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Golden hour prairie landscape with distant grain elevator and wildflower grassland stretching to dramatic sky.

This article explains how a trauma‑informed approach shapes decision‑making in parenting coordination and single‑issue arbitration in British Columbia. I was thirteen, and my new town had already decided I didn’t belong, at least not in the way I wanted to. In a place that small, rejection was harsh, like the weather. It settled in and stayed. I walked home alone, already familiar with what it meant not to belong.That was when I saw him. He walked the same road after school, in the same silence. His silence was different. It stretched further and deeper, as though it had roots.He kicked the dirt with each step, not hard and not playfully, not like a bored child passing the time, but just enough to lift it. The dust rose in soft clouds around his legs, circling him and clinging for a moment before falling back to the ground. It gave the impression that he carried the road with him. He was alone as well, yet not in the same way. His shoulders carried something heavier than awkwardness.He walked with his head down, as though each step cost him something, as though the town itself pressed against him, as though it had already decided who he was long before he had the chance to become anything else. From across the street, it was clear this was different.The town seemed smaller around him than it did for others. What surrounded him was not simply exclusion. It was something more pervasive, something that pressed in from all sides and followed him home. No adult or teacher stepped in. The road carried on as though nothing unusual was happening.The dust lifted again, curling behind his feet as he continued walking. There was a moment where speaking was possible, and then it passed. The reasons came easily—what others might say, how it might be used, what it might change. The moment closed, and the distance remained.I left as soon as I could and built a life somewhere else, yet that walk home has never left me. It was not simply a boy walking alone. Something was being done to him, something that had begun long before either of us stepped onto that road.It took years to name what was visible even then. <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">It was the first time I saw what racism does, not in words or lessons, but in the weight of a child’s steps and in the dust that followed him. <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">I noticed, and I did nothing.<h2><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Trauma‑Informed Decision‑Making in Parenting Coordination and Arbitration</h2>Now, decades later, I understand that moment differently. That understanding did not arrive fully formed. It developed gradually through reflection and through an increasing awareness of my own thinking, of how I interpret people, and of what I bring into my work. I came to recognize that this moment was one of many experiences that shaped how I listen and how I make decisions.&nbsp;What we live through does not remain behind us. It becomes part of the person making the decision. I see this in my work with families. People come into conflict believing they are responding to the issue in front of them, yet they are also responding to a history that includes their childhood experiences, their encounters with exclusion or power, and what they learned about whether it was safe to speak or necessary to remain silent. Those influences shape how they interpret each other and how they decide.&nbsp;My work has moved through different phases. I began immersed in people’s emotional experiences, working from within them. As the role of parenting coordination was more clearly defined as an implementation‑focused process, I tightened my approach and relied more deliberately on structure, recognizing the importance of clarity, limits, and discipline in decision‑making.&nbsp;Structure remains essential because it carries the work and provides the framework within which decisions can be made. What has shifted over time is my understanding of where humanity belongs within that structure.&nbsp;Without becoming therapeutic, I have come to recognize the importance of remaining interested in what shapes people’s perspectives. In facilitative, interest‑based processes, it is not possible to reach meaningful consensus without understanding that background. Even in more bounded processes, including single‑issue arbitration, decisions risk missing something important when those influences are entirely excluded.&nbsp;Experience does not disappear because it is left unspoken. It continues to operate quietly, shaping positions, reactions, and outcomes. When it is not understood, it is more likely to be repeated.&nbsp;My approach now integrates a trauma‑informed lens within a structured process. Decisions remain clear, grounded, and firm, but they are no longer framed through criticism or judgment. I apply the same legal framework and reach the same outcomes where required, yet I write the analysis differently and situate the issue within a fuller understanding of what is driving it.&nbsp;I do not describe people in a way that reduces them to a single moment of behaviour, and I do not hammer them when making decisions. The reasoning remains disciplined, but it reflects context as well as fact, so the outcome is more likely to be understood by the people who must live with it.&nbsp;Structure still carries the work, and the limits of the role remain clear. I do not provide therapy, but I remain interested in what shapes people’s perspectives, because those influences are already present whether they are named or not.&nbsp;That shift has changed the quality of my work. The decisions are the same where they must be, but they are more thoughtful, more precise, and less likely to repeat the dynamics that brought the conflict forward. Every decision‑maker brings themselves into their work, and I am more deliberate about how.&nbsp;Written by Cori L. McGuire, family law mediator, arbitrator, collaborative family law lawyer and Parenting Coordinator with a family law practice in British Columbia since 1998. In British Columbia, parenting coordinators and arbitrators make decisions within a structured legal framework. A trauma‑informed approach does not change the law or the outcome where required, but it improves how decisions are analyzed and communicated, making them more likely to be understood and followed. © 2026 Cori McGuire. All Rights Reserved. Proprietary Workflow.

