Survivor Speaks Truth

Tag: Children

  • Not Alienated—Afraid: The Side of the Story Courts Ignore

    Few topics in family court create more confusion and more damage than “parental alienation.” For years, it has been used as a blanket accusation, a catch-all explanation for why a child resists seeing a parent. But like many ideas that take on a life of their own, the reality is far more complex, and far more heartbreaking.

    Is parental alienation real? In rare cases, yes—there are situations where one parent intentionally manipulates a child against the other for revenge, control, or personal gain. But more often than not, what is labelled as “alienation” is nothing more than the natural, instinctive reaction of a child who does not feel safe.

    And here is the part that very few people are willing to say out loud:

    Many children aren’t “alienated.” They’re afraid.

    They are not rejecting a parent because of poison from the other household. They are rejecting a parent because that parent caused harm—whether through emotional abuse, physical intimidation, manipulation, or the chaos the child had to live through. Children do not need to be coached to avoid someone who frightened them, minimized their feelings, or hurt the parent they love and depend on. They remember slammed doors. They remember yelling. They remember their mother crying in the bedroom while covering bruises or wiping away silent tears. They remember tension in the house thick enough to taste. And children, even the quiet ones, even the small ones, absorb everything.

    Yet in courtrooms across North America, these natural trauma responses are twisted into accusations: “She’s alienating the kids. “She’s turning them against me. “She’s brainwashing them.”

    This narrative is convenient for the abusive parent because it shifts all responsibility away from their behaviour and onto the protective parent—most often the mother. Instead of acknowledging the real reason the children resist contact, the abusive parent claims to be the victim. Suddenly, the mother becomes the one on trial, forced to defend herself against labels like “alienator” simply because she protected her children and herself from further harm.

    But children are far more intuitive than adults give them credit for. A child doesn’t need a lecture to understand who feels safe and who doesn’t. A child doesn’t need prompting to feel uneasy around someone who controlled, belittled, or terrified their mom. A child doesn’t need manipulation to remember how it felt when the energy in the home shifted at the sound of footsteps, or when their mom’s voice changed in fear.

    Calling this “alienation” is not only inaccurate—it’s cruel.

    It erases the child’s lived experience. It punishes protective parents. It rewards abusive ones. And it places children back into environments where their trauma is minimized, dismissed, or ignored altogether.

    The truth is simple: Children gravitate toward safety, not alienation. They pull away from chaos, not from love. They avoid what hurts them. They lean toward what comforts them.

    If they consistently choose one parent over another, especially after a history of abuse, the most logical explanation is not manipulation—it’s survival.

    This is why trauma-informed courts and child-protection experts warn against assuming parental alienation without a full, unbiased, evidence-based assessment. When systems rush to fit families into predetermined categories, children lose their voices. And mothers—especially those escaping domestic violence—are silenced, blamed, and punished for doing exactly what good mothers do: protect.

    Real parental alienation does exist. But it is far, far less common than the courts are led to believe.

    Much more common is this: Children who don’t feel safe with the parent who abused their mom, who carry unspoken memories that they don’t know how to articulate, whose bodies remember what their words cannot fully express, who are tired of pretending, and who want peace.

    If we genuinely care about children, we must stop weaponizing the term “parental alienation” against the very people trying to keep them safe. We must start listening—not to the loudest voice in the room, not the one with the best legal strategy, but to the subtle truths children reveal through their behaviour, discomfort, and desire for safety.

    Because at the end of the day, this isn’t about labels. It isn’t about court orders. It isn’t about winning or losing.

    It’s about children who have already lived through enough pain being allowed to choose safety without having their choices called manipulation.

    Sometimes, the most loving thing a child can do is distance themselves from the person who caused the harm. And sometimes the bravest thing a mother can do is stand her ground and refuse to let the truth be rewritten.

    When we understand that, we understand that what some call “parental alienation” is often nothing more than a child’s heart doing what it was created to do—protecting itself.

  • The Hidden Dangers of Shared Custody When Abuse is Present

    When a relationship ends because of abuse, the challenges rarely stop with separation. For many survivors, the most brutal battles begin afterward—inside courtrooms, mediation sessions, and parenting agreements that force not just ongoing contact, but shared decision-making with the very person who caused harm. Family courts often insist on joint custody, arguing that if the abuse wasn’t directed toward the children, both parents should still have equal say in their upbringing. But that reasoning is deeply flawed. Abuse is never limited to one target; it contaminates the entire environment. When someone chooses to harm the other parent, they’ve already proven they cannot make safe, selfless, or sound decisions in the best interest of their children.

    Abuse isn’t a single moment—it’s a mindset rooted in control and entitlement. When a parent has abused their partner, they’ve shown they value power more than partnership and winning more than well-being. Believing that person can suddenly transform into a cooperative, fair co-parent is a dangerous misconception. Granting shared custody and shared decision-making in those circumstances doesn’t promote the child’s welfare—it gives the abuser continued power to dominate, manipulate, and punish under the protection of the law.

