Meet yourself first.
Rate four things on a one-to-ten: energy, patience, presence, stress. Thirty seconds of honesty that tonight's journal reads back to you.
Seven small things a day for your kids, and a book they keep.
Check-in. Breath. Intention. Move. Coach. Phone down. Gratitude.
About five minutes a day, in an app. Miss a day and you have two days to log a rep for it before the streak resets. Every rep you did stays on your record, and your journal and letters export whenever you want.
From before the house wakes to long after they’re down: seven things you actually did, not a list of what you didn’t. A few take a minute in the app. The rest, you just live.
Rate four things on a one-to-ten: energy, patience, presence, stress. Thirty seconds of honesty that tonight's journal reads back to you.
Breathe, meditate, or pray. Guided sessions, soundscapes, or a timer you set yourself. Log it after.
One question: what's the one thing that matters most today? Written down, it stops being a wish and becomes a plan.
Naptime sessions, play workouts the kids join in. Or log the workout you already did; it counts.
Ask it about your week, or start from what it suggests. It has already read your recent check-ins.
Dinner, bedtime, one-on-one time. Set the timer, turn the phone face down. The app counts the minutes you're fully there.
Three things you're grateful for. Small ones count, ordinary ones especially. Then you're done for the day.
A few reps happen in the app. The rest happen in your kitchen, the garage, the pickup line: the workout you already did, the walk with your kid. Log them after, the same day or the next two, and they count the same.
Type it, or say it out loud. Four pages in the daily Journal: freeform, morning, evening, affirmations. On freeform you can just talk and it writes. On affirmations you say the line and it counts.
An open page. Type it, say it, or add a photo.
Reflection prompts to set the intention before the day begins.
What you noticed, what you learned, what you'd do again.
Speak them out loud. The app listens and counts the reps.
Write a freeform entry of a few paragraphs and it comes back with a reflection, often with a question worth sitting with. You write. It writes back.
Each child gets their own book. You answer one prompt at a time, typed or spoken. Eight chapters, seventy-two prompts. Watch it fill in: one percent, then five, then a quarter.
Parents mean to write things down. They never do. By the time they would have, the moments are gone.
72 prompts per book. Each one personalized to your relationship: dad, mom, grandparent, aunt, uncle.
It remembers. Every conversation starts from what you’ve already told it, not from zero.
“Based upon all you know about me what are some of the ways I stay present with my son?”
“From everything I know about you: The walks. Chapel Hill, movement together: that’s been a consistent thread. You’re not just walking, you’re bringing him into your rhythm.”
“That’s presence without agenda. Just being the surface he rests on.”
Asa’s own thread, screenshot untouched. The dates, the check-in score and the name are real.
Every conversation pulls from three sources at once.
So when you say “I snapped at my kid this morning and I feel terrible,” it answers knowing their name, what you wrote last week, and how you slept if you logged it. One answer, written to you and nobody else.
What it knows stays on your account, is never used to train AI, and goes when you delete your account.
Apex Dad wasn’t made by a wellness company. I’m one dad who kept meaning to write things down, kept meaning to slow down. Meaning to, for years. So I built the thing that makes me do it, every day.
— Asa, founder
About five minutes on an ordinary day. Three of the seven reps take a minute or less: the check-in, the intention, the gratitude close. The breath is two to five minutes guided, or a few rounds on your own. One is your workout, which you either did or didn't; log it either way. Be Here Now adds nothing at all. It's time you were already spending with your kids, with the phone face-down. The coach takes as long as you want, up to ten messages a day.
Nothing, today. The whole practice is free: no subscription, no card, no payment information collected. If anything ever costs money, you'll see the price before you pay. The only planned purchase is the printed edition of your Letters book.
Not on the web. On iPhone there's an evening reminder you can switch off, a note when the coach rewrites its notes and when your monthly review is ready, and a nudge if a journal or a letter goes quiet or a birthday is coming up. Miss a day and you have two days to log one of the four catch-up reps for it; after that the streak resets. Every rep you've done stays on your record either way.
Probably yes. Apex Dad isn't a wellness app dressed up for dads. It's a practice for fathers who want to show up better for their kids, their partner, themselves. No incense required.
No. It's built for you, on your own time. If your partner wants their own practice later, it works for moms too, and for grandparents, aunts and uncles.
They're yours. Your journal and your letters export whenever you want. Nothing gets held hostage.
Every screen here is the real app. Some of it is iPhone only, and the captions say so.