The Way I Listen: Trauma‑Informed Decision‑Making in Parenting Coordination and Single‑Issue Arbitration

Therapist and client holding hands during a therapy session, symbolizing trust and emotional support in a calming wellness environment

When parents separate, children do not experience the event as a discrete legal transition. For children, separation unfolds over time through changed homes, altered routines, shifting allegiances, and recalibrated emotional expectations. In a parenting coordination context in British Columbia, this matters because the role is not to revisit the legal issues but to support the implementation of parenting in a way that protects the child’s development. One of the most common implementation issues—and one that frequently requires a determination—is whether a child will attend counselling and, if so, with whom.&nbsp;It is not uncommon for one parent to resist therapy and to frame that resistance as a matter of principle. Sometimes that takes the form of insisting that the child should only see a “Christian counsellor,” or that counselling should reflect a particular belief system. These concerns are often sincerely held. They can also, if not properly understood, delay or prevent a child from receiving support that is otherwise clearly in their best interests.&nbsp;It is important to distinguish between a parent’s personal beliefs and the function of child therapy. Child counsellors are not engaged to shape a child’s worldview or to replace parental guidance on matters of faith or values. Their role is far narrower and more structured. A child counsellor provides a neutral, developmentally appropriate space in which a child can process change, develop communication skills, and regulate emotional experience. The therapist does not take sides between parents. The therapist is not aligned with one household or the other. The therapist is not there to advance either parent’s narrative about the separation.&nbsp;Equally important, therapy is not part of litigation. A child’s counsellor should never be positioned, or perceived by the child, as a participant in a legal proceeding. Bringing a child’s therapist into court as a witness, or suggesting that what the child says in therapy may be reported to one parent or used to influence outcomes, fundamentally undermines the safety of the therapeutic environment. It creates a sense of surveillance rather than support. From the child’s perspective, this can feel like a betrayal. The space that was supposed to be private and emotionally safe becomes another place where they must manage risk, filter what they say, or protect one parent from the other.&nbsp;Once that trust is lost, the therapy often loses its effectiveness. Children cannot do meaningful therapeutic work if they believe their words will be used against them or shared in ways they do not understand or control. In a parenting coordination process, it is often necessary to be explicit about this boundary: child counselling is for the child’s development and well-being, not for evidence-gathering, not for advocacy, and not for use in ongoing disputes.&nbsp;Concerns about a counsellor’s religious orientation can also be addressed within this framework. Professional child counsellors are trained to work with families from a wide range of cultural and belief backgrounds. The role of the therapist is not to impose a belief system, but to respect and work within the child’s existing context, including the family’s values where appropriate. A competent therapist can support a child who comes from a Christian household, or any other belief system, without making religion a focal point of the therapy unless it is directly relevant to the child’s experience. In that sense, a requirement that a counsellor be identified as “Christian” is not typically necessary to ensure that the child’s family values are respected.&nbsp;What does matter is that the therapist is qualified, experienced in working with children, and able to maintain neutrality between the parents. The core functions of therapy remain the same regardless of the therapist’s personal beliefs. The work centres on helping the child develop the skills they need to navigate their circumstances: how to express feelings without escalation, how to understand that they are not responsible for adult conflict, how to establish appropriate boundaries, and how to maintain a sense of stability across two homes.&nbsp;From a parenting coordination perspective, the determination to appoint a counsellor for a child is therefore grounded in function, not ideology. The question is not whether the therapist aligns with a particular belief system, but whether the therapy will provide the child with what they are currently lacking in the family system. In high conflict situations, that often includes a consistent and neutral space where communication is safe, emotions are acknowledged, and the child is not drawn into adult dynamics.&nbsp;Children should not have to choose between parents, carry messages, or manage the emotional fallout of adult disagreement. They should not have to protect one parent from the other. Where those pressures exist, even subtly, therapy becomes an important corrective. It helps restore appropriate boundaries, reinforces that the child is not responsible for the separation, and allows the child to return to a developmental position where they can focus on growth rather than survival.