Hold My Halo and Pass the Wine

The Ugly Truth of Co-Parenting: Part… At this stage in my co-parenting journey, I’ve lost count of all the ugly truths I’ve come to understand. Some are obvious—missed holidays, delayed birthday celebrations, vacations you don’t get to share. Both parents experience these moments of loss, grieving in the adjustment phase. And while the pain never fully disappears, you hope that, with time, the sting fades—at least a little. But then you realize as you travel along this new journey, you will learn just how ugly co-parenting with a high conflict person will be.

Co-parenting is challenging enough on its own, requiring patience, communication, and a shared commitment to putting the child’s needs first. But when one parent chooses to be involved only when it’s convenient for them, the difficulty multiplies. Their inconsistent presence creates instability for the child and frustration for the parent left picking up the slack. However, when you add a high-conflict co-parent into the equation, the challenges go beyond mere inconsistency—you find yourself in an exhausting, emotionally draining cycle of manipulation, blame, and unnecessary chaos.

A high-conflict co-parent is someone who thrives on control, drama, and confrontation rather than cooperation. They refuse to communicate effectively, twist reality to suit their narrative, and often prioritize their own needs over their child’s well-being. They may ignore schedules, refuse to compromise, or use co-parenting as an opportunity to create conflict rather than to parent. They play the victim, deflect responsibility, and often try to make the other parent look like the problem—even when they are the ones refusing to engage in healthy co-parenting dynamics.

When dealing with a high-conflict, optional parent, you’re not just managing their absence—you’re also constantly navigating their excuses, gaslighting, and attempts to shift blame. It’s a storm of emotional exhaustion, one where you must brace yourself for unpredictable behavior while trying to maintain a sense of normalcy for your child. And the hardest part? Accepting that no amount of effort, reasoning, or accommodation will change who they are. The only thing you can control is how you respond—and ensuring that, no matter what, your child has at least one stable, loving, and present parent to rely on.

But the ugly truth I realized today, is the ugly truth that once you divorce, the other parent may just take that opportunity to become the “parent when I have the time” parent. To get you a little more into my head on where I am coming from with this, I am sitting here, writing to you all from the waiting room at Christ Hospital as our older daughter, now 18, is having another minor surgery. This is her fifth in her life time. Her fourth since her dad and I separated and ultimately divorced back in 2020. This is also the fourth surgery that I have been the only parent to be at the hospital with her. 

The fourth. The fourth surgery after orthopedic hardware was removed. The fourth after cyst removal. The fourth after an emergency appendectomy. The fourth is more cysts being removed. 

I consider myself a reasonable person. I understand that life is busy and that we all have commitments to keep. But I cannot think of a single obligation—not one—that would keep me from being at the hospital with my child when they are undergoing surgery. Whether she was 15, 16, 17, or now 18, nothing would take priority over being there for her.

And yet, the harsh reality I’ve had to accept is that not everyone feels the same. For some, a job will always come first. A relationship will always take precedence. There will always be an excuse—a reason they “just couldn’t get away.” That is the latest ugly truth I’ve had to come to terms with, and no matter how much I try to rationalize it, it never gets easier to accept.

Co-parenting with a high-conflict person who chooses to be an optional parent comes with its own set of challenges. Rather than prioritizing the child, they often focus on creating a false narrative to make you look bad. They will find any excuse to justify their absence—claiming they were alienated, uninformed, or that the timing was inconvenient for them. But the reality is, you’ve always communicated, scheduled appointments well in advance, and made every effort to include them. Yet somehow, their absence will still be framed as your fault.

The hard truth is this: You can’t force someone to be a parent. You can’t make them show up, prioritize your child, or put in the same effort you do. Accepting this has been one of the toughest realities for me. Even now, it still weighs on my heart, because I can’t imagine a life where my kids aren’t my top priority—or where I’m not a constant presence in theirs.

So, what can you do when you find yourself in this situation? The answer is simple—you keep showing up. You stand by your child through the good, the bad, and everything in between. You rearrange your schedule to fit theirs, stay up late to help with homework, and wake up at dawn for the 5 A.M. field trip departure. You invest in their passions, paying extra for the club team they worked hard to make. You become an unpaid Uber driver, cherishing the conversations during those drives. You use your PTO when they’re sick and take time off simply because they need you. Because at the end of the day, that’s what being a parent is all about—being there, no matter what.

Do not blame yourself. This is not your fault. You cannot control another person’s choices, nor can you force someone to be the parent your child deserves. You cannot make them care, show up, or take responsibility the way you do. And while that reality is painful, it is not a reflection of you—it is a reflection of them.

What you can control is the love, stability, and support you provide. You are accountable for your actions as a parent, and that is what truly matters. Your child will remember who was there—the one who stayed up with them when they were sick, who cheered from the sidelines, who showed up at every milestone, big or small. They may not fully understand the weight you carry now, but one day, they will see the sacrifices you made and the unwavering love you gave.

I know that may seem like obvious advice, and in many ways, it is. But accepting it—truly coming to terms with it—is an entirely different battle. To be fully transparent, it took me almost four years post-divorce to reach this place, and even now, it’s something I have to consciously remind myself of.

There are still moments when the weight of it all hits me—when I watch my child scan the crowd for a face that never shows, when I sit alone in a waiting room for yet another surgery, or when I see the disappointment in their eyes as yet another promise goes unkept. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it still surfaces. But over time, the occurrences have become fewer. The emotional toll has become more manageable.

What I’ve had to accept is that he and I are not the same. I cannot expect him to parent the way I do, because he never has and likely never will. And while that truth stings, it is also freeing. I no longer waste my energy hoping for change or carrying the burden of his choices. My focus is where it belongs—on my children, on being the parent they can count on, and on making peace with the fact that I am doing enough, even when it feels like I’m doing it alone.

I have to quit expecting me from him. He is who he is going to be. I no longer have to own what he does and does not do. My focus is to be on our children and what they need from me. As long as I am providing for them, then I am doing what I should. I have had to let go of the guilt I put on myself. The guilt for choosing someone like him. The guilt for staying as long as I did. The guilt for not fighting harder for a more concrete parenting-plan. Guilt for the continued conflict that exists. Guilt for making my own plans because if I do not show up for them, who will? But I have learned that I need to not only let go of the guilt, but to also forgive myself. Through all the frustration, disappointment, and heartache, I’ve come to realize that I cannot control another person’s choices—only my own. I have to release the guilt. I am doing enough. I am enough. And in the end, our child will know exactly who stood by them—without question, without condition, without fail.

Co-parenting with someone who chooses to be an optional parent is never easy, and the weight of that responsibility can feel overwhelming. But if there is one thing I have learned through this journey, it’s that my children deserve consistency, love, and unwavering support—no matter what. So, I will continue to show up, to be present, and to give them the security of knowing that they are always my priority. Because in the end, what truly matters is not who failed to be there, but who remained steadfast through it all. And that will always be me.