valid, but they don’t define your worth. The role you’re playing is vital.
It takes guts to challenge stereotypes, both societal and internal. It takes work to redefine your sense of self-worth beyond your job title or income. But it’s necessary work. Because being a present father, a supportive partner, and a person finding balance is more than ‘manly enough’ – it’s profoundly human.
If you’re struggling with anxiety, don’t stay quiet, please reach out! I’m here to help.