&nbsp;In practice, when one parent resists therapy on the basis of preference for a particular type of counsellor, the focus returns to the child’s needs. If therapy is otherwise appropriate, the goal is to ensure that it proceeds in a way that is neutral, professionally grounded, and clearly outside of the litigation context. Parents retain their ability to guide their child’s values, including religious values, within their own parenting time. The therapist’s role remains distinct. It is a support function, not a value-setting one.&nbsp;Maintaining that boundary protects both the integrity of the therapeutic process and, more importantly, the child’s trust in it. Without that trust, therapy cannot function. With it, therapy can provide exactly what many children need after separation: a place where they are not in the middle, where they are not responsible for outcomes, and where they can learn the communication, emotional regulation, and relational skills that will shape their lives well beyond the current conflict.Written by Cori L. McGuire, family law mediator, arbitrator, collaborative family law lawyer and Parenting Coordinator with a family law practice in British Columbia since 1998.&nbsp;© 2026 Cori McGuire. All Rights Reserved. Proprietary Workflow.

A Safe Place to Talk—Not a Side to Choose

Therapist's hands guiding child's hand placing stone in sand tray during therapeutic play session with warm natural lighting

When parents separate, children do not experience the event as a discrete legal transition. For children, separation unfolds over time through changed homes, altered routines, shifting allegiances, and recalibrated emotional expectations. In a parenting coordination context, this distinction matters, because the role is not to revisit the legality of separation but to support the ongoing implementation of parenting in a way that protects the child’s development. One of the most common and necessary interventions in that work is the consideration, and often determination, of therapeutic support for children.&nbsp;In British Columbia parenting coordination, therapy is not treated as an exceptional or intrusive measure. It is frequently a routine implementation decision. That reflects a practical reality: children exposed to separation, and particularly to high conflict dynamics, are undergoing a developmental disruption. The task is not to ask whether therapy is necessary in a crisis sense, but whether it is beneficial in helping the child adapt in a developmentally sound way.&nbsp;Children learn how to relate to others primarily through observation. They learn how to express frustration, how to disagree, how to repair, and how to feel safe in relationships by watching their parents. Where parental communication is strained, inconsistent, or adversarial, the child is left without a reliable template. In high conflict cases, this can mean that the child begins to organize their internal world around avoidance, alignment, or emotional suppression. Some children withdraw. Some become highly adaptive and attuned to adult emotions. Others externalize distress through behaviour. What unifies these responses is that the child is learning something about relationships that may not serve them in the long term.&nbsp;Therapy operates as a corrective structure. It provides a consistent environment in which the child is not managing adult conflict but is instead allowed to process their experience at their own developmental level. It reinforces a different set of relational expectations. Within therapy, the child experiences being heard without consequence, expressing emotion without escalation, and engaging in communication without having to take sides. This is particularly important in parenting coordination files where the parents’ ability to model those dynamics is limited or inconsistent.&nbsp;Children may come to therapy for reasons that are not immediately visible to the parents. Some are navigating the loss of the intact family structure. Others are adjusting to reduced contact with one parent, or to parenting arrangements that do not align with their preferences. Some experience loyalty conflicts, where expressing enjoyment with one parent feels disloyal to the other. There are children who internalize the conflict and develop anxiety, and others who express their distress through anger or resistance. In more acute cases, children may show signs of depression or self-harm ideation. Therapy provides both support and monitoring in these circumstances, and may, where appropriate, involve coordination with medical professionals for broader mental health care.&nbsp;The purpose of therapy in these situations is developmental rather than remedial. It is focused on equipping the child with the skills that allow them to function across two households and within ongoing relational tension. Children learn how to articulate their needs without escalation, how to recognize and regulate their emotional responses, how to establish appropriate boundaries, and how to tolerate differences between homes without destabilization. They also develop a sense of meaning around the separation, understanding that it is not caused by them and does not define their value or identity.&nbsp;Different therapeutic approaches meet different needs, and part of the parenting coordinator’s role is to understand, at least broadly, what is being implemented. For younger children, play therapy is often the most appropriate modality. In that setting, the child is not required to verbalize complex emotional experiences. Instead, those experiences are expressed through play, which serves as the child’s natural language. The therapist observes and supports without directing, allowing the child to process the impact of separation through symbolic expression.