Co-Parenting With a Narcissist Isn’t Co-Parenting

It’s Survival. It’s Strategy. It’s Choosing Peace Over Petty.

Let’s be real.

When you’re co-parenting with a narcissist, you’re not co-parenting.

You’re crisis-managing, boundary-building, and praying your child doesn’t absorb the toxicity that drips from every gaslight, every lie, and every manipulation disguised as “concern.”

And the court?

Often clueless.

Or worse, complicit.

You walk in hoping for justice, only to find a system that demands you stay calm while someone actively works to destroy your credibility. A system that values “cooperation” over truth, even when one party thrives on chaos.

But the outside world rarely sees the depth of what we endure.

They see the photos. The school pickups. The birthdays we force ourselves to smile through.

They don’t see the trauma, the abuse, the manipulation hiding in plain sight.

The Hidden Hurt

Some mornings I don’t feel like a boss.

I feel like that little girl again. Scared. Unheard. Pushed into the corner.

There’s a specific kind of loneliness in having to “play nice” with someone who tries to ruin your spirit at every opportunity.

I wake up with anxiety before court hearings, not just because of what might be said, but because I know the truth may not even matter.

I overthink every message, because one wrong sentence could become a weapon.

I hold back tears when I see the confusion in my child’s eyes, trying to figure out who to believe, when all I want is for them to believe in themselves.

It’s exhausting to always take the high road.

It’s heartbreaking to constantly clean up emotional messes you didn’t make.

It’s terrifying to realize that even with your best intentions, your child is still being pulled into a silent tug-of-war.

But I push through.

Every. Damn. Day.

The Push to Stay Big

I have to remind myself daily:

I’m not that little girl anymore.

I’m not weak. I’m not helpless. I’m not invisible.

I’m a woman rebuilding her life in real time, while also protecting the heart of a child caught in the storm.

I fight to be the woman I needed growing up, the one who doesn’t just survive, but rises.

So I document everything.

I breathe through the chaos.

I respond, even when I want to react.

I hold the line, even when it would feel so damn good to cross it.

I don’t parent to hurt him.

I parent to heal our child.

This isn’t about revenge.

This is about resilience.

“Boss bitches don’t retaliate. They rise above the bullshit.”

— Becoming a Boss Bitch

The Daily Battle

Sometimes being the boss doesn’t mean taking charge.

It means not letting them shrink you, It means showing up for your child when you’re barely holding it together. It means breaking generational trauma while fighting through your own.

Some days I cry in the shower. Some nights I stay up researching court rules and documenting everything, just in case. Some moments I question if it’s even worth it.

But then I look at my child’s face. And I know: I’m not just doing this for me. I’m doing it so they never have to question their worth the way I once did. So they see what it means to choose peace, choose power, and choose self-respect over performative control.

This Is the Movement

If you’re walking this same path, I see you.

You’re not weak for feeling tired. You’re not dramatic for wanting peace. You’re not crazy.

They just want you to believe that so you stop fighting.

But we don’t stop.

We boss up.

We show up.

We protect our peace like our lives depend on it,

because sometimes, they do.

💎 To every woman co-parenting with a narcissist: You’re not alone. You’re not crazy. You’re becoming a Boss Bitch in real-time. And your power is unstoppable. 💎