Why Hearing Your Name From an Ex Can Wreck You….

—And Why It Matters in Parent Reunification 

I came across this reel the other day that said: “Being called by your own name by an ex feels like a divorce all over again.” 

Whew. That hit. 

It’s wild how true that is—especially when working with parents in the reunification process. For so many of them, the communication is strained… if not flat-out broken. Sometimes they’re not even speaking at all. And when that’s your reality, even something as “small” as figuring out how to exchange information about your child can feel charged—like walking through an emotional minefield. 

Suddenly, even the greeting in an email matters. 

It’s something I didn’t always name, but I see it now. And I want you to see it too, especially if you’re a lawyer or a professional supporting this process. 

Because when one parent reads their name—just their first name, stripped of the intimacy they used to be known by—it can feel like a gut punch. A tiny heartbreak that jolts them out of presence. One moment they’re there, trying to get through a logistics conversation… and the next, they’re spiraling. Anger. Betrayal. Grief. All of it, rushing back in. 

I’ll never forget one mother I worked with—she literally couldn’t move past the subject line of an email. She broke down in tears just seeing that he addressed her by her first name. That was it. Not “Babe,” not “Mama,” not the name she used to hear at night. Just a name. Flat. Cold. Foreign. And it was too much. 

And listen—sometimes it cuts both ways. Sometimes you’re the one sending the message, choosing the salutation. And you’re pissed. You don’t want to say “Hey love” anymore. You say “Mrs. Johnson” on purpose. Or you call them “James” instead of “Jay,” because using that nickname feels like a betrayal of your own heart. That was before. Before the heartbreak. Before the wreckage. Before everything fell apart. 

That’s why I don’t skip over this stuff. These “micro-moments” are not small. They’re invitations. Invitations to pause, feel, and process so that we don’t carry these emotional splinters into every conversation… or worse, into the children’s hearts. 

This is where transformation begins—in the tender tension. Not in pretending it doesn’t matter. Not in forcing quick fixes. But in holding space for what’s actually there. 

Because here’s the truth: you don’t have to figure this out alone. 

Sometimes what you really need is not just a professional… but a healer. Someone grounded enough to support the logistics, yes—but spiritually aligned enough to help you come back into your body. Someone who can hold you while you unravel and then help you reweave yourself whole. 

Healing like this is more than therapy. It’s sacred. It’s spiritual. And when it’s done well, it births something new. 

And no—“new” doesn’t always mean shiny, conflict-free co-parenting with perfect holiday schedules and Sunday brunches together. Sometimes it just means peace. Acceptance. The capacity to engage with someone who may never be your friend again… but who can be your partner in this one sacred thing: your child. 

And sometimes—yes, sometimes—it does mean a full-circle restoration. I’ve seen it. But I don’t force it. We let it unfold. 

This is the Living Light Way. Holding even the smallest moments with care and reverence. Knowing that what feels too small to name might be the very doorway to healing. 

So if you’re here reading this—if your family is in transition, whether because of litigation, separation, or something else entirely—I just want to say: remember this moment. 

You don’t have to override the feelings that come up. The tears. The tension. The shaking hands. Those aren’t signs of failure. They’re signs that the wound is still tender… and you’re still human. 

The work is not to pretend these moments don’t hurt. The work is to move through them—with support. With intention. With breath. So you can finally, finally, break the pattern and create something new. 

On the other side? Expansion. A new rhythm. A different kind of love. 

It might not look like what you pictured… but I promise, it can still be sacred.