&nbsp;As children mature, therapy may move toward more structured approaches. Psychoeducational or skills-based therapy teaches concepts such as emotional literacy, boundaries, and communication strategies. Cognitive-behavioural frameworks may be used to help older children and adolescents understand how their thoughts, emotions, and behaviours interact, and to develop healthier patterns. In some cases, therapy extends beyond the individual child into the relational space. Parent-child therapy may be required where communication has broken down or where a child is struggling to connect with a parent. In more complex cases, particularly where there has been estrangement or significant relational disruption, reunification-oriented work may be necessary to restore a functional and emotionally safe relationship.&nbsp;It is also important to recognize that children are not simply adapting to logistical changes; they are experiencing multiple layers of loss. They may miss the daily presence of a parent, the familiarity of a single home, or the predictability of prior routines. Even where both parents remain involved, the shift to two households can create an ongoing sense of fragmentation. Therapy allows those losses to be acknowledged and processed rather than minimized.&nbsp;From a parenting coordination perspective, therapy is also a protective measure against the subtle ways in which children can become drawn into adult conflict. Children in high conflict systems may feel pressure to carry information between parents, to manage emotional reactions, or to align with one parent to maintain stability. Over time, this can lead to the child assuming responsibilities that are not developmentally appropriate. Therapy reinforces appropriate boundaries and positions the child back within the role of being a child, rather than a participant in adult dynamics.&nbsp;The determination of therapy as part of a parenting coordination process is therefore not about pathologizing the child. It is about recognizing the demands placed on the child by the family system and responding in a way that supports healthy development. It is also a pragmatic tool. Where parents cannot provide consistent emotional scaffolding due to conflict, therapy becomes a structured and reliable substitute that ensures the child still receives what they need to develop appropriately.&nbsp;Children are resilient, but resilience is not something that emerges in a vacuum. It develops through experience, guidance, and the presence of safe relational spaces. Therapy provides one of those spaces. In high conflict separations especially, it is often an essential component of ensuring that the child’s developmental trajectory is not defined by the limitations of the parental relationship, but instead supported in a way that allows them to grow into adults who can communicate, maintain boundaries, and engage in relationships without replicating the patterns they have witnessed.&nbsp;Written by Cori L. McGuire, family law mediator, arbitrator, collaborative family law lawyer and Parenting Coordinator with a family law practice in British Columbia since 1998.&nbsp;© 2026 Cori McGuire. All Rights Reserved. Proprietary Workflow.

Why Therapy Is Often in a Child’s Best Interests After Separation

Parenting coordination in British Columbia is a statutory role. Its authority has minimal flexibility as set out and explained in our <a data-mce-href="https://kelownalawyer.com/for-the-judge" href="https://kelownalawyer.com/for-the-judge">For the Judge</a> webpage. It is defined—and limited—by the Family Law Act and the Family Law Act Regulation. Those limits come into sharp focus when an order purports to authorize a Parenting Coordinator to determine or “update” spousal support or child support.&nbsp;Section 15(2)(b) of the Family Law Act provides that a Parenting Coordinator may assist only for the purpose of implementing an agreement or order respecting “parenting arrangements, contact with a child, or other prescribed matters.” Section 18(1) provides that a Parenting Coordinator may make determinations only in respect of prescribed matters, subject to the limits set out in the Regulation and the appointing order or agreement.&nbsp;The Regulation defines those prescribed matters narrowly. Section 6(3) confirms that a Parenting Coordinator may make determinations respecting:&nbsp;(a) parenting arrangements; and (b) contact with a child.&nbsp;Section 6(4) elaborates on implementation, including daily routines, education, extracurricular activities, medical care, exchanges, transportation, and related parenting issues. While section 6(4)(a)(ix) refers to “other matters agreed on by the parties and the parenting coordinator,” that provision operates within the same statutory implementation of parenting arrangements framework. It does not expand jurisdiction beyond parenting arrangements and contact.&nbsp;On a disciplined reading, the boundary is clear: Spousal support is not a parenting arrangement. Child support, including income determination and quantum, is not a parenting arrangement or a matter of contact.A Parenting Coordinator therefore does not have jurisdiction to determine or vary support. To the extent an appointing order purports to confer that authority, it must be read consistently with the statute. If it goes further, it is, in that respect, ultra vires the Parenting Coordinator scheme. &nbsp;Without jurisdiction, the determination will be set aside in court review. The Court might replace the determination with an order, adding more cost, stress and delay.Where financial issues are embedded in an order, the question becomes what a Parenting Coordinator can do, lawfully, to assist. The answer lies in a careful distinction between process implementation and substantive adjudication.