When You're Falling Apart But You're Everyone's Glue

You ever wish you could just stop?

Not forever — just pause. No noise, no deadlines, no one needing anything.

But then you remember — you don’t get that. Because you’re the one holding it all together. The one who keeps going when the tank’s been empty for weeks. The one who’s supposed to be unbreakable.

This episode is for every dad who’s been there — exhausted, invisible, and still showing up. I talk about the pressure of being “the glue,” what happens when that pressure starts to crack, and the truth about postpartum depression in fathers that almost no one talks about.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re falling apart but can’t afford to — this one’s for you.

Chapters

• 0:00 You ever wish you could just stop?
• 1:25 Living under constant pressure
• 2:25 The “what if” spiral
• 4:05 The imbalance that builds
• 6:15 The 2 a.m. moment
• 7:15 Watching your partner disappear
• 8:05 Resentment, guilt, and the cycle
• 9:00 Postpartum depression in dads
• 10:05 Nobody asks “How’s dad doing?”
• 12:25 What needs to change

Transcript

You ever wish you can just stop?

(...)

Not forever.

(...)

Just pause.

(...)

No noise.

(...)

No deadlines.

(...)

No one needing anything.

(...)

Just silence.

(...)

Just rest.

(...)

But then you remember you don't get that because you're the one holding it all together. At 2 a.m. when the baby's screaming, when your wife's eyes are empty, when every day you're running on two hours of sleep,

(...)

you're the glue.

(...)

And when you're the glue, you don't get to fall apart.(...) Because if you do,(...) everything else breaks with you.

(...)

I'm Jonathan, and you're listening to Times With Dad. And this one's for every dad who ever held it all together, even when you were breaking inside.

(...)

Can you say times with dad?

Times dad.

So what's this parkour started?

(...)

I don't have the leisure of a safety net. I don't have the leisure of getting sick and knowing that we'll be all right. And because of that, I have to always keep things afloat and always look for side hustle. I have to figure out what other sacrifices can be made that I can make to keep everything grounded, everything afloat with that built tremendous pressure and dealing with that pressure, acknowledging that pressure, living with that pressure, and just knowing you can't get away from the pressure. But the pressure always comes with what if. What if you lost a job? What if you actually got hurt and you couldn't maintain everything? What would happen to you, to everyone, to everything?(...) And then the pressure of dealing with all the what ifs. What if this?(...) What if that?(...) What if? What if? What if you're everyone's glue, but you're falling apart?

(...)

And what that brings realization and a question. The realization is simple. You're everyone's glue, so you're not allowed to fall apart. But then the question that I began to ask myself over and over, and the question that I really couldn't shake was,

(...)

what's my limit?

(...)

What will it take until I can't take it anymore?

(...)

And then you wonder when will that limit be broken?

(...)

And I bet it will be the most tiniest thing that breaks the camel's back. Something probably lighter than a straw because you've just been balancing things for so long. And then the balance can begin to feel imbalanced. But even though things begin to feel imbalanced, you know that the morning is going to come. Get up in the morning, handle your business, and keep moving.

(...)

Because you have to.

(...)

Because other people need you to.(...) Because that's what a dad does, right?

(...)

Because that's what a husband does, right?

(...)

You just handle it.

(...)

Whether you are capable,(...) knowledgeable, sometimes even willing, you handle it. We're told, "Oh my God, you need to handle it." Men by nature like to fix things. But we're also ingrained to be fixers. If something's broken, you're almost expected to know how to fix it. If you see someone who has a partner and they're not being provided for in the way that they need to be provided for, a lot of times the questions being asked of them is, "What is your man doing?" But it's something to really know that you're working your hardest to give yourself a tiny break because you know you need it. Because you know that you need to work triple time to give yourself that break time.

(...)

Because, again, you're the glue.

(...)

You're not allowed to fall apart.(...)

Picture this.(...) It's 2 a.m. and you've been averaging two hours of sleep a night,(...) every night.(...) And let's be real, you're never getting to sleep during the night.

(...)

It's been scattered throughout the day where you're just picking up little pieces here and there for you to get some sleep and you're coordinating with your spouse.

(...)

You get 30 minutes of sleep, four hours of sleep, one hour of sleep. "I'll take what I can." Whatever.

(...)

So you start to look at it like as an opportunity to just maximize your days because you have all these additional hours now that you're not normally accustomed to receiving. So you might as well just conquer them.(...) But then you say, "No, you should also get relaxation." But how can you relax? It's 2 o'clock in the morning. Your baby is screaming, the type of scream that just goes right through you.

