Tag: relationships

What I Learned About Co-Parenting the Afternoon Everything Went Sideways

On By Ian Toal1 Comment

Some days co-parenting feels like walking a tightrope: balancing my son’s joy, his mom’s expectations, and my own mistakes. This was one of those days.

My son is stubborn. When he gets something in his head, there’s no changing it. It’s part of what makes him strong, but it’s also something we’re working on together: being more mentally flexible and learning to let others lead sometimes. That stubborn streak shaped how this afternoon went.

He’s been that way since the day he was born. During labor, the midwife determined that he was holding onto his umbilical cord. Every time there was a contraction, he’d tighten his grip until his heart rate dropped low enough for him to pass out. Then he’d release it, his heart rate would recover, and the cycle would start again. After many tense hours, they opted for a C-section. When I placed him on his mother’s chest afterward, the attending nurse watched him snuggle in, bump his body around to get comfortable, and said, “He likes what he likes. I can see that in him.” It was the first clear sign that our son was stubborn and wanted what he wanted.

It started simple enough. His birthday was tomorrow, and he’d been milking the “birthday week” for all it was worth. When I picked him up from camp, his mother texted asking if I had plans for him. I didn’t. She said she wanted to head to the Y at five to meet a friend and let our kids swim together. Sounded good to me, I’d even get a swim in myself.

When I told him we were going home so he could swim with his friend, he shook his head. “I don’t want to swim. But can we get a Holy Donut for my birthday?”

It was 3:38. We had time. But when we got to the Holy Donut, it was closed.

No problem, I thought. But he wasn’t giving up on birthday week treats. “What about Ben & Jerry’s?” he asked. I said no, no ice cream before dinner. But I offered a deal: we’d stop at Whole Foods, grab some cones, and get ice cream there, and he could eat it after dinner.

So we did. We picked up jerky for a snack, popcorn for later, and his ice cream. Then we headed home.

Ten minutes from the house, traffic came to a sudden stop on the highway. A mess of brake lights. We narrowly avoided a big accident. My son yelled from the back seat, “We almost got into an accident!” just as my phone buzzed.

It was his mom. “What’s taking so long?” she asked.

“We’ll be home in a few minutes, before five,” I said.

She sighed. “It’s not worth going to the Y now. I thought you’d be home sooner.”

By the time we got home, I told my son, “Go talk to your mom, maybe she still wants to go.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t want to go to the Y.”

Inside, he disappeared into his room, while his mom sat working on her laptop. A minute later, he burst back out, shoving me toward the door. “We’re doing a water gun fight,” he announced.

I laughed and told him I needed to change first, and make a quick work call in my car.

That’s when it happened.

As I walked through the house to change, his mother stood up from the couch, looked at me, and loudly whispered:

“You are such an asshole. I hate you.”

She walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there stunned and frustrated, caught between wanting to defend myself and knowing it would only escalate things.

I changed, went to the car, and started my call. She came outside, made sure I saw her, leaned toward my window, scowled, and flipped me off before walking into the greenhouse.

My son climbed into the car a few minutes later. “Mom’s in the greenhouse,” he said. And then, as if nothing had happened, he grinned: “Ready for the water gun fight?”

We spent the next hour laughing, running through the yard, spraying each other until we were soaked. He finished the evening sitting under the outdoor shower, talking quietly to himself and playing with the water for 45 minutes.

When I finally went inside, his mother confronted me again. “You’re completely inconsiderate,” she said. “I shouldn’t let myself be surprised or angry—you just do whatever you want.”

I stayed calm. “I thought I was home in time for you to go to the Y. But you’re right—I should have texted you from the highway. That’s on me. I’ll communicate better next time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Three Sides to Every Story

I’ve always believed there are three sides to every story. Like a coin, there’s Heads and Tails—two people’s versions of what happened—and then there’s the truth, which lives in the edge between them.

The truth here is that I was late. I should have texted. I could have been clearer about how long we’d be. That’s my side of the coin.

Her side? It isn’t really about being late. She’s been hurt before—deeply. She had a kid with a man who wouldn’t show up for days, didn’t communicate, and even taught his son to lie to her. That kind of betrayal leaves scars. So when I don’t text, it doesn’t just feel like poor communication—it feels like old wounds reopening.

And then there’s the edge of the coin—the part I have to live on for my son’s sake.

