When Thursday Became the Hardest Day

I used to love Thursdays. It was fish and chips night, football practice with my son Jake, and bedtime stories about dragons. Now, Thursdays are the day I sit in my empty flat, staring at photos on my phone, wondering if I'm doing any of this right.

When Sarah and I separated six months ago, we both said we'd put the kids first. We'd be mature about it. We'd make it work. But somewhere between her moving out and me trying to figure out how to cook something other than beans on toast, everything got messy.

The Calendar War

It started with Christmas. I thought Jake and Emma would spend Christmas morning with me this year, like we'd always done. Sarah thought they should be with her because "that's where they feel settled." Neither of us was wrong, really. But neither of us was right either.

Then there was Jake's football tournament. I'd been coaching his team for two years, but it fell on "Sarah's weekend." Emma's birthday party clashed with my mum's 70th. Every single event became a negotiation, and I was rubbish at it.

I'd text Sarah: "Can I have them Tuesday instead of Wednesday?"

She'd reply: "That doesn't work. They have activities."

I'd fire back: "What activities? You never tell me anything."

And round we'd go. My mates at work started avoiding me at lunch because all I did was moan about my child arrangements. I knew I was becoming that person, but I didn't know how to stop.

The Breaking Point

The worst moment came on Jake's eighth birthday. I'd planned this whole day, booked Go Ape, invited his friends, bought a cake shaped like a football pitch. The works. Three days before, Sarah texted: "Jake's not coming. He wants a quiet birthday at home."

I lost it. Properly lost it. Sent her a string of messages I'm not proud of. She blocked my number. For three days, I couldn't even check if my kids were alright.

That's when my brother Dan sat me down. "Mate," he said, "you need to sort this properly. You're both making the kids miserable."

He was right. I'd been so busy fighting with Sarah that I hadn't noticed Jake had gone quiet on our FaceTime calls. Emma had stopped telling me about school.

Finding a Better Way

Dan sent me a link to a guide about child arrangements. I'll be honest, I nearly didn't read it. I was tired of people telling me what to do. But I clicked it at 2am when I couldn't sleep, and I read the whole thing.

It explained that what Sarah and I were doing, this constant back-and-forth, had a name: high-conflict parenting. And it was the worst thing for kids. Worse than the divorce itself.

The guide talked about mediation. I'd heard the word before but assumed it was just for posh people or court cases. Turns out, it's just a meeting where someone helps you talk without shouting. Someone neutral who doesn't take sides.

I was sceptical. Sarah and I couldn't agree on what colour the sky was. How were we supposed to agree on where our kids would live?

The MIAM

I booked something called a MIAM - a Mediation Information and Assessment Meeting. Sounds formal, but it was just me and a mediator called Helen, having a coffee and talking about what wasn't working.

She didn't judge me. She didn't tell me I was wrong. She just listened and explained how mediation worked. Then she contacted Sarah and invited her to her own MIAM.

I won't lie, I was nervous when Sarah agreed to try joint mediation. We hadn't been in the same room since she'd moved out.

Building a Plan That Actually Works

The first session was awkward. We sat on opposite ends of the sofa like teenagers at a school disco. But Helen didn't let us argue. Every time one of us started going on about the past, she'd gently steer us back: "What do Jake and Emma need?"

We set up our own parenting plan. It's basically a template that covers everything, from weekday routines to Christmas. Seeing it all written down made me realise how much stuff we actually needed to agree on. No wonder we'd been arguing.

We didn't sort everything in one session. It took three sessions over five weeks. But slowly, we built a plan that worked for everyone.

Jake has football on Wednesdays, so he stays with me Tuesday and Wednesday nights. I drop him at school Thursday morning. Emma comes Friday after school until Sunday teatime. We alternate half-terms and split Christmas into morning and evening.

It's not perfect. I still miss them every day they're not here. But it's fair, and most importantly, the kids know where they'll be. No more asking, "Am I at Daddy's or Mummy's tonight?"

What I Wish I'd Known Sooner

If I could go back and tell myself something six months ago, it would be this: child arrangements don't have to be a war. You don't have to agree on everything with your ex. You just have to agree on a plan that puts your kids first.

I wish I'd known that mediation wasn't about admitting I was wrong. It was about finding a way forward that Jake and Emma could live with.

I wish I'd known that every text I sent Sarah in anger, every argument about whose weekend it was, affected my kids more than it affected her.

And I wish I'd known there was a simple guide that would have saved me months of stress and sleepless nights.

Thursdays Now

Last Thursday, Jake came home from football and showed me a drawing he'd done at school. It was our family - me, Sarah, him, and Emma. We were all in different houses, but we were all smiling.

"Is this okay, Dad?" he asked. "That we're not all together?"

"Yeah, mate," I told him. "It's okay. Different, but okay."

And for the first time in six months, I meant it. Thursday's still not my favourite day. But it's not the hardest anymore either.

If you're where I was six months ago, fighting over every detail and feeling like you're failing as a parent, please don't wait as long as I did. Get help. Make a plan. Your kids will thank you for it.