I think often about the silence in my home every day after I drop my son off at school. The quiet stillness doesn’t bother me. The time is a welcome break from my energetic 4-year-old and the absence stages the best part of my day – the moment my wife and son walk through the door and our family is together again.

It has been more than nine months since I dropped my son off for his first day of kindergarten.

That September day was emotional for me. I didn’t feel sadness that there would be reduced time to spend with my son, or that having him at home was something I’d become so accustomed to that altering it would throw me into a tailspin. I wasn’t concerned that I was letting him go and that he wouldn’t need me. The most important things he relied on me for would be left unaltered – unconditional love, support, nurturing and respect.

In fact, after four years as a stay-at-home-dad, having my son in school would allow me a chance to explore something different in my life. Although I enjoyed filling my days teaching, playing and caring for my son, the thought of opening myself to new pursuits was exciting. And I relished in the notion of having the time to reacquaint myself with pastimes that had dropped away.

Admittedly, the first weeks were a confusing time. I didn’t feel empty, but I also didn’t feel fulfilled. I wasn’t bored, but I was not stimulated. There were many mornings where I would sit in silence reflecting – not sad, not depressed, but with a diminished sense of personal goals outside of being a present, involved father and a loving husband. I knew that if I didn’t fill this void, I wouldn’t be the best dad and partner I could be for my family. In order to give my whole self to the ones I loved most, I needed to feel complete.

During September and most of October I distracted myself with busy work and physical fitness. It was a relief to be able to grocery shop, do laundry and complete tasks around the house without the distraction of little hands. I was happy to take care of our home throughout the day, as it gave me a chance to have quality time with my family during the evenings and weekends. While seemingly minor, there was tangible value in what I was doing and I cherished the results.

While my son was in school, I used physical fitness as an outlet. Going to the gym five days a week occupied me and disrupted the potential monotony of routine at home and I felt refreshed after pushing the limits of my body. Being physically fit has always been essential in my life, and I had transformed my body into something I never thought it would be. However, I still felt a hollowness in how I was spending my time. This all felt superficial.

My lack of a clear path began to affect my mood at home. My wife noticed a look of diminished optimism in my eyes and a lethargic attitude toward the immediate future. I became unfairly defensive with her when she would innocently ask what my plans were for the week. It was my darkest point as a husband and father.

The darkness I was feeling climaxed three months into my son’s school year. I stopped wanting to expend time for the sake of occupying my day.

My supportive wife encouraged and helped me remember what once made me happy outside of the home. She reminisced with me about my passions and challenged me to emerge.

So I began writing again – something I used to do regularly. Completing short articles and essays about my experiences parenting stimulated me. Sharing my work with family instilled confidence in me and motivated me to seek a wider, more objective audience, which I have since found.

With the support of my wife, I was able to waft away the opaque cloud of uncertainty that shrouded my future as a stay-at-home dad. I have captured that fleeting sense of purpose born out of the shift from full time caregiver to school-parent. I’m working toward the goals I have set for myself and I’m proud to make family my priority.

And I am grateful to have had the opportunity to work on myself over the past eight months. The silence in my home is still present and I continue to have the tendency to isolate myself. But I’m happy. Although my days have transformed from changing diapers and racing toy cars to scripting tales of fatherhood and riding my skateboard, the greatest part of my world still begins in that moment when my son and wife walk through the door.

This post was originally featured on Washington Post’s OnParenting