As a family dispute resolution practitioner and mediator, I often find myself working in the delicate space between high emotions and legal complexities. One particular case stands out to me as a powerful example of how a compassionate and facilitative approach can lead to transformative outcomes, even in high-conflict situations.
The parents I worked with—let’s call them Emma and James—had been separated for two years. Despite initial intentions to prioritise their children’s well-being, their communication had become entrenched in conflict. Each interaction seemed to fuel the flames of resentment, and the children, caught in the crossfire, were beginning to show the emotional toll of their parents’ disputes.
One recurring issue stood out during mediation: a pattern of one parent saying "no" to requests from their children, particularly when it seemed the other parent supported the idea. Whether it was attending a school camp or participating in a sports team, the child’s requests were often denied, not because of the merit of the activity but because of the perceived alignment with the other parent's wishes.
This dynamic left their oldest child, an insightful and gentle 11-year-old, feeling unheard and stuck in a cycle of disappointment. Over time, it became clear that these rejections were less about the child’s needs and more about the unresolved emotional tension between Emma and James.
In mediation, I aim not to assign blame but to create a space where both parties feel seen, heard, and understood. I opened the session by acknowledging the shared goal of wanting the best for their children. “You’re both here because you care deeply for your kids,” I said. “That’s already something you have in common.”
Then, rather than framing the issue as something either parent was "doing wrong," I introduced some psychoeducational insights in a neutral, non-judgmental way.
“Did you know,” I began gently, “that children often internalise their parents’ conflict? When they see their needs dismissed or feel stuck between two opposing sides, it can lead to feelings of guilt, anxiety, and even low self-worth. They don’t know how to process the conflict, so they may begin to believe they are the cause of it.”
I watched as Emma’s expression softened, and James looked down, visibly reflecting on what I’d said.
Rather than stopping there, I continued to bridge the gap with empathy. “I can see that you both love your kids and want what’s best for them. Sometimes, in high-conflict situations, it’s easy to lose sight of how those patterns can unintentionally affect them.”
To break through their impasse, I invited Emma and James to reframe how they viewed each other—not as adversaries but as co-parents with shared responsibilities. I facilitated an exercise where each parent had the opportunity to voice their concerns without interruption, while the other practised active listening.
James, for instance, expressed how he felt dismissed and disrespected in decisions about their children’s upbringing. Emma, on the other hand, shared that she felt constantly judged by James, which led her to dig her heels in defensively.
As they shared, I mirrored back their words to ensure they felt validated. “So, James, it sounds like you’re saying you want to feel more involved and valued in these decisions. And Emma, you’re expressing a desire to feel less criticised and more supported. Is that right?”
Both parents nodded, and in that moment, the energy in the room shifted. By simply feeling heard—perhaps for the first time in a long while—they began to soften toward one another.
The next step was to refocus the discussion on the children’s needs. I guided them to think collaboratively, asking, “If your child could tell you what they need most right now, what do you think they would say?”
This simple question led to a breakthrough. They began to see their decisions not as battles to be won but as opportunities to support their children’s growth and happiness.
Through a series of small agreements, Emma and James developed a framework for co-parenting that emphasised open communication and mutual respect. For example, they agreed to consult one another before making major decisions but also to approach their children’s requests with an open mind rather than reflexive opposition.
Over the following months, I heard updates that their oldest child had joined the school camp they’d previously been denied and was thriving in a newfound sense of agency. Emma and James continued to work on their co-parenting relationship, and while they still faced challenges, they had tools and strategies to navigate them with greater understanding.
This case reinforced for me the power of an emotionally supportive approach to mediation. When parents feel heard and respected in a safe, non-judgmental environment, they are more likely to set aside their personal grievances and prioritise their children’s needs.
Lawyers who refer their clients to mediation often do so because they recognise that courtrooms aren’t equipped to address the emotional intricacies of family disputes. My role, as a mediator, is to create a space where even the most high-conflict dynamics can transform into meaningful collaboration.
Emma and James’s story is just one example of how a compassionate, facilitative approach can lead to positive outcomes—not only for parents but, most importantly, for the children whose voices too often go unheard.
To my colleagues in the legal profession: when you entrust me with your clients, you’re not just facilitating a resolution. You’re giving families the opportunity to rebuild, heal, and move forward with greater harmony. And isn’t that the outcome we all hope for?
