Four years ago, after tucking my toddler into bed, I would spend a good 15 minutes restoring order to the living room. Each toy had its designated spot, making it easy to find them the next day. We had five wooden peg puzzles that my daughter would dump onto the floor daily, and each night, I would painstakingly return them—letters, numbers, animals, shapes—all to their rightful places.
My reasoning was straightforward: if the toys and puzzles weren’t organized, how would we find them when needed? How would my daughter learn her letters if the alphabet was scattered across the floor, missing essential vowels?
I also had my ideas about nutrition—organic was the only way—and sleep—12 hours plus two naps of at least 40 minutes each. I had read all the parenting books and was a tad neurotic about it. But above all, my primary goal was to be a good mother. I believed that my rules were building blocks for her future success.
How drastically things can change in just four years.
I’ve come to realize that my nightly ritual of tidying up was less about my daughter’s small world and more about my need for control amidst the chaos of my life. What I couldn’t admit back then was how deeply unhappy I was in my marriage. It has been two years since I made the decision to file for divorce, and nine months since it was finalized.
Initially, my ex-husband and I had to cohabitate for over a month after serving the divorce papers. With no other options, I found myself in a nightmare scenario, akin to a haunted house, where I would jump at his approach and tremble when he pulled into the driveway. Every sound took on a new, ominous meaning.
During this time, he would play Aloe Blacc’s hit song “The Man” on repeat in the basement. The arrogant lyrics, proclaiming his superiority, filled the house while he danced with our children. One night, he told me, “You dropped a nuclear bomb, and now it’s war.” And indeed, it has been a battle ever since.
I attempted to compromise from the start, sending hopeful texts urging cooperation for the sake of the children. My efforts were met with anger and resentment. I gave more than I should have during mediation, so much that my lawyer advised against it, but I was desperate to conclude the matter. Still, the more I conceded, the more he demanded, which ultimately led us to trial after nine grueling hours.
The trial lasted four days in the cold of December, and it took eight weeks for a verdict. His strategy to avoid child support and leave me financially strained backfired, but I have paid for that decision ever since. Despite court orders, he often prevents me from communicating with our children while they are with him, which is half the time. We now have a court-appointed parenting coach to oversee our interactions because he refuses to communicate respectfully. It remains a high-conflict situation even two years later.
Recently, while playing games with friends, we asked the kids to describe their parents in one word. My daughter called me a “writer.” When asked about her father, she bluntly said, “Hates Mommy the most!” Her words, although unexpected, were painfully true.
Four years later, I find it impossible to piece together my daughter’s world as I once did. I’ve come to understand that being a great mother isn’t about strict rules like bedtime or organic foods—it’s about letting go, rising above, and nurturing an environment of love.
I’m familiar with the inspirational quotes and spiritual teachings, and I practice meditation and yoga. These have helped me tremendously. Yet, my heart struggles with the reality that the other half of my children’s parental unit has turned into my adversary. A man with whom I once shared my life now seems to derive satisfaction from my struggles as their mother.
This dynamic has tested everything I believed about parenting and humanity. Even simple tasks, like signing my daughter up for gymnastics, require extensive negotiation and planning. However, I persist, willing to do whatever it takes to provide my children with a safe and supportive home, free from oppression and where everyone is treated with respect.
Parenting, marriage, and life are complex under the best circumstances, but navigating co-parenting with a narcissist has demanded more strength than I ever thought I had. It forced me to confront my ego, pride, and need for control—the real battles of this war.
So, every day, instead of rearranging puzzles, I focus on gathering my strength. If I stumble, I resolve to improve. If I have a good day, I express gratitude. And I repeat this process daily because without it, I wouldn’t know where to find the essential elements of faith, hope, gratitude, forgiveness, and love—qualities that truly define my role as a mother.
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In summary, the journey of co-parenting with an estranged partner can be fraught with challenges, but by focusing on love and resilience, it is possible to create a nurturing environment for children.