I quit my tech job and became a stay-at-home dad. I sometimes feel lost because I'm not making money, but I still feel valuable.

• I quit my full-time tech job to build a photography business and take care of the house.
• I then became a stay-at-home dad when we had a baby, and I've had to deal with identity issues.
• It isn't easy, especially because I don't make money, but I still feel valuable.

My journey from tech worker to unemployed to stay-at-home dad has been grueling.

I met my wife while working at a tech startup in San Francisco. She sat alongside me in the same office, sharing the same vision of bringing people together in the Metaverse. Later, Liv and I got married at a petting zoo.

After years in tech, I felt lonely and unfulfilled. Working from home didn't help and only left me feeling exhausted.

In high school, I committed to a career in software engineering because it felt like the responsible financial decision. But years of therapy, close friendships, and extroversion highlighted what actually fueled me: authentic, curious, and vulnerable human storytelling. I wasn't finding enough of that while working at VC-backed tech companies. I found it through my love of photography.

If I stopped making tech money, who would I become? The thought exercise became overwhelming. I needed to find out.

With a sizeable financial security net in place and an incredibly supportive life partner, I quit. I wanted to turn my passion for photography into a business. But somewhere along the way, I became a stay-at-home dad, too.

My wife became the breadwinner

Before becoming a dad, I worked on building my photography business. I took on a handful of photography clients, but never enough to support our household financially. I was enjoying the privilege of freedom, while Liv shouldered the intense pressure of breadwinning and providing health insurance. Our inequitable division of labor was the topic of many individual and couples' therapy sessions. I needed to step up.

Unpaid invisible labor, primarily carried out by women, includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, emotional support, home maintenance, scheduling, transportation, managing finances, anticipating needs, and childcare. I learned to love this kind of work, though I often struggled with self-worth when I was no longer motivated by a high salary. I questioned what it meant to be a man.

We moved to New York City, where my partner worked full-time and attended graduate school. I took on two stints of tech work to supplement our income, but my favorite jobs were taking care of my wife, holding deep conversations with friends and strangers in New York, and volunteering for NAMI-NYC as a family match mentor, helping folks who needed support.

No amount of caretaking practice could properly prepare me for the birth of our son in early 2024. He was born, and everything changed.

I then became a stay-at-home dad

When I became a father, I fell into postpartum depression, mourning my loss of freedom, struggling with an identity crisis, and feeling guilty for my privilege.

Baby skyrocketed to Priority One, his needs requiring exhausting vigilance. I felt alone and overwhelmed, finding solace in a new mom friend and openly sharing my experience with dads-to-be in a local Dad Class.

When Liv's maternity leave expired, and she returned to work from home, I became the primary caretaker of a four-month-old.

Our son is now two. My depression has since been treated with therapy, medication, and the support of my community, although the exhausting vigilance of parenting remains.

Being a stay-at-home dad means showing up for my family, even when it's boring, frustrating, or painful. It's watching "Cars" for the fourth time on a sick day. It's sacrificing the perfect photo because my son is about to lick a garbage can. It's maintaining composure while he screams and hits me in the face. My increased capacity for love and patience makes me a better human.

I'm focusing on finding out who I am now

We recently moved out of New York City to be neighbors with my wonderful in-laws, committing to a slower life in a small town with a significantly lower cost of living.

This is a marathon of growth, not a sprint.

I don't get paid a salary anymore, and that can be uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel like I'm not doing enough. Other times, my child runs to me, says "love you," and gives me a hug. And that's usually exactly enough for me.