Updated: July 16, 2020
Originally Published: Dec. 17, 2015
Just four years ago, I found myself in a familiar routine: after tucking my toddler into bed, I would dedicate 15 minutes to restoring order in our living room. Every toy had its designated spot, ensuring we’d know where to find them come morning. Among our collection were five wooden peg puzzles. Each day, my daughter would scatter the pieces across the floor, and every night, I meticulously returned them—letters, numbers, animals, shapes—back to their rightful places.
My reasoning was straightforward; if the puzzles weren’t returned to their spots, how could she learn her letters with half the alphabet missing? I also had my ideas about diet—organic, of course!—and sleep—at least 12 hours plus two naps of no less than 40 minutes. I read every parenting guide I could find. Admittedly, I was a bit obsessive.
But my ultimate goal was clear: to be a great mother. I believed that by enforcing these “rules,” I was equipping my daughter with the tools she needed for success.
How drastically things can shift in just four years.
Looking back, it was less about maintaining the semblance of order in my daughter’s world and more about my own struggle for control, stemming from the chaos within my marriage. I was deeply unhappy, a truth I couldn’t even admit to myself at the time. It’s been two years since I initiated divorce proceedings, and nine months since it was finalized.
Initially, my ex-husband and I had no choice but to live under the same roof for over a month after serving the divorce papers. He refused to leave, and I had nowhere else to go. It felt like navigating a haunted house, jumping at every sound. I would tremble whenever he pulled into the driveway.
During this time, he would blare Aloe Blacc’s “The Man” from the basement, dancing with our children while singing its boastful refrain, “Girl, you can tell everybody, yeah you can tell everybody, go ahead and tell everybody, I’m the man, I’m the man, I’m the man.” One evening, he declared, “You dropped a nuclear bomb, and now it’s war.” And it has indeed been a battle since then.
I attempted to reach out, sending hopeful texts urging us to cooperate for the sake of the children. But my pleas fell on deaf ears—ears filled with anger and vengeance. During mediation, I offered more than I should have, prompting my attorney to advise against it. Yet, I was desperate for resolution. Alas, the more I conceded, the more my ex-husband demanded, leading us to court after nine grueling hours of negotiation.
The trial spanned four days in the cold of December, with an agonizing eight-week wait for a verdict. His strategy to evade child support left me in a precarious financial situation, but ultimately, it backfired. Even with court orders in place, he often restricts my communication with the children during his custody time. We now have a court-appointed parenting coach overseeing our correspondence, as he refuses to engage without insults. Our interaction remains contentious two years later.
Recently, while playing a game with friends, we asked our kids to describe their parents in one word. My daughter called me a “writer.” When asked about her father, she replied, “Hates Mommy the most!” Not quite the succinct answer I expected, but it was heart-wrenching nonetheless.
Four years have passed, and despite my best efforts, I can’t seem to piece together my daughter’s world. I often reflect on a quote that resonates deeply with me, emphasizing that being a good mother transcends strict routines or nutrition standards. It’s about letting go of control and rising above the chaos.
I’ve immersed myself in biblical teachings, New Age philosophies, and mindfulness practices. I’m a committed yogi, striving to embrace faith and trust. But the emotional weight of knowing that the other parent in my children’s lives sees me as an enemy is a heavy burden to bear. The man I once shared my life with now seems to revel in my struggles as a mother.
This experience has reshaped my understanding of humanity, parenting, and the complexities of life. Even the simplest tasks, like enrolling my daughter in gymnastics, now require meticulous planning and negotiation.
However, I persist. I would go through it all again if it meant providing my children with a safe, nurturing environment—one where they are respected and can express their vulnerabilities without fear of manipulation.
Navigating parenting, marriage, and life is challenging enough in ideal circumstances, but co-parenting with a narcissist has tested my resilience beyond measure. It has compelled me to confront my ego, my pride, and my desire for control. I now realize that this struggle was the real battle all along.
Instead of focusing on the toys, I gather my own strength daily. If I stumble, I resolve to do better. If the day goes well, I practice gratitude. This cycle continues day after day, because if I didn’t, how would I find the essential things—faith, hope, gratitude, forgiveness, and love—when I need them most? These are what truly define me as a good mother.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the challenges of co-parenting with an ex-spouse who has become an adversary. It explores the emotional turmoil of navigating a contentious relationship while striving to be a good mother. The author shares personal experiences of trying to maintain order in her children’s lives amid chaos, highlighting the importance of resilience, self-discovery, and love in the face of adversity.