    True co-parenting requires trust, respect, communication, and a willingness to prioritize the children above all else. Those elements do not exist when one parent has a history of abuse. Survivors often find themselves forced into what professionals call “parallel parenting,” though even that term minimizes the reality. The abuser continues to exert control through communication, decision-making, and the children themselves—using visitation schedules, school choices, medical care, and extracurricular activities as opportunities to create chaos. What the courts label as “joint decision-making” often becomes court-endorsed coercion, where every choice is a battleground and every discussion reopens old wounds.

    Even when the abuse wasn’t directed at the children, they are still profoundly affected by it. Children do not feel safe with someone who has harmed the parent they love. They sense tension, instability, and fear even when no one speaks of it. They watch one parent shrink while the other dominates, learning that love can be something to fear. The message they internalize is not about safety or security but survival. And when they’re forced into situations where both parents are expected to “cooperate,” they carry a heavy emotional burden that no child should have to bear.

    The power imbalance doesn’t disappear when the relationship ends. In fact, shared decision-making often magnifies it. Abusers tend to have more financial resources, public charm, or social credibility while survivors are left fighting to be believed. The abuser may present as composed and reasonable, while the survivor—still managing trauma—is dismissed as emotional or “high-conflict.” It’s a cruel paradox: the person who created the instability appears calm, while the one who endured it seems reactive. And within that dynamic, the abuser often continues to manipulate outcomes, controlling from a distance through court orders, forced cooperation, and paperwork.

    The emotional toll of this arrangement is enormous. Survivors live in constant vigilance—anticipating conflict, bracing for the subsequent power struggles, and monitoring their words. The ongoing exposure keeps them tethered to the trauma they’ve fought so hard to escape. Yet, even within this complex system, there are ways to reclaim small pieces of peace. Survivors can document every exchange, communicate only through monitored apps like OurFamilyWizard or TalkingParents, and remain calm and factual in all written correspondence. Every act of composure weakens the abuser’s control and strengthens the survivor’s credibility.

    It’s also essential to seek trauma-informed legal and emotional support. Lawyers and counsellors who understand coercive control can help survivors navigate a system that often misunderstands it. A strong network—trusted family, friends, church, or community—can offer perspective and protection when isolation threatens to take hold. Most importantly, survivors must prioritize emotional regulation and healing. Children draw stability from the parent who remains calm and consistent, even amid turmoil.

    The truth is, someone who abuses their partner cannot be trusted to make healthy joint decisions about their children. The same traits that drive abuse—entitlement, lack of empathy, and manipulation—make collaborative parenting impossible. Children may be required to spend time with that parent, but they instinctively know where safety lives. They feel the difference between control and care, fear and love, chaos and peace. They may not have the words to articulate it, but they always know who protects their heart.

    Leaving abuse is not the end of the story—it’s the beginning of rebuilding a life rooted in truth and safety. Every boundary held, every calm response, every prayer for strength teaches your children what real love looks like. The abuser may share custody and decision-making on paper, but they will never share your courage, faith, or integrity. And in the end, that’s what your children will remember—the steady, unwavering presence of the parent who made them feel safe in a world that often wasn’t.

  • Abuse by Proxy—How Hurting a Parent Hurts the Children

    When we talk about children and abuse, most people only picture harm directed at a child, but what often goes unnoticed is the profound impact of a child witnessing one parent abuse the other. Even if a child is never touched or yelled at, growing up in a home where one parent is hurting the other is a trauma that leaves invisible scars.

    Children see more than we realize. They hear the slammed doors, feel the tension in the air, and sense the fear beneath the surface. Watching their mother or father be mistreated by someone they’re supposed to trust is devastating. It shakes their foundation, warps their understanding of love, and makes them question what’s safe and what’s not.

    An abuser might say, “I’d never hurt the kids.” But the moment you harm their parent, you already have. You can’t separate the two. That parent is their safe place, their source of comfort. When that person is being torn down, the child feels it in their body and carries it in their heart.

    Some kids act out, some shut down. Some grow up believing love means control, apologies don’t require change, or that silence is safer than truth. Even years later, those messages shape their relationships, self-worth, and healing.

    When a child witnesses the abuse of someone they love, it is just as damaging as direct abuse. It may not leave physical bruises, but it leaves lasting emotional wounds. Children internalize the chaos, blame themselves for the pain they see, and grow up with deep-rooted fears and insecurities. Their nervous systems learn to expect conflict and instability. And even when they’re not the target, they absorb every insult, every silent treatment, every slammed door. The message becomes clear: love is loud, scary, and unsafe.

    These children may grow into adults who struggle with boundaries, self-worth, and trust. They may find themselves drawn to unhealthy relationships, not because they want pain, but because it feels familiar. What they saw in childhood becomes the blueprint for giving and receiving love. That’s why it’s so important not only to stop the abuse but to heal the silent wounds it leaves behind.

    If we want to raise healthy children who feel loved and safe, we must protect them from the trauma of witnessing abuse. Even if the harm isn’t directed at them, seeing one parent hurt wounds them deeply. A child cannot feel secure when their world is built on fear.