The Unspoken Grief and Stress of Parallel Parenting

Parallel parenting is a high-conflict co-parenting alternative where separated parents disengage from one another to avoid conflict, raising children with minimal, formal communication. It is intended to create distance so each parent can function independently.

On paper, it’s about schedules, boundaries, and communication limits. But what doesn’t get talked about enough is the heavy emotional toll. For some people it means raising a child with your greatest adversary ready to destroy you at every turn. It’s living in a state of hypervigilance, defensiveness, shame, embarrassment, and regret… while trying to create stability on what feels like quicksand.

I wasn’t parenting from a grounded, intentional place. I was parenting from activation. From fear. From constant bullying and being told that I was a worthless P.O.S. To say that my “stress response was activated” (constantly) is an understatement. If the early years weren’t difficult enough, things escalated significantly after I remarried.

Through all of this, I tried to remain calm to protect our son. I was intentional about not speaking poorly about his dad, because I understand how that can impact a child’s sense of self, as children see themselves as equal parts of their parents. But there is a line between protecting your child from divided loyalty and unintentionally minimizing the harm they’re also experiencing by not addressing it.

There were many moments when it felt like our son was aligning with his dad to keep him from escalating. Almost like a survival strategy. It reminded me of what people refer to as Stockholm syndrome, identifying with the oppressive force as a way to maintain connection or safety. It was confusing. Painful. Incredibly complex. I didn't want to cause more psychological damage by trying to pull him out of it. It was messy for all of us.

And yet somehow through all of that, our son became who he is today. Now that he’s 19, he has his own way of making sense of it. He describes his experience as yin and yang. Light and dark. He believes he needed both to become who he is today. And who he is, is remarkable. Kind. Funny. Strong. Disciplined. He is blazing his own trail beautifully.

When I look at him, I feel both awe and relief. His relationship with his dad has improved over time, and our strictly parenting relationship is no longer contentious. There was a dramatic and sudden shift when our son turned 18. The control dynamic that shaped so much of our experience simply ended. Poof! It’s not “perfect peace” because it still feels really unfair, but it is certainly more livable. More neutral.

I grieve the parenting experience I never had. The version with cooperation, respect, and shared intention that many of us never get. The version where two people can come together to create a safe, stable container for a child to grow. That wasn’t my reality. Instead, I parented with an undercurrent of fear. There was always a sense that I had to “find safety fast,” and to grapple with insult after insult about everything I did as a mother. If there is anything I take solace in, it’s that our son never knew the depth of that fear and pain. From his perspective, he had a safe place to land. He experienced a lot of love and he remembers a happy childhood.

As a stress resilience specialist who works to reduce the urge to use alcohol and other maladaptive coping strategies, I think it’s important to address alcohol here. I don’t believe alcohol caused the chaos in my life. The dynamics with my son’s father existed with or without it. But I do understand, more than you know, why people reach for it. Because when you are living in a constant state of activation, when your body never fully settles, when your mind won’t turn off… relief becomes less of a luxury and more of a necessity. For me, after remarrying, the complications with my son’s father and new blended family dynamics on top of that, alcohol functioned like an anesthetic. It took the edge off. It softened the intensity. In my personal experience, alcohol didn’t create additional chaos.

But, in hindsight, just because something helps you cope doesn’t mean it helps you heal. It may not have created the problem, but it also didn’t resolve the underlying state I was living in. It didn’t restore my nervous system. It didn’t expand my capacity. It didn’t give me access to the clarity, boundaries, and self-trust I needed. It simply made something unbearable… feel temporarily escapable.

Many people are told alcohol is the problem, “it’s a toxic poison.” I am guilty of preaching that too. But alcohol is far more nuanced than that. The urge to use alcohol is real. I get it. So, while I would never suggest alcohol as a solution, and I know many people cannot use it safely, I also refuse to shame the instinct behind it. It makes sense. The real work, for me, became less about the alcohol itself… and more about reducing the need for escape.

I had to choose freedom, rather than depend on alcohol to give me the illusion of escape.

Maybe some of it for me was instinct. Maybe some of it was persistence. Maybe some of it was grace. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, but I do believe we can use everything that happens. I carry immense regret and grief. But I also carry a deep sense of gratitude for what grew anyway. We learned how to survive in conditions that weren’t supportive. We found our footing between the rocks. And I never stopped showing up, even when I fell down a gazillion times. That counts for something. And when I look at the man my son is becoming, I know all the pain wasn’t wasted.

Wishing all of the single-parallel-parenting parents continued endurance and perseverance. Keep up the good fight! And don't forget to take moments to be fully present with your kiddos.