The Integrated Masculine

Parallel parenting. A concept I came across when I was researching how to co-parent with a narcissist. Unfamiliar with the term, I delved into it, and found so many resemblances between it and my own situation—I soon realised that I am living in a parallel parenting dynamic myself. So what better topic to share with the world?

What is parallel parenting?

When my relationship ended and we began the complicated process of raising our child across two homes, I assumed we’d be co-parenting. That’s the term everyone uses. It’s the ideal—two separated parents working together harmoniously, communicating openly, making joint decisions, and showing up as a united front for the sake of the child. But over time, I came to a hard truth: creating a human being with someone who is unlike yourself in so many ways is not going to bode well for your ability to raise a child together.

It was during research for a previous blog post—on co-parenting with a narcissist—that I stumbled across the term parallel parenting. And as I read more, a quiet light bulb went off. This wasn’t just a label for people in high-conflict breakups or toxic relationships. It was a real, practical framework for parenting when collaboration just isn’t possible.

“Creating a human being with someone who is unlike yourself in so many ways is not going to bode well for your ability to raise a child together.”

Parallel parenting aims to reduce conflict by limiting communication and interaction between the parents, focusing on the child without involving the other parent.

Looking back, I realised this was exactly what I had been doing—parenting in parallel. Separate schedules, minimal communication, clear boundaries, and a kind of emotional detachment that, while difficult at first, turned out to be necessary for my own peace and for the stability of my child. It wasn’t co-parenting in the traditional sense, but it was still parenting. It was still showing up, doing the work, and staying committed to being a present, reliable parent.

“It wasn’t co-parenting in the traditional sense, but it was still parenting.”

When the small things become the big things

In our son’s day-to-day schooling, our current parenting order lays out that major decisions—such as what school he goes to or medical permissions—are to be joint decisions. And for the most part, this works. But what it doesn’t cover are the everyday choices. In a functional co-parenting situation, these should be pretty straightforward.

“Everything seems to become more difficult than it should be.”

But in parallel parenting, even lunchboxes can turn into a symbol of disconnect.

I pack his lunch with the same essentials most days: a sandwich, a couple pieces of fruit that he helps pick from the shops, a healthy snack like fava beans or a yoghurt-covered muesli bar, and a small sweet option—a fruit cup. I care about what goes into his body. I care because I care about mine, too. If I model a balanced approach to nutrition, I know he’ll come to appreciate that over time. No, we’re not militant about it, but I try to keep things steady, healthy, and realistic.

Often, the days I pick him up from school after he’s come from the other house, I find the remnants of a very different lunch—chocolate custards, chips, tiny teddies, over-processed fruit wraps. And the actual fruit? Untouched. He’s had a sugar hit early in the day, and often, that reflects in the feedback I get from his teacher.

Now, I know lunch can’t be blamed for everything, but it highlights a deeper truth: in parallel parenting, the home environments don’t align, and neither do the values. I’ve raised the concern before, gently. I’ve asked if we could be on the same page nutritionally. I’ve been met with defensiveness, denial, or deflection—claims that she didn’t pack those things, or that he must be swapping food at school. Never ownership. Never a collaborative conversation. And that’s where the shift from co-parenting to parallel parenting becomes clear.

Uniforms and the invisible cost of misalignment

Uniforms are another example—small to an outsider, but exhausting when you’re in it.

In his early years, I noticed a pattern. I’d send him in well-fitting clothes, and he’d return in clothes that were too small. It became a cycle: I’d slowly lose his wardrobe to her house, then get blamed for sending him back in ill-fitting outfits. After repeating this loop too many times, I stopped trying to fix it. I went to a local thrift shop and bought a few “handover outfits.” Clothes that fit him—but not the ones he wore at home. Just enough to not create waves.

When school began, the pattern continued. I’d send him in proper uniforms, and he’d come home in shirts two sizes too small, looking uncomfortable and unkempt. I’d feel a secondhand embarrassment. I wouldn’t show up to work like that—why should he show up to school like that?

Eventually, I asked if we could order more uniforms together—I needed three sets to ensure I had the correct amount for the nights I have him during the week. She agreed. I transferred the money. She placed the order. When the uniforms arrived, she packed them into his school bag. But when I opened it, only two sets were there. I asked about the third. She said she needed one for her house.

That’s parallel parenting: when even a basic, shared purchase turns into a silent tug-of-war. You breathe through it. You take time off work. You solve it yourself—not because it’s fair, but because it’s necessary.

“Outside of your home, you have no say over how your kids are being raised.”

Two homes, two worlds

At the core of parallel parenting is this: your child lives between two homes that might look similar on the surface—but under the hood, the routines, expectations, and values are entirely different.

Bedtimes, screen time, meals, discipline—they might be discussed, even agreed upon. But over time you learn that agreements don’t always hold. And here’s the hardest truth to swallow: outside of your home, you have no say. You learn to accept that. You find peace in the fact that what you can control is the space you create in your own home.

At my son’s other home, his mother has re-partnered. Her partner has older kids, which I actually think can be a beautiful dynamic. It gives him a taste of siblinghood. But with it comes new challenges—mainly, screen time. iPads, Fortnite, YouTube. The time they spend on screens is clearly rubbing off on him.

In our home, we’ve always followed a “no screen time during the week” rule. On weekends, we might sit together for a movie, but otherwise, we’re outside. I was raised exploring national parks and quiet beaches. I want that for him, too.

But when he starts talking obsessively about guns or shooting, I know where it’s coming from. And when I try to raise it, I hear the same old lines. So I walk away. I refocus. And we get back to our rhythm—bike rides, rocky outcrops, after-school beach hangs. If it’s cold, we put on jackets. That’s parenting in my world.

I know the day will come when he’s older, when screens and consoles and digital life will take up more space. But while I still have influence in these formative years, I want to create moments he’ll remember—memories we can look back on with pride and warmth.

When “possession” replaces “partnership“

Even when it comes to mediation and negotiating parenting time, the difference in dynamics becomes clear.

During a recent legal review, my solicitor pointed out something I hadn’t fully seen. She noted that my co-parent’s language around our son wasn’t the language of collaboration—it was the language of possession. Her proposals weren’t centered around what was best for him, but what worked best for her. It was as if she were describing an object to be owned, not a child needing room to grow into himself.

That’s the subtle yet powerful difference between cooperative parenting and parallel parenting. One seeks partnership. The other manages separation. And in that gap, the work—the real, daily work of fatherhood—continues.

“Keep doing the work. Keep showing up. And remember, just because you’re parenting in parallel, doesn’t mean you’re parenting alone.”

The work continues

Parallel parenting isn’t easy—but it is possible. It asks you to let go of control where you wish there was collaboration, to surrender your desire for unity in exchange for peace. It’s not about winning or being right—it’s about showing up consistently in your child’s life with integrity, presence, and love, even when the other household doesn’t mirror your values. If you’re in a similar dynamic, know this: what you do does matter. The routines, the emotional safety, the memories you build—they anchor your child in a world that might otherwise feel unpredictable. Keep doing the work. Keep showing up. And remember, just because you’re parenting in parallel, doesn’t mean you’re parenting alone.

You’re not alone if this is your reality, too.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment, send a message, or share this with someone who might need to hear it. We’re all doing our best in the spaces we’re given—and sometimes, naming the dynamic is the first step to making peace with it.

-TIM