Because he doesn’t need whispered hate in the living room. He needs laughter in the yard—the kind we shared as we darted between trees, soaked from head to toe, his belly-laugh echoing louder than the spray of the water guns. He needs parents who can own their mistakes, even when it’s uncomfortable. He needs a father who stays calm when things get messy.

What I Learned

Co-parenting isn’t about winning arguments. It’s about breaking old cycles, even ones you didn’t create. And yes, I certainly had my part in why we are no longer together. I’ve made mistakes, learned from them, and am doing the work to grow past those old wounds and cycles.

For me, that means apologizing when I’m wrong, even if I’m frustrated. It means remembering that her anger isn’t really about me; sometimes it’s about a past I didn’t live, but still have to navigate. And, most importantly, it means choosing to focus on the moments that matter: the water gun fight, the outdoor shower, and the little boy who, for 45 minutes, was perfectly happy just being a kid.

That’s the story he’ll remember. And that’s the story I want to keep writing.

Ready to Date Again, Part 2: Owning My Part, Rewriting the Future

On By Ian Toal1 Comment

Tonight, I could have gone to the LL Bean concert. It would have been easy, light, maybe even fun. But I stayed home instead. Not because I didn’t want to be around people, but because I felt the pull to write this, to sit with myself, to reflect, and to be honest about where I’ve been and where I want to go.

The first post in this series was about stepping back into the dating world as a parent. This one goes deeper. It’s not about how or when to introduce someone to your kids. It’s about the harder truth: the last relationship didn’t work out. And part of that was on me.

My Last Relationship Didn’t Work — And I was half the reason why.

It’s easy, by default, to focus on what the other person did wrong when a relationship ends. But when I look back, I see moments where I shut down when I could have opened up. Times I focused so much on providing and protecting that I forgot to connect. Times I avoided conflict instead of working through it. Times I expected her to read my mind, rather than speak clearly and kindly.

I didn’t mean to pull away. I thought I was doing what needed to be done. Paying the bills, holding the line, making sure everything kept moving. But emotional neglect doesn’t always look like cruelty. Sometimes it just looks like distance. I realized I wasn’t speaking the love languages she needed to hear, just as she wasn’t speaking mine. And the distance that placed between us made the chances we had to connect fewer and farther in between.

Psychologist Dr. John Gottman calls these missed moments “emotional bids”. They are small ways that we reach out for connection, often without realizing it. In strong relationships, those bids are met with attention and care. But when they’re overlooked too often, disconnection grows. I see now how many of those small moments I missed.

Being a dad requires presence, patience, and honesty. It means showing up every day not with all the answers, but with the willingness to learn, to try again, and to admit when I’ve messed up. It means letting my son see that being strong includes saying ‘I’m sorry’ and asking, ‘How can I do better?’

Being a partner requires softness too; openness, vulnerability, and the ability to let someone else in. I didn’t always balance those well. I used to think I had to pick one or the other, either be the steady, reliable dad or the emotionally available partner. I didn’t realize that real strength includes the courage to be open, to admit when I’m overwhelmed, and to let someone in even when it’s uncomfortable. Carrying the weight alone felt noble at the time, but now I see it just kept me at a distance from the very connection I was craving. I see now that real strength is making space for softness too. It’s knowing when to hold steady and when to let someone hold you. I’m still learning how to do both at the same time, and how important that balance is for the kind of love I want to build.

What I Want Now—And What I’m Still Learning

When I met my son’s mom, I wasn’t looking for someone to complete me, but I was looking for companionship, for connection, and for a place to belong. I wanted to be a part of her life, and I thought love would be enough to figure the rest out as we went. But I didn’t fully understand what I needed, or what I was bringing into the relationship.

Now, I’m looking for something deeper. I want to grow with someone. I want to build something real, a partnership that makes space for truth, joy, laughter, and healing. I want to show up fully. I want to be heard, and I want to listen with intention. I want a love that isn’t afraid of hard conversations, and laughter that lasts longer than the moment. A love that evolves with us, not in spite of us. I want to build a relationship rooted in shared goals and values, not one weighed down or defined by unnecessary drama.

I also know that I need to slow down and listen when the person I choose to be with has something important to say. And give them the grace to hear what it is they are really saying, without rushing to interpret or filter it through my own lens. It’s tough sometimes to sit through the noise; we, as humans, aren’t really taught to share our emotions in ways that invite connection and safety. Neuroscience shows that our brains are wired for survival, not vulnerability. When we feel emotionally unsafe, even without realizing it, our nervous systems can go into fight, flight, or freeze. To truly connect, we need to feel emotionally safe, and that requires listening not to reply, but to understand. I’m still learning how to do that.