(...)

And this isn't a, this isn't like a yelling. This isn't a crying. This is a screaming. This baby is hungry and it's two of them.

(...)

And they're both going at it. And then you still have two additional kids that you have to take care of.

(...)

And then you have to take care of your wife,

(...)

who's going through depression. That when you look at her, you see lights are on, but no one's home. There's not a glimmer in her eye. There's not a feeling of a person there.

(...)

And so as she's staring off into nothing, in a complete stare, holding this baby as seeking help.

(...)

She wants to help.(...) How can she?(...) She's not present.

(...)

And you can't, you can't talk to her because no one's home.

(...)

And so although you're tired, although you're stressed out, although you're also adjusting,

(...)

you're adjusting to the newfound pressure.

(...)

So you begin to have thoughts.

(...)

And you start thinking, just put the baby down for a second. You need a break.

(...)

What

kind of father needs a break from his own kid?

(...)

You haven't slept in weeks.(...) You're overwhelmed.

(...)

This isn't normal.

(...)

Normal dads don't resent their wives for being sick.

(...)

Normal dads don't think about walking away.

(...)

I'm not thinking about walking away.(...) I'm just, you're just a terrible father. A selfish husband.

(...)

And that's the thought that you always left with.

(...)

I felt angry at the situation.(...) I felt angry at my wife. I felt angry at myself. My anger transitioned to guilt.

(...)

And then because I began to feel guilt, I got angry at that.

(...)

It's just a cycle.

(...)

And a cycle eats you alive.

(...)

What kind of person resents his struggling wife?

(...)

That's what I told myself.(...) Over and over and over.

(...)

Here's something I wish someone told me that.

(...)

One in ten dads struggle with postpartum depression.

(...)

If their partner has it too, that percentage goes up to 50% of couples.

(...)

Nobody talks about it.

(...)

Nobody asks, "How's dad doing?"

(...)

We're just fine.(...) We're just drowning.

(...)

We're just used to being out at sea without a raft, without a paddle.

(...)

Get accustomed to it.

(...)

Get comfortable being uncomfortable.

(...)

And so with that,(...) I started telling myself, "You're an asshole."(...) If I have a completely normal responses for impossible situations, the situations that you can't control,(...) the situations that you do your best to alleviate,

(...)

but still at that,(...) it's justified.

(...)

You see,(...) this is normal.

(...)

It doesn't feel normal.

(...)

But half of dads go through what I'm going through.

(...)

Then where are they?

(...)

You see, we don't talk about it.

(...)

We just disappear into our struggles.

(...)

Typically,(...) throughout history, we disappear into an outlet. Not outlet, it can be a bottle. It can be separation. It can be anger.

(...)

And it can be silence.

(...)

The hardest part wasn't the sleepless nights

(...)

or the baby screaming or even dealing with my wife's depression.

(...)

The hardest part was the feeling of isolation.

(...)

Feeling like I was the only dad who couldn't handle it.

(...)

Friends will ask,(...) "How's the wife?

(...)

How's the kids?"

(...)

Few of them asked,(...) "How are you?"

(...)

And honestly, I wouldn't even know what the answer was anyway.

(...)

I was struggling with my own way of coping, my own way of healing,

(...)

my own way of dealing with it all,

(...)

in my own way, supporting my wife.

(...)

But admitting to other people that you're drowning may have the facade of you being the one

(...)

who has it all put together.

(...)

But what if it wasn't?

(...)

What if we stopped pretending dads are unbreakable(...) and started having the conversations we actually need?

(...)

Here's what needs to change.

(...)

We need to start asking dads, "How are you doing?"(...) Not the family,(...) not the kids,(...) not work.

(...)

"How's you?"

(...)

We men need to respond truthfully.

(...)

Swallow your pride,(...) answer the question.

(...)

We need to normalize the fact becoming a father can break you in more ways than you ever expected.

(...)

That loving your family and struggling with fatherhood

aren't

mutually exclusive.

(...)

So here's what I'm asking.

(...)

Stop

into your struggles and start saying the quiet parts out loud.

(...)

That voice in your head calling you a terrible father.(...) Tell someone about it. That 2 a.m. panic attack, whether you can handle it tomorrow. Share it. Call in, check on other dads.

(...)

Well,(...) what if they're going to think you're weak?

(...)

What if

(...)

they're relieved someone finally checked in?

(...)

Because the strongest thing you can do isn't holding it together.

(...)

It's admitting when you can't.

(...)