Getting Comfortable With Being Uncomfortable:

NEWLY SEPARATED SHARING CUSTODY: The First Time You Don't Have Your Children 

There are moments in life that catch us off guard. There are moments that we knew it would be hard, but we didn’t know that it would be this hard. These moments change us because they create such a strong divide that our entire sense of self is forever altered in that moment. There was us before the moment, and there was us after.

For many mothers navigating separation or divorce, one of those moments is the first time without having your children with you for the night. The first time the house is quiet because the children are with their other parent. The realization that they aren’t sleeping or at school, but that they aren’t coming home at all. Maybe even without the potential to communicate with them.

No one can truly prepare you for that moment.

No one can understand that moment unless they have lived it themselves.

You may have spent months navigating lawyers, paperwork, custody schedules, difficult conversations, and the overwhelming logistics of rebuilding your life. Yet somehow, none of that feels even half as painful as standing in an empty kitchen wondering what to do with yourself when you aren’t being a mother. The silence can feel deafening. The absence can feel physically painful. The grief can strangle you because it feels impossible to breathe without them. And if you've spent years pouring your energy into being a mother, the question that often arises is: "Who am I when I'm not actively taking care of someone else?" 

The Urge to Escape

When uncomfortable feelings arise, most of us instinctively want to run away from them. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. We scroll. We binge-watch. We overwork. We overeat. We drink. We clean. We shop. We date. We stay busy. We do anything at all to avoid sitting in the discomfort. 

Maybe the discomfort we feel in these moments is so strong that we are completely paralyzed. Maybe after we drop our children off to the other parent we drive home but sit in our car for hours because the thought of going inside is gut-wrenching. Maybe seeing other families playing in the neighbourhood brings about a level of loneliness that is inconceivably painful. Maybe our only purpose has always been being a mother so our body, mind and spirit find it absolutely preposterous to imagine functioning outside of this. There is nothing wrong with wanting relief from all of the discomfort. We are human, and it is instinctual. But there is a big difference between comforting ourselves and numbing ourselves. Comfort allows feelings to move through us, while numbing prevents us from feeling them at all. And unfortunately, the feelings we avoid today often grow stronger in hiding and become the feelings that cause the greatest damage when they surface in the future. 

What You're Actually Grieving 

Many mothers believe they are simply grieving time away from their children, but there is so much more grief that is buried beneath the surface. It is an all-encompassing grief that we never signed up for or could fathom. It is grief that is tricky to specifically define in the moment and even harder to sit with because we weren’t prepared for it. You may be grieving:

• The loss of identity that came with being a mother and caring for everyone else.

• The moments you are missing in witnessing your children interact with the world.

• The loss of control over how your children are being parented.

• The loss of being needed every moment.

• The version of motherhood you expected to have.

• The family structure and support you imagined would last forever.

• The years you can never get back.

• The future life you had created in your mind. 

The Practice of Sitting With It 

One of the greatest lessons separation can teach us is how to stay present with discomfort instead of running away from it. Of how to feel through things rather than burying them deep inside. Of standing strong within ourselves as opposed to crumbling. From our deepest pain comes such a beautiful opportunity for transformation, when we are ready to embrace it.

The first evening without your children might feel unbearably painful. So may the second, third or fourth. Even the hundredth may still feel tender or hard. But every time you allow yourself to experience the feeling without escaping it, you build emotional resilience and strength. There is no timeline for working through the grief you feel. So I challenge you. The next time you are uncomfortable and want to reach for a distraction, instead try asking:

• What am I feeling right now?

• Where do I feel it in my body?

• What does this emotion need from me?

• What would happen if I simply allowed it to be here? 

Not fixing it. Not judging it. Not pushing it away. Just allowing it. Holding space for it. The questions don’t heed to have answers, the emotion simply needs to be witnessed.

Tears or sadness may come. Anger and self-hatred may come. Loneliness may come. Emotions without names may come. It’s important not to try have an answer or solve a problem, but simply be a holy witness to whatever may arise. Emotions are visitors, not permanent residents, and when we stop resisting them, they move. 

Learning to Be With Yourself Again 

Many women discover that the hardest part isn't being alone, it’s being alone with themselves. Without the responsibilities, noise, and constant demands of motherhood, unresolved emotions often surface.

Old wounds or trauma. Old fears. Old stories we told ourselves…the ones that were easy to ignore when life was busy. This can feel frightening at first yet it is also where healing can begin. Beneath all of the grief is often a woman who has been waiting patiently to be rediscovered. A woman with dreams, interests, creativity, unique desires and a voice that may have been quiet for years.

The empty evenings without children eventually become beautiful opportunities to remember who you are. Not because you wanted them, but because they ultimately invite you back into a relationship with yourself. 

The Gift Hidden Inside the Pain 

No mother chooses separation because she hopes to spend less time with her children, in fact this is usually a reason why so many women stay in unhappy relationships for way longer than they wanted to. The grief and loss are real, but there is also an unexpected invitation hidden within this season of change. There is an invitation to learn that your worth does not depend on being needed in every moment. An invitation to trust that your children can love and be parented by both parents, and that in love there is no competition. An invitation to reconnect with the parts of yourself that were waiting to be nurtured too. And perhaps most importantly, an invitation to discover that you are capable of sitting with discomfort without letting it define you.

The feelings won't last forever, and the next custody exchange won’t always feel this heavy. The quiet won’t always feel so loud and over time the space that once felt empty will begin to feel spacious. And with that space, something beautiful can emerge.

It will not be the woman you were before - but the woman you are becoming. A woman that knows how to hold grief and hope in the same hand. A woman who is learning that healing isn’t about avoiding discomfort, it’s about becoming strong enough to sit with it until it transforms.

And don’t think for a second the grief can’t hit you again when you least expect it - or that you won’t fall, or that it won’t feel as painful as that first night ever again. But you will get up quicker every time. You will rise again. And if you continue to show yourself grace as you learn to sit with your emotions it will create a deep anchor that will have the ability to keep you grounded in the future. This anchor will grow stronger with time, and it will eventually give you the ability to anchor others. There is something so beautiful about holding out your hand and offering space to another woman that is navigating trauma you have recently undergone. From our deepest pain comes our greatest ability to help others, and for me finding this beauty underneath my grief was the catalyst to permanent transformation. 

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