Being in a relationship with a creative is… well, it’s an experience. Ask my wife. Actually, don’t—she might still be recovering from this week’s emotional rollercoaster and endless kitchen chest bumps (she hates those).

We’ve been together 15 years. That’s 15 years of beautiful chaos, overthinking, bad jokes, brilliant ideas, emotional spirals, and the occasional quiet moment where we both just stare at each other and think, “We did this?”

We came into this thing fully loaded. She brought two incredible daughters. I showed up with two daughters, two sons, and a duffel bag of unchecked ambition and questionable snacks. That’s six kids if you’re counting. (We usually lose count around bedtime.)

I always knew I wanted kids. Maybe not a Brady Bunch reboot, but something messy and magical. I blame my refusal to fully mature—and my belief that fatherhood is part stand-up, part support group, part long-haul endurance race.

And then there’s my wife. My opposite. My balance. The glue.

Where I’m a technicolour tornado of ideas, she’s deliberate, steady, sharp as hell. She’s introverted, grounded, the voice of logic in a house full of swirling emotion and half-finished art. She’s loyal to a fault, critical of herself, and (important detail) looks unfairly good in tight jeans.

Being with someone like me? It’s not exactly calm seas.

When I’m lit up by a project, I’m gone—head first, body second. I forget to eat. I forget to sleep. She reminds me to drink water. And sometimes to breathe.

I’ll admit it: my humour is a defence mechanism. I crack jokes when I’m stressed. When I’m anxious. When I’m hiding. It’s my armour. And sometimes it’s exhausting—for her, and me.

But she stays. She sees through it.

When I’m craving validation or spinning out in a storm of self-doubt, she steadies me.

When I’m wearing my “big boy pants” and making actual adult decisions, she listens—then calls me a jackass if necessary (which is fair).

Together? Somehow, it works.

We’re opposites that fused. A walking contradiction that somehow made a whole. We’ve got our scars, our quirks, our favourite arguments—but we’ve also got six kids who haven’t turned into axe murderers, a house that mostly stays upright, and a love that—against all odds—keeps growing.

She’s the structure. I’m the chaos.

She’s the oxygen. I’m the fire.

And together, we’ve made one hell of a secret sauce.