Fatherhood, too, has changed me. It taught me that presence matters more than perfection. That patience is love in action. That saying “I’m here” means more than any grand gesture. Although I will probably bring home flowers every now and then anyway.

And it’s taught me that who I choose to invite into our life matters deeply. Not just for me, but for my son.

Forgiveness and Forward Motion

I don’t carry shame about the past, but I do carry responsibility. That’s the price of growth. And it’s also the gift.

I’m learning to forgive myself for the moments I missed and to honor the lessons they left behind. I’m not rushing into anything, but I’m not closed off either. I’m open to something beautiful. Something honest. Something worth the wait.

Because I’m not looking for perfect. I’m looking for kind. I’m looking for safe. I’m looking for a soft place to land.

Closing Thoughts

The question of when to introduce someone to my son still matters. But that question comes after this one: Who am I becoming? It starts here, with reflection. With acknowledgment of where I’ve been and how I want to show up differently. And with making sure that when I do invite someone into our life, it’s because I’m ready to bring my whole self to the table, present, open, and aware.

If you’ve been through heartbreak too, what would you do differently next time—not by changing who you are with, but by changing something that needs to grow in you?

How Do You Know If You’re Ready to Date Again?

On By Ian Toal2 Comments

It’s a strange thing, thinking about dating again. I’m not looking for someone because I’m lonely, but because I’ve changed. I’m also not just dating for myself anymore. I’m dating as a father. And that means the stakes are different, the questions are deeper, and the pace is slower… on purpose. Everything I bring to a relationship now has to be rooted in presence, patience, and honesty. Not just for my sake, but for my son’s too.

The Moment You Realize You Might Be Ready

It doesn’t always happen with fanfare. Sometimes it’s just a quiet afternoon, folding laundry or walking through the grocery store, when you catch yourself wondering what it might be like to share these ordinary moments with someone again. For me, it was coming home on a Monday night, after a long day at work, followed by a quick gym workout, then track practice for my son. As I walked up to our house, I thought that it would be nice to be walking into a home now, with someone to greet us, welcome us in, and share our evening with.

I’m not chasing someone to fix my loneliness; I’ve made peace with my own company, and happily like who I am now. But there’s a shift. I want to share my story with someone. Not to be saved. Not to escape. But because growth invites witness, and maybe even partnership.

I’m no longer driven by heartbreak or fear. The old wounds may still ache from time to time, but I’ve stopped bleeding.

I enjoy my own company—but I wonder what it would be like to share my life again. I imagine another adult in the room, not just in the big milestones, but in the quiet in-betweens.

I catch myself daydreaming about connection, not just companionship. I think about emotional safety, real conversation, and mutual curiosity, things that used to feel like luxuries, but now feel foundational to the kind of connection I want to build.

What Being a Parent Changes

Before I had a child, dating was about timing, chemistry, and maybe adventure. Now, it’s about alignment. Whoever I meet doesn’t just enter my life, they step into a world where my child comes first, always.

My time is limited. My energy is sacred. I don’t have the bandwidth to play games or entertain anything half-hearted. Every decision I make filters through the question: Is this person good for both of us?

Any new person has to fit into a life already built around love and responsibility. Not perfectly. Not instantly. But with awareness and respect.

I’m also starting to ask different questions: Can they respect boundaries? Do they understand that some nights are just mac and cheese and bedtime routines? Are they willing to be patient with the pace that parenting sometimes demands?

It’s not about blending families too soon or seeking a co-parent. It’s about making sure that the emotional atmosphere around me is one my child can safely breathe in.

What Readiness Actually Looks Like

Readiness isn’t a feeling. It’s not a sudden surge of confidence or a green light from the universe. It’s a slow, steady shift in how I’m relating to my own story.

I’m willing to be honest about who I am, not just who I want to be. I’m okay saying, “Here are my bruises,” without making someone else responsible for healing them.

I don’t need someone, but I’m open to someone. There’s a difference between hunger and invitation. The first consumes. The second welcomes.

I can hold boundaries and hold space for connection. I know when to say, “This doesn’t work for me,” and when to say, “Let’s figure it out together.”

I’m able to receive interest without immediately making it a future. I let it be what it is, in the moment.

