Over the past few years, I’ve noticed a growing gap between many women and the men they are trying to co-parent or build lives with.
A Clear imbalance.
Many women I speak to, especially mothers navigating separation, all describe a similar experience. They are doing the inner work: therapy, self-reflection, learning boundaries, trying to parent consciously. And yet they find themselves co-parenting with men who have not done the same work.
This imbalance shows up most clearly in motherhood and co-parenting.
Abuse comes in many forms.
In conversations with mothers, whether they are primary parents, co-parents, or parallel parents, a common theme emerges again and again: experiences of abuse that are not always visible or easily named.
I recently attended a residential weekend as part of my counselling training, where we explored the many forms abuse can take. What stayed with me was this: abuse is not only physical. It can be emotional, psychological, financial, sexual, or relational.
Growing up witnessing domestic violence, I believed for a long time that abuse was only something you could see. It has taken years to understand that gaslighting and stonewalling are also forms of harm. Gaslighting makes you question your reality and your worth. Stonewalling uses silence, withdrawal, and emotional absence as a way to control or punish.
These dynamics don’t always disappear when a relationship ends. Sometimes, they reappear in subtler ways during co-parenting, through guilt, pressure, entitlement, or repeated boundary-crossing disguised as concern.
They erode confidence slowly, especially when someone is already vulnerable, such as during pregnancy or postpartum.
I want to be clear: this isn’t about demonising fathers. My son’s dad loves him deeply, and I honour that. But being a loving parent does not automatically mean someone was a safe or supportive partner. Both things can exist at once.
Women are choosing themselves first.
Something else I’m noticing more and more is that women are no longer willing to make themselves uncomfortable in order to keep men comfortable. We’re no longer over-explaining, softening boundaries, or absorbing emotional labour just to preserve peace. This isn’t cruelty or coldness, it’s clarity. Many of us have spent years prioritising harmony over our own wellbeing, often at a personal cost. Choosing not to engage, not to soothe, or not to make space where it isn’t reciprocated is not a lack of empathy; it’s self-respect.
What I’m learning now is that healing sometimes means stepping back, creating firmer boundaries, and choosing peace over explanation. Not everything needs to be debated. Not every request needs to be met.
A shift in the narrative.
One hopeful thing I hold onto is this: women raising sons today are raising emotionally aware, sensitive, regulated boys. That matters. It means this story doesn’t end here. A future generation of men who are self-aware, respectful, and emotionally present is possible, and many women are already laying those foundations at home. And that gives me hope that this narrative will shift.
Choose peace, always.
And for any woman reading this who feels exhausted, guilty, or unsure of herself, you are not imagining it. You are allowed to protect your home, your nervous system, and your sense of safety. You are allowed to stop explaining. You are allowed to choose peace.
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