When Calm Is a Weapon

I want to tell you something I wish someone had told me sooner:

You’re not imagining it. You’re not overreacting. And no you’re not “co-creating” the chaos.

You’re navigating a kind of abuse that doesn’t leave bruises. It leaves confusion, self-doubt, and silence.

It’s called covert abuse, and it thrives behind degrees, titles, and perfectly curated reputations. It thrives in courtrooms, in counseling sessions, in every system that praises composure over character. You might be dealing with someone who seems calm to the world a “great parent,” a “reasonable co-parent,” a “professional.” But behind the scenes, they manipulate the truth, gaslight the kids, and destabilize you just enough to stay in control.

This isn’t conflict. It’s control disguised as concern. It’s image management posing as integrity.

The hardest part? You’re still tethered to this person. Maybe you share custody. Maybe you’re forced to communicate. Maybe you’ve tried everything to reduce tension, but nothing seems to work unless you disappear entirely.

If that’s your reality I see you.

You’re doing something incredibly hard: parenting in the aftermath of trauma while still being tethered to its source. And every day, you make the impossible choice to show up anyway. To hold boundaries. To protect your kids. To try to choose peace over provocation.

That’s not weakness. That’s strength. That’s survival.

And that’s why I Object.

To the polished predators. To the courts that don’t see them. To the silence they count on. To the mothers and fathers trying to raise children inside a rigged system.

We don’t owe anyone our composure. We owe the world, the truth. And we deserve to say:

This is abuse, even if no one else believes me.