&nbsp;A Parenting Coordinator may, where properly grounded in the appointing order or agreement, facilitate an agreement or issue a determination that structures a process for disclosure and support updating, provided that determination remains procedural in nature. This includes the ability to:&nbsp;<ul><li>require the exchange of annual financial disclosure;</li><li>establish timelines and document requirements; direct the parties to engage in a structured review of child support using the Federal Child Support Guidelines where income is agreed or undisputed;</li><li>facilitate the calculation of proportionate shares of section 7 expenses; and</li><li>determine, where jurisdiction is conferred, whether a specific expense qualifies under section 7 for reimbursement. </li></ul>Properly understood, this is not financial adjudication. It is the implementation of a consultation and decision‑making framework, consistent with the parties’ obligations under the Family Law Act.&nbsp;The line, however, is strict and must be observed with discipline. A Parenting Coordinator cannot:&nbsp;<ul><li>determine income;</li><li>resolve disputes about disclosure; address imputation;</li><li>fix support quantum; or</li><li>make binding determinations where entitlement or amount is contested.</li></ul>Consent does not expand that jurisdiction. However, parties can use the Parenting Coordinator to facilitate a consent order or agreement updating their spousal and child support payments.Any future focused disclosure or updating protocol must include a clear exit mechanism. Where disclosure is incomplete, contested, or gives rise to issues such as income imputation or entitlement, the matter is referred to a forum with adjudicative authority—either court or arbitration.&nbsp;This leads to the second pathway: single‑issue arbitration. Where support is in dispute, the issue is no longer one of implementation. It is one of adjudication. A Parenting Coordinator cannot lawfully decide it.&nbsp;We offer single‑issue arbitration as a focused and efficient alternative to litigation. This is an entirely separate service from Parenting Coordination. An arbitrator can determine income, set child and/or spousal support, and also establish a durable framework for future disclosure and recalculation. For many families with relatively straightforward financial circumstances, this avoids recurring annual disputes and the cost of repeated court applications.&nbsp;The boundary between these processes is not flexible. A Parenting Coordinator cannot act as an arbitrator in the same matter, and an arbitrator cannot have previously acted as a Parenting Coordinator in a way that engages the issues to be decided. These constraints are essential to preserving impartiality and avoiding conflicts of interest.&nbsp;The practical result is this: A Parenting Coordinator may structure a process. A judge or arbitrator must make the financial order if no agreement is possible. Where an order attempts to combine those roles, it creates jurisdictional friction, unnecessary cost, and vulnerability to challenge. The required approach is to separate them at the outset—using parenting coordination for implementation if needed, and single‑issue arbitration for adjudication if needed.&nbsp;Parents can use a Parenting Coordinator as far as possible and return to the Parenting Coordinator throughout the term to address implementation issues as they arise. Within the statutory framework, a Parenting Coordinator can structure processes, support disclosure, and assist the parties in implementing agreements where the inputs are clear and undisputed. At the same time, the Parenting Coordinator continues in that role while the parties clarify disputed financial issues through either a court application or single‑issue arbitration where necessary.&nbsp;Single‑issue arbitration fills the gap when and if adjudication is required. The two processes are complementary, but they must remain distinct. Where issues arise that require a binding determination—such as disputed income, imputation, or support quantum—the matter must move to a decision‑maker with jurisdiction. That cannot be the Parenting Coordinator, and it must be addressed by a separate practitioner to preserve neutrality and avoid conflicts of interest.&nbsp;Our Rolling single‑issue arbitration service provides a practical alternative to returning to court. Discrete issues can be identified and resolved as they arise, without the delay and procedural complexity of litigation. The process is immediate, focused, and proportionate. In many cases, it can proceed without counsel, making it a significantly more accessible and cost‑effective option for families.&nbsp;Used together, these processes allow families to stay out of court wherever possible, while still ensuring that issues requiring a formal decision are resolved lawfully, efficiently, and with finality. Written by Cori L. McGuire, family law mediator, arbitrator, collaborative family law lawyer and Parenting Coordinator with a family law practice in British Columbia since 1998.&nbsp;© 2026 Cori McGuire. All Rights Reserved. Proprietary Workflow.

