Parenting
Four years ago, after putting my toddler to bed, I would spend about 15 minutes restoring order to my living room. Every toy had its designated spot—ensuring we could easily locate them the next day. We owned five wooden peg puzzles, and nightly, my daughter would scatter their pieces across the floor, which I would painstakingly reassemble each evening—letters, numbers, animals, shapes—back into their correct positions.
My reasoning was straightforward: if toys and puzzles weren’t returned to their places, how could I ensure we’d find them later? How could my daughter learn her letters if the alphabet was scattered throughout the room, missing essential vowels?
I also had my ideas about her diet—organic only!—and sleep routines—at least 12 hours, plus two naps of no less than 40 minutes. I was an avid reader of parenting books and admittedly a tad obsessive.
But the most crucial aspect of my life was being a good mother. I took this responsibility to heart, believing that my “rules” were essential lessons for her future success.
Oh, how drastically things can transform in four years.
Now, I realize that my nightly ritual was not merely about organizing my daughter’s small world; it stemmed from my need for control. I sought to impose order on my environment because my internal life felt chaotic and disordered.
Back then, I couldn’t admit to myself how deeply unhappy I was in my marriage. It’s been two years since I made the decision to file for divorce, and nine months since it was finalized.
In the initial stages, my ex-husband and I were forced to share the same home for over a month after serving the divorce papers. With no other options available, he refused to leave while I had nowhere else to go. It felt like existing in a nightmarish haunted house, where every corner could bring a scare. I would tremble whenever he pulled into the driveway; each sound became magnified and ominous.
During that time, my ex played Aloe Blacc’s song “The Man” on repeat from the basement, where he stayed while I occupied the upper floors. The lyrics were defiant: “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.” He blasted it loudly while dancing with our children, adding to the surreal atmosphere.
One evening, he remarked, “You dropped a nuclear bomb, and now it’s war.” And it has been relentless ever since.
I attempted to compromise at the outset, sending hopeful texts urging collaboration for the children’s well-being. My efforts were met with hostility and resentment. I compromised significantly during mediation, to the point that my attorney advised against it, deeming it excessive. I was eager to reach a resolution, but the more I yielded, the more my ex demanded. After nine hours of mediation, we headed to trial.
The trial spanned four days in the cold, dreary December weather, with an agonizing eight weeks before a verdict was reached. My ex and his attorney had concocted a strategy to evade child support payments, aiming to leave me financially strained. Their plan backfired, and I have been dealing with the repercussions of that verdict ever since.
Despite explicit court orders, he often prevents me from communicating with our children during his custody time, which amounts to half of their lives. Our court-appointed parenting coach monitors our communications due to his refusal to engage without insults. He won’t even make eye contact with me, creating a persistently high-conflict environment 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,” but when asked about her father, she exclaimed, “Hates Mommy the most!” She clearly missed the point of the exercise, but her words struck me deeply.
Four years later, despite my best efforts, I still struggle to piece together my daughter’s world.
A poignant quote resonates with me: to be the best mother, it’s not about rigid rules or organic meals, but about transcending adversities.
I am familiar with the Bible verses and New Age philosophies, and I practice meditation and yoga regularly. These practices provide immense support, yet my heart wrestles with the reality that the other half of my children’s parental structure considers himself my enemy. The man I once shared my life with now takes an unsettling pleasure in my struggles as their mother.
This conflict has upended everything I believed about parenting and humanity. Even simple tasks, like enrolling my daughter in gymnastics, require immense negotiation and planning.
Yet, I persist. I would endure it all again if necessary, striving to provide my children with a safe home free from oppression, where respect and vulnerability flourish.
Parenting, marriage, and life are complex enough in ideal situations, but co-parenting with a narcissist is an extraordinary challenge. It has demanded more strength than I thought I possessed, forcing me to confront my ego and let go of my need for control. I now recognize that this internal struggle was the real battle all along.
So each day, instead of reassembling puzzles, I focus on gathering my strength. If I stumble, I resolve to try harder. If I succeed, I practice gratitude. I repeat this cycle daily, because if I don’t, how would I know where to find the essential elements of faith, hope, gratitude, forgiveness, and love when I need them? These are the true markers of a good mother.
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In summary, navigating the tumultuous waters of co-parenting with an adversarial ex-partner tests your limits and forces you to redefine what it means to be a good parent. Embracing love and resilience is key in this challenging landscape.