From heartbreak to harmony – learning to co-parent with your ex

Sarah Catherall, author of new book How to break up well, outlines some of the stages in her 15-year evolution from devastated newly single mother to happy co-parent to three young adult daughters.

The night my husband told me our marriage was over, I didn't sleep. The future I had imagined, of growing old with the man I had chosen, and watching our three children growing up under the family roof was upended in those two words: “It’s over."

At first I didn’t believe him. How could he leave me? But he had told me about six months earlier that he was unhappy and felt we were bringing out the worst in each other. It was true, but I refused to accept it.

Among our friends, we'd been the first to marry (I was 30), the first to have a child and now we were the first to split up. Raising our three daughters in separate nests was not part of my life plan and I had no idea what to do, partly because I didn’t have any separated friends.

He moved into a hotel and at first we told our daughters he was staying elsewhere for work.I bumbled through my job as an editor. I drove the kids to their after school activities, clutching the steering wheel like a zombie.

How do you break the news to your kids that their parents don’t love each other "like that" anymore, and don’t want to stay married? I’ve learned now – as part of my book research – that you shouldn’t tell a child or children if you’re rushing them off to a sports game or they’re tired or hungry or upset about something else. Looking back, I think we chose our moment well. It was a shock for the kids but we told them that we loved them and it wasn’t their fault we were separating.

And it was true, he wasn’t leaving them – he was leaving me.

Soon I had to face the reality that my daughters would be going to their father’s apartment for overnight stays. I'll never forget the first night. The house felt large and empty. In the end, after wandering around like a ghost and breathing in the smell of my daughter's clothes, I drove to a friend’s house with my bag and (tried) to sleep on her sofa bed.

You can’t really describe that feeling of loss unless you’ve been through it. After some time, I realised I was lucky – I know too many parents who don’t have an involved ex and it can be tough on the kids. I wanted the girls to have nights with their father, even though it was a wrench. An acquaintance who'd separated a year before told me I had to learn to detach from my children, and she was right. It got easier.

My ex and I agreed from the outset that we would never badmouth each other in front of our children and – 15 years later – I’ve stuck to that. I might have moaned about him to a friend or a partner, but never to my daughters.

My own childhood Christmases were joyous. Our family would get together with Mum’s many siblings and their large Catholic broods. I had 24 cousins on Mum’s side, five aunts and two uncles. Everyone was happily married, and Christmas meant a crowded dinner table, average food and lots of love and laughter.

My husband and I had continued those themes with his three sisters, my two sisters and our six nieces, alternating between his family and mine. And so on my first Christmas Day as a separated woman, I felt broken. The girls stayed with me on Christmas Eve when we decorated the tree and left gifts out for Santa. We had Christmas morning together, and then I dropped them off to their father not long after noon. I spent the afternoon with my sisters and my parents, but it wasn’t the same. I literally watched the clock willing the bleak day to be over.

I was on holiday with a friend and chatting to my daughter on the phone when she said, “Mum, have you met Dad’s friend, X?’’. The lunch I had eaten rose in my throat and I felt faint. I had had a lover by then but the girls hadn’t met him. Their father was perfectly within his rights to date but it still came as a shock, another traumatic step in my separation journey.

Today, I consider his wife a friend. I’m genuinely happy they found each other. They’re a much better match than we were.

We decided the girls would have a primary home with me and spend every second weekend and one or two weeknights with their dad. When their father had to move to Auckland for work and I remained in the family home, with the girls living primarily with me but moving between our houses. Our daughters moved as a pack, which gave them stability. They might be in a different house with a different parent and parenting style, but their consistency came from each other. When their dad came to Wellington, they stayed put and I moved out – a concept called birdnesting. Fifteen years later I love that my daughters are resilient and adaptable, which I do think stems from the fact their childhood was at times unpredictable. It made them stronger.

In the early days I would feel devastated when I went anywhere in the school holidays without my children and saw families. Rather than relaxing on a beach towel, I saw mums and dads playing with their children in the waves and building sandcastles.

I ached for my kids and a happy nuclear family and I understood then why miserable couples often stay together because they can’t bear the alternative. It took me a couple of years to adjust but I eventually gravitated towards camping holidays with my kids and other single mother friends. I tried to fill my child-free space with holidays with friends, or I worked without feeling too hassled, and I went on a yoga retreat to Bali – a trip that would have been difficult to pull off when I was married.

Raising three teenagers without their father in the house had its moments. Their father and I mutually agreed on the big life decisions – schools, orthodontics, university fees – but it fell on me to make the day-to-day rules about boys, parties, boyfriend sleepovers, and alcohol.

In a low moment, I found myself picking empty bottles out of the hedge and opening the door to noise control at one of my daughter’s parties that had turned drunken and too loud for the neighbours. Our house seemed to be a magnet for such events and it was often just me and a bunch of my friends trying to keep things under control.

I had a few years of dud boyfriends and dating disasters. A couple of those fleeting partners I'm ashamed to say met my daughters and even stayed over.

Then I met Steve. I knew he was going to be in my life for a long time and we took our time introducing him to the kids. One night, I had to go to a work event and he offered to go over and cook dinner for the girls while I was out. They grilled him, firing questions to check if he really knew me. Steve impressed them with his answers and his great cooking and a few months later, I asked my daughters how they'd feel about him moving in. Steve's been a wonderful stepdad and it has been easier because he doesn’t have his own children so we haven’t had to blend. Eight years later, my daughters have four adults who love and support them – their biological parents and step-parents.

I know former couples who can’t bear to be in the same room as their ex, even if it is to celebrate a special occasion like a graduation, wedding or a 21st. That seems a shame. If there has abuse or deceit, I understand why exes might avoid each other, but otherwise I think parents should suck it up and put their kids first.

Two of our daughters have turned 21 and both parties have been at my house. My ex and his lovely wife come and we all make speeches. We split the costs; he organises the alcohol and I sort the food and the decorating. The highlight of Bianca’s 21st this year was when her father played a video that included a clip from when she was three or four, and he asked her to say: “Happy 21st birthday Bianca’’. A very cute moment.

It wasn't the 21st I'd envisaged when she was little, but it was a celebration of our beautiful daughter and the happy divorced parents who raised her.

How to break up well, by Sarah Catherall (Bateman, RRP $39.99) is available now.