Fears That Still Come Up

Even when you’re ready, fear tags along. And honestly? That’s probably a good thing. Fear is a reminder that this matters. That you’re putting your heart back in motion and leaving it, and yourself vulnerable.

What if I get it wrong again? I might. We all do. The question is whether I learn, whether I listen, and whether I take responsibility. And now, I’m ready to do all that.

What if I hurt someone—or worse, bring the wrong energy into my child’s life? That fear sharpens my discernment. It slows my steps and helps protect my peace and my son’s. I know I can’t eliminate all the risks (that’s part of being human), but I can stay aware. I can catch myself when I’m triggered, own my reactions, and take responsibility. And I can try to recognize when the other person is being triggered by something that isn’t mine to fix but still deserves compassion.

I’m going to start small. Stay honest. And let someone earn my vulnerability.

If you have them, these fears don’t mean you’re not ready. They mean you care.

Why It’s Still Worth It

Because even after loss, love remains possible. And not just romantic love, but shared understanding, growth, laughter, intimacy. Connection reminds us that we’re still here. Still growing. Still worthy of being seen.

Because my child deserves to see what a healthy connection looks like. Not perfection. Just care. Respect. Communication. Kids learn what love is not by what you tell them, but by what you model.

Because growth doesn’t end when a relationship does, and neither does hope. There is no final version of me. My life is constantly in edit mode. But I have a goal now, one I’m still creating. Still reaching for.

I’m still healing. And that healing deserves company, if and when it feels right.

A Promise to Myself (and Anyone I Might Meet)

I won’t rush. Real connection takes time. And it’s worth the wait.

I won’t pretend. I want to be known as I am, not as an idea, not as a fixer-upper, not as a fantasy.

I won’t use anyone to fill a gap that’s mine to heal. My loneliness is my responsibility. My wholeness, too.

And I won’t write about anyone new in my life without their permission—this blog is about me, not them. These words are mine to own. Their stories belong to them.

If someone chooses to walk beside me, I want it to be because we both feel something real, not because we’re afraid to walk alone.

After the Break-Up: Helping Your Child Heal and Feel Safe (Part 3)

On By Ian Toal1 Comment

By The Mindful Dad’s Life

In Parts 1 and 2, we talked about the hidden cost of staying in an unloving relationship and why, sometimes, separation is the healthier choice. But what happens next? How do you help your child feel safe, loved, and secure when the other parent’s home may still be a source of stress, yelling, or even fear? And how do you handle your own grief over lost time and the loneliness that follows?

This part is about life after the decision—the daily choices that help your child heal and build trust in love again.

Creating Safety and Comfort in Your Home

When your child walks through your door, they need to feel the difference. Your home can become their safe harbor—a place where their nervous system relaxes and they know they are loved unconditionally.

Here’s how to make that happen:

  1. Consistency is Comfort – Children who live in stressful or unpredictable environments crave routine. Keep your home steady: predictable mealtimes, bedtimes, and transition rituals. Even simple things like Friday night pancakes for dinner and consistent bedtime stories can anchor them.
  2. Be the Calm They Need – Lower your voice when emotions run high. Sit or kneel to their level. Offer hugs or closeness when they’re upset, even if they initially resist. Your calm nervous system teaches their body that safety exists.
  3. Name the Feelings, Not the Blame – When they come to you crying or angry, focus on their emotions, not the other parent’s actions. Say: “That must have been hard. You’re safe here. Thank you for telling me.” Avoid: “The “other parent” shouldn’t do that.”
  4. Validate Their Experience – It’s okay to acknowledge what happened without assigning fault. “Yes, yelling can feel scary. We don’t yell like that here. In this home, we use calm voices.”
  5. Give Them Tools for Self-Regulation – Role-play calm responses: “Can we take a break?” or “I’m mad, but I don’t want to yell.” This gives them words they may not be learning elsewhere.
  6. Transitional Anchors – Give them something to hold onto when they’re not with you—a small stone, bracelet, or note that reminds them, “You are loved and safe. Always.”

The Resilience of Children

The good news? Kids are incredibly resilient when they feel consistently loved and seen by at least one parent. Your presence and emotional stability can outweigh a lot of chaos.

Every time you:

  • Listen without judgment,
  • Respect their feelings,
  • And show them what kindness and love look like,

you are re-teaching them what healthy relationships feel like. You’re proving that love can be safe.

