The why

Anti Paxos, Greece (posted here because I wanted to)

This is the story of a thousand women. Thousands of women. And men too—don’t get me wrong—but disproportionately, women. You’ve met her, this woman, whether you realize it or not. Maybe you are her.

Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was young, smart, strong, independent—a bit of a badass, if we’re being honest. She fell in love with a charming, convincing man who swept her off her feet. They married, had children, and she never quite regained her footing.

As the years passed, the relationship grew increasingly confusing. He was charming, yet cruel. Generous, yet controlling. Kind in public, demeaning in private. Nothing made sense. Clearly, she thought, something must be wrong with her.

If only she could ask questions the right way. Be less demanding. Less sensitive. Smaller. More accommodating. If she could just make his life easier—do all the things—maybe then he’d change. Maybe the glimpses she still saw of the man she thought she married would become the truth. Maybe he’d be the father she hoped her children would have, the partner she believed she chose. The one she knew still sees glimpses of, less often these days. Maybe this hidden truth wouldn’t be her reality.

Slowly, the woman in the mirror began to look less and less like the badass she once was. How did this happen? This was not the plan. She hadn’t signed up for a life of chaos, dismissal, and confusion when she said “yes.”

When she could bear it no longer, she asked for a divorce—never imagining that things were about to get much, much worse. Because as soul-crushing as it is to live with a high-conflict individual—someone with narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) or another antagonistic personality—divorcing them is another monster entirely.

Now she’s dared to step away, the abuse she’s managed to  keep in check with compliance escalates. She feels duped by this emotional con artist. Guilty for leaving, guilty for staying so long. Helpless. Powerless. Terrified. She worries about her children’s well-being. She feels embarrassed, foolish, overwhelmed, betrayed, misunderstood, angry, sad, unlovable, paralyzed, isolated, confused, discarded, devastated.

And who will believe her? How could this man—so respected, so adored—really be who she says he is? And if it was so bad, people ask, why didn’t she just leave?

Most of us believe in what psychologists call object permanence. It feels logical that the version of someone we know is simply who they are. Our brains resist the cognitive dissonance of holding two opposing truths at once. When something has to give, most often, our nervous system decides it’s safest to believe we are the problem. Hear that often enough, and it starts to feel true.

It’s a cruel irony that these women (and yes, some men) must now navigate the family court system—learning a new language while making critical, life-changing decisions to protect their families—all while enduring ongoing abuse from their own personal terrorist.

Spend any time researching trauma or cPTSD and you’ll come across the idea of “healing your younger self”—going back to reassure the past you that it’s going to be okay. That the story doesn’t end where you were: stuck, powerless, numb, afraid. In reality, though, the past is just that—past. All we can do is move forward.

For me, moving into consulting on high-conflict divorce cases is my way of becoming what I wish I’d had in my own journey: someone who understood. Who believed me. Who could help me strategically navigate mediation, parenting plans, documentation—someone to stand with me in my truth and remind me that I wasn’t crazy.

If you’ve been there, you know the look—that flicker across someone’s face when you try to explain your hidden terror, and they simply don’t believe you. My attorney looked at me like that—every time we met. And I paid her handsomely for the privilege.

When I was in the thick of it, a friend connected me with her cousin in another state—a divorce doula, she called her. We only spoke once, but the gratitude and relief I felt talking to her washed over me like slipping into a hot bath on a bone-chilling day.

At that point, I was using all my energy just to work, feed my kids (and the dog), and not cry every time I went to Trader Joe’s. But a spark lit in the back of my foggy brain.

Years later—after therapy, both professional and on the porch with friends—I discovered a certification program for High Conflict Divorce Coaching. I knew instantly this was my next step.

Every session with a client confirms it. When I see the relief on their faces—the moment they realize I’ve been there, that I know and I believe them—it’s all the confirmation I need.

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The weight of worthiness