How Much Jurisdiction Can Be Squeezed into Parenting Coordination? Protocols for Updating Support Obligations or Adding Single Issue Arbitrations

This article has been included on my website because it is personally meaningful. It reflects my own experience of love, loss, and what it means to part from another person with as much care and dignity as possible. While it is not about single‑issue arbitration or parenting coordination, it speaks to the deeper human reality that underlies that work: how we move through the most intimate relationships in our lives, and how we honour each other—and our children—when those relationships change. I wrote this for someone who is &nbsp;experiencing loss. It may be useful to others.Yesterday, my mom sent me a photo of my first love. In an instant, painful feelings flooded over me. The first time my heart was broken, it didn’t feel like sadness. It felt as though my heart had been torn out of my body while I was still alive. I remember the shock of it—the disbelief, the humiliation, the silence that followed when everything I thought I understood suddenly made no sense.What struck me afterward was not the pain itself, but how much that pain—and the heartbreaks that followed—shaped me. They refined my understanding of love. They deepened my capacity for connection. They guided me into the work I now do, where my entire career and life are built around intimate relationships—the most difficult, and the most meaningful, part of being human.That kind of heartbreak is not only grief. It is grief mixed with humiliation, disbelief, withdrawal, panic, anger, longing, and a deep disruption of your sense of self. It feels like betrayal not only because another person has changed course, but because your own inner compass now feels broken. You begin to ask: How did I not see this? What is wrong with me? How do I ever trust myself again? How do I trust anyone again?The first and most important thing I want to say is this: heartbreak is not proof that you were foolish. It is proof that you loved in good faith. There is no shame in having believed someone, hoped for a future, or opened your heart. The injury is real because the love was real. That matters.In my work, I often see what happens when relationships end without that understanding—when pain turns into conflict, and conflict shapes what comes next. But at a deeper level, it has always seemed to me that the only real freedom we have is the freedom of our own minds: the ability to choose our attitude, to hold love as a vision even when it has been lost, and to decide—quietly, privately—to move toward peace rather than remain in suffering. In the end, the meaning we give to what has happened is what carries us forward.The second thing I want to say is this: you do not get through heartbreak by pretending it does not hurt. You get through it by containing it, understanding it, and slowly rebuilding your life around the wound until one day the wound is no longer running your life.The first task is to stabilize yourself. In early heartbreak, your mind behaves like an emergency system. It circles the same questions, replays conversations, invents alternate endings, and searches for one more clue that might make what happened feel less unbearable. This is normal, but it becomes harmful if left unchecked. Do not give heartbreak unlimited access to your day. Give it a place. Give it boundaries. Give it time—but not the whole house.One of the most helpful things a person can do is to create deliberate grieving periods. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to rage, write, pray, walk, sob in the bath, or collapse onto the floor—then do it. But choose a place and a window. Twenty minutes. Ten minutes. Five minutes, if that is all you can tolerate. Set a timer. During that time, you are allowed to grieve without shame. When the timer ends, you do the next right thing. You stand up. You wash your face. You walk outside. You answer one email. You eat something warm. You return to life. Then, if needed, you grieve again later. It sounds simple, but it is one of the kindest forms of self-command. It teaches the mind that sorrow is allowed—but sorrow does not own everything.The next task is to stop feeding the injury. This is where many people suffer far longer than they need to. They stare at photos, reread messages, check social media, search for clues, watch stories, zoom in on details, compare themselves to imagined rivals, and reopen the wound again and again. This is not devotion. It is self-harm through memory. If the relationship is over, remove the person from immediate reach. Block the number if you need to. Mute or delete social media. Archive the photos. Put away gifts and reminders. This is not dramatic. It is wise. A broken leg cannot heal if you keep standing on it. A broken heart cannot heal if you keep exposing it to fresh injury.The next thing to understand is that the pain is not only about losing the person—it