Family court is political by design, not by accident. The laws, standards, and assumptions that guide custody decisions are created through policy, not neutrality. These choices determine whose voices are believed, how harm is defined, and whether children and survivors are protected or punished.

January teaches survivors something that the rest of the year rarely allows: how to move with intention instead of urgency. It gives us a quieter month to reflect on what we have learned, how far we have come, and what our bodies have been forced to carry while navigating family court with a narcissist. The lessons of January are not meant to stay in January. They are meant to set the pace for the year ahead.

We have been talking a lot this month about the inward season and what January invites us to do. After the chaos of December and the pressure of navigating family court with a narcissist, many survivors feel the pull to slow down, reflect, and turn inward. In theory that sounds peaceful. In reality, inward does not always feel safe. Stillness can feel unsettling when your life has required constant motion just to survive.

January arrives after the chaos of December…like a soft landing you cannot quite trust. Survivors who are divorcing a narcissist or navigating family court with a narcissist experience a crash after the holidays. The pace drops. The noise quiets. Your body tries to slow down, but your mind keeps sprinting. It is confusing, unsettling…and very common.

January arrives quietly, almost timidly, after the chaos of December. The holiday whirlwind settles, the court calendar slows for a brief moment, and many survivors feel the emotional crash that follows weeks of tension, conflict, and constant alertness. It can feel like the world expects you to start fresh while your body is still recovering from the storm.

I remember those seasons. My battle is behind me now, but the memories live close enough that I can still feel how heavy December once was. Nothing compares to navigating holiday expectations while dealing with a person who thrives on chaos, conflict, and control. Nothing compares to carrying fear, exhaustion, and uncertainty during a season that magnifies every loss and every longing. Survivors often believe they should be coping better or feeling stronger or finding more joy. Nothing about this belief is fair. December does not expose your shortcomings. December exposes the cruelty of a system that leaves protective parents carrying more than any human should.

Few experiences compare to spending the holidays without your children. It does not matter if this is your first year or your tenth. The absence feels like a weight on your chest. Traditions that once held warmth can feel hollow. The silence in your home becomes its own form of grief.

December brings a predictable wave of escalation from the narcissist. Once you understand the pattern, you can build a survival plan that protects your peace and keeps you steady. This month is rarely calm for survivors. The narcissist creates conflict, financial pressure rises, routines shift, and your nervous system stays on high alert.

If December feels like emotional whiplash, you are not imagining it. Survivors already carry the weight of trauma, uncertainty, and fear. The holiday season adds pressure from every direction. Court dates often land in December. Visitation conflict escalates. Financial stress increases. Memories resurface. The world expects joy while survivors fight to stay afloat. No one is meant to carry this much at once.

Every year, as the holidays roll in, the narcissist begins to unravel. It starts quietly. Decorations appear in stores. Families talk about plans. Children begin to feel excitement. Without warning, the narcissist begins the slow but predictable slide into chaos. If you have ever wondered why December feels like living inside a pressure cooker, there is a reason. The holidays threaten the narcissist at a core level. They do not have the capacity to experience connection in authentic ways. They do not feel the warmth that the rest of the world seems to swim in. They know it. Every reminder of joy, love, bonding, and family is a reminder of what they cannot access.

We cannot talk about the family court crisis without talking about the alienation industry. This industry has become deeply embedded in family court culture, and children are paying the price every single day. It thrives when children are not believed. It profits when abuse is reframed as coaching or alienation.

When I created Family Court Awareness Month, it came from one simple truth: there is no one size fits all approach to the family court crisis. Every story is unique, but the patterns are painfully familiar.

When I left my marriage, I knew I was breaking a cycle of abuse. What I did not understand yet was that I was also beginning to make new cycles. Healthy cycles. Brave cycles. Patterns of truth, safety, and boundaries that my children could stand on long after the courtroom lights went dark.

If you are standing at the beginning of this process, I want to reach you before the system begins to gaslight you the way your abuser once did. When we first leave an abusive relationship, we are in a fog. The fog slowly lifts as healing begins, but family court can pull you right back into another kind of distorted reality, the same but different.

Your strength begins when you get clear about what you can control and what you cannot. You cannot control a judge’s understanding of abuse, or their lack of care about abuse dynamics. You cannot change the fact that we are in a system that prioritizes parental rights over child safety. You cannot control the bias or carelessness of certain professionals.

One issue in particular became impossible for me to ignore: protective parents in family court losing custody simply because they tried to shield their children from abuse. Instead of being recognized as protectors, they were branded as “alienators.” The proposed “solution” was often forced reunification programs—an inhumane and deeply profitable industry built on the suffering of families. The underlying concept of “parental alienation” has been widely discredited and lacks any empirical, peer-reviewed research to support it. Speaking out about this exploitation has come at a cost threats, harassment, and attacks on my character and my family have been a constant part of this journey.

Smear campaigns are one of the most destructive tactics of post separation abuse. They don’t just target one person. They are designed to isolate, silence, and intimidate entire communities of survivors and advocates.

I know this because I live it. Fathers rights groups and those profiting from the “alienation” industry have launched coordinated attacks against me and other trusted advocates who expose collusion, corruption, and family court failures. Their goal is clear: destroy credibility, rattle confidence, and make us afraid to speak.

When a parent raises an allegation of abuse, the court places the burden of proof on their shoulders. Proving abuse in a custody setting is incredibly difficult. Most abuse allegations are dismissed for lack of proof. A child’s disclosure is rarely taken seriously; it is brushed off as hearsay.

On the other hand, when one parent accuses the other of coaching or “alienation,” the dynamic shifts entirely. That claim is not treated with the same skepticism. Instead, it takes on a life of its own. Once the idea is planted, it is almost impossible to eradicate. The accusing parent’s word is given enormous weight, even without evidence.

How can I encourage my child to speak up and advocate for themselves?

It’s a fair question. We all want our children to be strong and confident and to feel like their voices matter. There’s an uncomfortable truth here: sometimes it isn’t safe for them to do so.

The little girls you tuck into bed each night need you to remember something important. They do not need a perfect mother. They need a present mother. They need a mom who listens, who validates their feelings, and who teaches them that they are seen and safe, even when the world feels unsafe.