A survival guide for discerning women seeking clarity, protection, and healing in the wake of divorce

In my psychotherapy practice in New York City, I work closely with many high-achieving, emotionally attuned women navigating the complex terrain of divorce—often while parenting, managing demanding careers, and disentangling from high-conflict or narcissistic partners. These are not just women in crisis—they are women awakening. They come seeking more than legal advice; they come for nervous system repair, clarity, boundaries, reality testing, role and identity changes and the space to grieve and rebuild. My role is to support them not just as a therapist, but as a steady, confidential ally who understands the emotional, psychological, and practical toll that divorce takes—especially when children are involved and the relational dynamic has been chronically manipulative or unsafe. Whether we’re addressing trauma responses, co-parenting with a difficult ex, or reclaiming lost parts of the self, this work is deep, nuanced, and sacred.

Divorce is never just about two people. When children are involved—especially in New York City, where pressure, pace, and perfectionism run high—the stakes multiply. Add a difficult or high-conflict partner into the mix, and what should be a legal and emotional separation can feel more like psychological warfare. If you’re navigating this terrain, know this: you are not alone, and there are ways to move through it with strength, strategy, and your sanity intact. Whether you’re disentangling from a partner who gaslights, manipulates, refuses to co-parent, or subtly undermines your every effort to protect your children’s peace—you are in the right place. This guide is for the women I work with every day: smart, resilient, and emotionally attuned mothers in New York who want to shield their children while reclaiming their own voice.

Lessons from my own life experience with divorce

This work is deeply personal to me—not just because of my extensive training in trauma recovery, somatic psychotherapy, and high-conflict family dynamics, but because I’ve lived it. I’ve navigated my own difficult divorce, complete with the emotional exhaustion, identity loss, and the quiet ache of holding everything together for my children while unraveling inside. I know what it’s like to feel both fiercely capable and completely undone.

Do you remember your younger self—free and unencumbered? Play was your native language—spontaneous, curious, full of wonder—before self-consciousness taught you to script every move. There was a time—maybe faint, maybe fragmented—when you moved through the world with ease. Before the edits. Before the mask. You laughed without measuring the volume. You asked for what you needed without apology. You created, expressed, explored—unfiltered and unafraid. That version of you wasn’t performing; they were simply being. But as the world pressed in with expectations, judgments, and subtle rules about how to belong, you learned to adapt. To polish. To perform. The authentic self didn’t vanish—it just went underground, waiting for the day you’d be ready to return.

On the outside, your life tells a compelling story—successful career, relentless ambition, a carefully composed image. To colleagues, friends, and even family, you appear composed, accomplished, and in control. But behind the polished exterior, there’s a quieter reality: burnout, emotional exhaustion, and a subtle, persistent sense of disconnection.

This is the hidden experience of many high-functioning professionals, executives, and creatives I work with in my boutique New York City psychotherapy practice. You may find yourself constantly managing appearances, performing roles, and meeting expectations with precision—yet wondering why none of it feels fulfilling. In your private moments, when the meetings end and the world quiets down, the distance from your own inner life becomes harder to ignore.

You’ve adapted so well to the demands of your environment that you’ve become fluent in the language of performance—always saying the right thing, presenting the right image, becoming who others need you to be. Over time, that adaptability can come at a cost: a loss of clarity, authenticity, and connection to your true self.

This isn’t failure. It’s survival. It’s the cost of succeeding in high-pressure, high-visibility environments. But the consequence is that many find themselves navigating life on autopilot—deeply capable, yet emotionally undernourished.