Facing Your Own Loneliness

Here’s a truth we don’t say often enough: you will grieve. You’ll miss nights tucking them in, casual conversations over dinner, and lazy weekend mornings. The quiet will feel heavy.

Let yourself feel that. But don’t forget: every calm, healing moment you give your child when you do have them matters. It’s not about how many hours you have—it’s about what you do with them.

Take care of yourself, too. Therapy, journaling, exercise, or time with trusted friends can help you process your own emotions so you can keep showing up fully for your child.

Closing Thoughts

You can’t control what happens in the other house, but you can control what happens in yours. Every bedtime story, every calm conversation, every hug is a brick in the foundation of their future relationships.

One day, they will carry this with them, not the yelling, not the chaos, but the safety and love you built.

You’re Not Alone

Parenting after a break-up is hard, but you are not powerless. Your love, presence, and mindfulness are shaping the way your child will love and trust for the rest of their life.

At heart within a solid home, a band-aid on the heart to help it heal.

Should You Stay Together for the Kids? Why Sometimes the Answer Is No (Part 2)

On By Ian Toal1 Comment

By The Mindful Dad’s Life

In Part 1, we talked about what children see—and how staying in an unhealthy or unloving relationship can quietly teach them that love comes with anger, silence, or disconnection. But what happens when you decide to separate? When is leaving actually the healthier choice? And what can you do, as a mindful parent, to help your child grow up believing in love despite what they’ve seen?

This part of the story is for anyone who’s wrestling with that choice or living in the aftermath of it.

When Separation Becomes the Healthier Choice

The decision to separate isn’t easy. It carries loss, loneliness, and fear. But sometimes, leaving is an act of love—not just for yourself, but for your child.

Psychology research is clear: children who live in high-conflict homes—where yelling, emotional withdrawal, or hostility are common—often carry the emotional scars into adulthood. They are more likely to struggle with anxiety, depression, or forming healthy relationships later in life. In contrast, children who grow up in low-conflict divorced homes often do better because they are no longer immersed in that toxic environment.

Separation becomes the healthier choice when:

  • The relationship consistently involves yelling, demeaning words, or emotional manipulation.
  • There is any form of physical harm or fear.
  • The emotional environment leaves you depleted, disconnected, or unable to parent in a calm, loving way.

Sometimes, staying feels noble, but leaving might be what protects your child’s belief in what love should look like.

Acknowledging the Hard Parts: Lost Time and Loneliness

Choosing to separate comes with its own heartbreak. You will almost certainly lose time with your child. There will be nights you can’t tuck them in, dinners you’ll miss, and moments you wish you were there.

And yes, there will be loneliness. After years of being in a family unit, sitting in a quiet house without your child can feel devastating.

But here’s the truth: your child needs a whole, healthy you more than they need a parent who is always around but emotionally shut down. The time you do have can become richer, calmer, and more healing when you are fully available to them.

The Resilience of Children

Children are far more resilient than we sometimes believe, especially when they feel secure with at least one emotionally stable, loving parent.

According to child psychology research, the single strongest protective factor for kids after a separation is having at least one parent who provides consistent love, boundaries, and emotional safety. If you can be that parent, you are giving them something powerful: a model of what respect and love look like.

Your child can learn:

  • That relationships can be repaired or ended with dignity.
  • That love is about kindness, respect, listening, and growth, not control or yelling.
  • That they have the power to choose loving, healthy relationships when they grow up.

How to Be a Mindful Parent Post-Separation

  1. Model Respect – Even if the other parent yells or behaves badly, speak about them with kindness in front of your child. This doesn’t excuse harmful behavior, but it shows your child how to set boundaries without hate.
  2. Create Safety at Home – Make your home predictable and calm. Stick to routines. Use soft voices. Be the safe place where they can exhale.
  3. Talk About Love – Remind them: “Healthy relationships are about listening, kindness, and respect.” Help them understand that what they’ve seen isn’t what love should look like.
  4. Validate Feelings Without Blame – When they come to you upset, say, “That must have been hard. You’re safe here. I’m so proud of you for telling me.” Focus on their feelings, not the other parent’s faults.
  5. Remind Them They’re Not Responsible – Kids often feel like they have to fix things. Reassure them: “This isn’t your fault. Your job is just to be a kid.”

Closing Thoughts

Separation isn’t the easy choice, but for many parents, it’s the right one. Your child doesn’t need a perfect home; they need a parent who shows them what love and respect look like. If you can be that example, you are already reshaping their future.

