The Heart Never Gets Used to It

When people talk about divorce with children, they often talk about the logistics.

The schedule. The handovers. The holidays. The birthdays. The calendars.

What they don't often talk about is the quiet ache.

The one that never quite leaves.

When I gave birth to my son, I never imagined there would come a day when I would willingly hand him over and wave goodbye for half of his childhood.

I imagined bedtime stories every night. Christmas mornings together. Every birthday breakfast. Every holiday. Every scraped knee, every school run, every ordinary Tuesday.

That's what I thought motherhood would be.

Then life changed.

When my marriage ended, my son was only a year old.

Without question, it was the hardest decision I have ever made.

Not because my husband wasn't a good man - he was.

In fact, that's probably what made it so difficult.

There was no dramatic event. No betrayal. No villain in our story.

We had simply reached the point where I knew, deep in my heart, that although I loved him very much, I was no longer in love in the way a relationship needs to survive a lifetime. We had run our course.

I could have stayed. Many people do.

But I also knew that I wanted my son to grow up seeing what a healthy, deeply connected relationship looked like. I wanted him to understand that love isn't simply about staying because it's easier or because you're frightened of change. It's about kindness, honesty, respect and choosing a life that allows everyone to flourish.

When you stay to long, respect goes and resentment creeps in and I wasn't willing to allow that to happen because no matter what lay in store for us as two adults, we would forever be the parents of the most incredible little human.

Making that decision came at an enormous personal cost.

Because I knew exactly what it meant.

It meant giving up half of the ordinary moments that parents quietly treasure.

People sometimes assume shared parenting is something parents simply get used to.

In my experience, you don't.

More than fourteen years later, it still feels as though I breathe a little more shallowly when he's not here.

My light is a little dimmer.

The house is quieter.

It's as though someone has borrowed my right arm for a few days.

I've simply learned how to carry that feeling.

What I never once entertained, though, was trying to take him away from his dad for more than half of his childhood.

Because as fiercely as I love my son, I also know there is one other person in this world who loves him just as completely.

His dad.

Just as I miss him when he's away, I know his dad misses him when he's here with me.

Neither of us "wins."

We both lose half the time.

But our son wins all the time.

And that's what matters.

People often tell us they don't know many separated parents who co-parent the way we do and what's our secret.

We've been commended more times than I can count.

Not because we're perfect - we're certainly not - but because we've always tried to make our son more important than our differences.

We've shared school events.

Celebrated milestones.

Supported each other's decisions.

Respected each other's parenting time.

Over the years we've become a modern family that probably doesn't fit many people's expectations, but it fits us.

Our son has never had to choose.

He's never been made to feel guilty for loving either of us.

He's simply been allowed to have all the people who love him, and even, on occasion, all together.

What I find most extraordinary is that our bond has never weakened because we spent less time together.

If anything, it's grown stronger.

Perhaps it's because we've never taken each other for granted.

When he's with me, he's fully with me.

When he's with his dad, he's fully with his dad.

Our time has always been protected.

I've never wanted to "borrow" his dad's time because I know how precious it is. Equally, when my son is with me, I don't see that as an opportunity to fill my diary with adult social events or arrange childcare so I can go off and do my own thing.

If there's something happening that he's not invited to, I either don't go or I wait until it's my child-free time.

He's waited all week to spend time with me. Why would I choose to spend that precious time somewhere else?

That philosophy has naturally become part of our family now.

My husband has embraced it too.

I remember one Christmas the works team I managed had a Christmas do on a weekend we had all three boys. We politely declined because it was our weekend with them and we weren't prepared to sacrifice that time.

The response completely took us by surprise.

Our team insisted we bring the boys along.

The boys were desperate to come too.

So we did.

What could have been an adults-only evening became one of those unexpectedly lovely memories we still smile about. The boys were welcomed with open arms, had an absolute ball, and it reminded me that when children are genuinely valued, they should never feel like an inconvenience to anyone.

Our children have never had to fit around our lives.

We've simply built our lives around them.

Not because we have to.

Because we want to.

And it reminded me that family doesn't have to fit one traditional shape to be full of love.

Our family certainly doesn't.

It's wonderfully blended, often chaotic, full of love, fun, different traditions and positive relationships.

But underneath all of that sits one unwavering truth.

The children come first.

Always.

I often say that my son's dad and I were absolutely right for each other for the chapter we shared.

Without that chapter, there would be no him.

And what an incredible gift that is.

Today we're both with partners who are right for us, our forever soul mates, and together we've been able to model something I hope all of our children carry into adulthood.

That relationships don't have to survive at all costs.

That happiness matters.

That respect matters.

That love for your children doesn't end because your relationship with their other parent does.

Quite the opposite.

Sometimes loving your children means making the decision that breaks your own heart.

It means choosing their long-term happiness over your short-term comfort.

It means putting down your pride, swallowing difficult emotions and reminding yourself, over and over again, that this isn't about you.

It's about them.

Its the very definition of unconditional love.

People sometimes ask whether the sadness ever disappears.

For me, no.

It simply changes shape.

I've learned to fill the days he's not here with the things that are harder to do when he is, and my husband early into our relationship embraced the same concept, meaning we truly embrace the best of both worlds.

We work.

We see friends.

We have romantic breaks away and reconnect to continue strengthening and protecting our relationship.

We recharge.

And then, before I know it, I hear the familiar sound of the front door opening and my world feels complete again.

If you're at the beginning of a shared parenting journey, and your heart feels like it's breaking every time your child leaves, I want you to know something.

It probably won't stop hurting.

But it will stop consuming you.

You'll laugh again.

You'll sleep again.

You'll create new routines.

You'll find joy in the space as well as in the reunion.

And one day you'll realise something beautiful.

Love was never measured by the number of nights your child slept under your roof.

It was measured by how safe they always felt in your arms.

I'm incredibly proud of the family we've built.

Not because it's been easy.

But because, through every challenge life has thrown at us, we've kept coming back to the same simple belief:

Love our children more than we dislike any situation.

For that, I will always be grateful.

Grateful for my husband.

Grateful for our wonderfully blended family of five.

And deeply grateful to my son's dad and his wife for being such incredible co-parents and for loving the little boy who will always be my whole universe.

Because while he may only sleep under my roof half the time...

He has all of my heart, all of the time.

Every single day.