is about losing the story you were telling yourself. That is why heartbreak feels so disorienting. You are not only grieving a relationship. You are grieving the imagined future: the apartment, the ring, the baby, the shared mornings, the holidays, the life you thought might unfold. This is why the grief can feel so overwhelming. You are mourning an entire possible life. Be honest about that. Say it plainly: “I am not only grieving them. I am grieving the life I thought I was building.” The more precise your words, the less haunted you will feel by an unnamed ache.Many people feel ashamed of their anger. I do not believe anger is always the enemy. In the early days, anger can be protective. It can help separate you from someone who has hurt you. It can break the spell of idealization. Used properly, it says: I matter too. This hurt me. I am not here to be discarded. The danger is when anger turns into obsession or self‑poisoning. Let it help you move—not trap you.There is also something important to say about alcohol. The urge to numb yourself will be strong—you will want relief, quiet, just one evening where the pain disappears. But alcohol becomes dangerous in heartbreak not because it numbs you for a few hours, but because of what follows. Your emotional and impulse control drop, the urge to reach out becomes overwhelming, and the next day the pain often returns sharper than before, layered with regret or shame. If you can, stay away from alcohol during this period. What feels like relief in the moment can deepen the suffering afterward.Now we come to the deepest wound: the loss of trust in yourself. When you are rejected unexpectedly, it can feel as though your judgment has failed you completely. You may think, “I missed everything. I cannot trust myself.” But trusting yourself does not mean predicting every outcome. It does not mean never being surprised. It means learning to listen to yourself more honestly—your body, your pace, your discomfort, your questions. It means becoming more truthful with yourself when something feels off.Self-trust is rebuilt in small acts. Each time you honour what you need. Each time you rest instead of chasing. Each time you decline contact that would reopen the wound. Each time you tell yourself the truth instead of inventing hope. Each time you notice: I am overwhelmed. I need space. These small promises build something steady again.And what about trusting others? You do not return to blind trust. But you also do not shut yourself off completely. You learn to trust gradually. You look for pattern: consistency, accountability, emotional steadiness, the ability to repair after conflict. You allow trust to grow over time. That is not cynicism. It is maturity.A broken heart also needs ordinary care. Drink water. Eat real food, even if it feels difficult. Go outside every day. Move your body. Sleep if you can. If you cannot, rest in stillness. Grief lives in the body. If you neglect it, everything becomes harder.If you have a mind that fixates, structure matters even more. Big emotions combined with a restless mind can create cycles of rumination and collapse. External structure helps. Write the rules down. No contact. No checking. Scheduled grief time. Daily movement. Support from one trusted person. This is not weakness. It is wisdom.There is meaning in suffering, though we rarely see it at first. Suffering is not beautiful in the moment. It is exhausting and lonely. But it can shape your ability to love more wisely, to choose more carefully, and to hold joy more deeply when it comes again.If you feel that you will never feel joy again, understand this: that is heartbreak speaking, not truth. Your life is still unfolding. There will be moments again—unexpected, quiet, extraordinary—where you feel something open. And one day, you may look back on this time and see that it was not the end of your story. It was a turning point.So if you are in the middle of heartbreak, do not ask yourself to be okay. Ask yourself to stay faithful. Faithful to your survival. Faithful to the next small step. Faithful to your dignity. Grieve, but contain it. Remove what harms you. Eat. Sleep. Move. Trust time, even when you do not believe in it.You are not ruined because someone left. You are simply in pain. Pain is not the end of you. It is part of the lifelong education of the heart.And one day, if you move through this with honesty and care, you will not only trust someone else again—you will trust yourself far more deeply than before. In the end, it is love—lived through our actions, our restraint, and our courage to begin again—that gives life its meaning, held gently within the freedom we have to choose who we become after we have been hurt.Written by Cori L. McGuire, family law mediator, arbitrator, collaborative family law lawyer and Parenting Coordinator with a family law practice in British Columbia since 1998.&nbsp;© 2026 Cori McGuire. All Rights Reserved. Proprietary Workflow.