Coming Soon: Part 3 – After the Break-Up

In Part 3, we’ll talk about what happens next: how to support your child emotionally, create a sense of safety in your home, and handle the moments when the other parent’s behavior may cause harm. We’ll also look at practical ways to stay connected and build security, even when you can’t be with them every day.

Should You Stay Together for the Kids? Why Sometimes the Answer Is No (Part 1)

On By Ian Toal1 Comment

By A Mindful Dad’s Life

One night, my son’s mother and I got into an argument.

I had always made it a point to protect our son from that kind of conflict. I’d go in late to work or take time off just to ensure we could talk privately about disagreements. I believed, and still do, that children shouldn’t have to carry the emotional weight of their parents’ problems. And I thought his mom and I were on the same page.

But that night, things broke down.

She started venting, then yelling, and I didn’t respond well. It went on for maybe ten minutes. The things she was yelling about weren’t just about me or us. They were about life, stress, frustration, things I couldn’t fix in that moment, but her words always circled back to what I had done wrong. When it finally ended, I went to my son on the couch. He had turned the volume on the TV up high to block us out. I sat next to him for a while, then gently suggested we start getting ready for bed.

After I read him three books, I brought up what happened. Not in detail, just in broad strokes, enough for him to know that it wasn’t his fault. I told him I was sorry he had to hear us argue. And I said something I believe every child needs to hear:

“Most people don’t fight and yell like your mom and I did tonight. Most couples, when they’re in love, are kind to each other, and listen, and treat each other with respect.”

He looked at me, really looked at me, and said:

“Oh thank God. I thought everyone was like this.”

I laughed a little, and then I told him the truth. That when he starts dating, he gets to choose. He can be in a healthy, loving relationship. One that is built on kindness, respect, and compassion.

The Hidden Cost of Staying “For the Kids”

Many parents believe that staying together, no matter how unhappy the relationship has become, is what’s best for their child. It seems selfless. It seems responsible. But science and psychology tell a different story.

What Children See Becomes Their Blueprint for Love

From a psychological perspective, the emotional environment children grow up in forms the foundation for how they understand love, trust, and safety. According to attachment theory, early experiences with caregivers shape not only how children see themselves, but also how they approach relationships for the rest of their lives.

If children grow up witnessing coldness, disrespect, unresolved tension, or constant conflict, they may internalize those dynamics as “normal.” Worse, they might believe that love has to come with pain, yelling, or emotional disconnection.

In contrast, when children see healthy conflict—disagreements handled with respect, boundaries, and mutual understanding—they learn that love can be safe and constructive. Even divorce or separation, when handled with care, can model positive emotional resilience.

The Myth of “Shielding the Kids”

You may think, “We don’t fight in front of them. They’re fine.”

But children are perceptive. They notice when the air is heavy with unspoken resentment. They pick up on the tone, the cold shoulders, the sudden silences. As researcher John Gottman found in his studies of family dynamics, even infants can sense emotional discord in the home.

Children don’t need to witness a screaming match to feel unsafe—they just need to feel the absence of warmth.

What the Research Says

  • A longitudinal study from the University of Notre Dame found that children exposed to regular parental conflict were significantly more likely to suffer from anxiety, depression, and low self-esteem—even into adulthood.
  • In contrast, children from divorced or separated homes fared better when the separation reduced exposure to hostility or emotional dysfunction.
  • According to the Journal of Family Psychology, the quality of the parent-child relationship and the level of inter-parental conflict are far more predictive of child outcomes than whether the parents remain married.

The Cost to Parents—and Their Ability to Parent

Trying to “hold it together” in a toxic or disconnected relationship often leads to burnout, anxiety, or emotional shutdown. You become less present, less patient, less emotionally available.

You may still love your child, but it gets harder to show up for them in the ways they need.

That night, after the argument, I did show up. I held space for my son’s confusion and gave him something he could hold onto—a vision of what love should be.

But that moment also made something clear to me:

If the environment we create is one where our child says, “I thought everyone was like this,” then we’re not doing our job as parents. We’re not protecting their belief in love, or modeling what it means to respect another person—even when things are hard.

Coming in Part 2:

When It’s Time to Leave—and How to Do It Well
We’ll explore:

  • When separation becomes the healthier choice
  • The impact on children from both parents’ perspectives
  • How to co-parent with respect, and model healing instead of harm

You can find Part 2 here.