When Someone You Love Leaves: Personal Reflections on Surviving Shock, Rejection, and Loss of Trust

<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;" data-mce-style="font-family: inherit; font-size: calc(16px * var(--body-fontSize, 1)); font-style: var(--body-fontStyle, normal); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">Recent decisions involving individuals found Not Criminally Responsible (NCRMD) have generated significant public concern, particularly in cases involving extreme violence. Allan Schoenborn killed his three children in 2008 in the context of a family law separation and was later found Not Criminally Responsible due to psychosis. He has now been granted a conditional discharge. The children’s mother survived for 11 years until 2019. The law records the outcome of the case, but it does not capture the lived reality of those who lost members of that family.In a separate and widely known case, Vince Li killed a 22‑year‑old stranger, Tim McLean, in a completely unprovoked attack on a Greyhound bus, later decapitating and cannibalizing him. He too was found Not Criminally Responsible and ultimately received an absolute discharge. Tim McLean’s mother has spoken publicly about the grief she continues to carry—grief that does not diminish with legal outcomes and does not resolve with time.These reactions are not isolated. They reflect a broader truth that anyone who has lived through profound trauma and harm understands instinctively: the effects do not disappear and the legal system can exacerbate them. The effects do not become smaller with time. Some days are more manageable than others, but the loss remains, and it reshapes the lives of those left behind in ways the law does not acknowledge or care to measure.It is important to be clear: these outcomes are not aberrations. They reflect the NCRMD framework functioning as intended. Once a person is found not criminally responsible, the legal system is no longer concerned with punishment. The Review Board process is governed by a single question—whether the individual poses a current significant threat to public safety. If that threshold is not met, the law requires progression toward discharge.This creates a fundamental tension between legal reasoning and lived experience. The law is structured around current risk. Harm, as it is experienced by victims and families, is not time‑limited. It is enduring. When the system moves forward without reference to that reality, it can feel as though the past—and its impact—has been set aside.This tension is not new, and it is not abstract. My early academic work examined the NCRMD defence through a feminist lens, alongside studies in sociology, criminology, and later graduate work in Holocaust studies. Across those disciplines, a consistent pattern emerges: systems designed to impose order often struggle to fully account for the lived experience of harm.The NCRMD framework serves an important function in addressing mental illness. At the same time, it reflects a clinical model that can sit uneasily alongside the full moral weight of what has occurred. The language of treatment, risk, and reintegration does not always capture the depth of harm as it is actually lived.History offers few simple resolutions. Individuals who have endured profound injustice—Holocaust survivors, Nelson Mandela, and others—did not reconcile their experiences by concluding that systems are complete or just. Viktor Frankl articulated this directly: we cannot control what happens, but we can determine how we respond.For those working within the law, this raises difficult but necessary questions. How do we continue to engage with a framework that is legally coherent, yet experienced by many as incomplete? How do we hold both an understanding of the system and a clear view of its limitations? How do we respond without compounding trauma, while supporting people in moving beyond being defined by it?My own career has increasingly explored these questions. While litigation remains necessary in some cases, my work has focused on stepping away from adversarial frameworks wherever possible and moving toward approaches informed by neuroscience and trauma‑informed practice—aimed at resolving conflict in ways that better reflect how people actually experience harm.That shift is not without risk. It involves uncertainty, changes in income, and a willingness to move outside established models of practice. It also requires confronting uncomfortable questions about what works, what does not, and what needs to change. Those decisions are not made abstractly—they are shaped by what we see, repeatedly, in the lives of the people we work with.Reform in this area will not come from legislation alone. It requires alignment in how we understand harm, responsibility, and resolution—within our practices, our institutions, and our own decision-making. That process is gradual, imperfect, and ongoing. But it is work that increasingly feels necessary.There are no simple answers. But there is value in naming the tension clearly, and in continuing to move toward approaches that better reflect the realities we are trying to address.Written by Cori L. McGuire, a family law mediator, arbitrator, collaborative family law lawyer and Parenting Coordinator with a family law practice in British Columbia since 1998.&nbsp;© 2026 Cori McGuire. All Rights Reserved. Proprietary Workflow.

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