When you're in the middle of a separation or divorce, it's not always what is happening that causes the most stress—it's what you’re afraid might happen.
The mind begins to spiral.
What if she takes the kids?
What if the judge doesn’t believe me?
What if I lose everything I’ve worked for?
This cascade of imagined disasters, which I call the Hypothetical Fight, begins to take on a life of its own. You find yourself reacting not to the facts of your situation, but to the story playing out in your head.
And here’s the catch: the more you feed it, the more real it feels.
Fear has a way of blurring reality. That fight you're bracing for—the courtroom ambush, the character assassination, the total collapse—it may never come. But by the time your nervous system reacts, it doesn’t matter. Your body is already in survival mode. You’ve already armored up.
What’s worse, these mental spirals don’t stay in your head. They shape your behavior. They change how you communicate, how you parent, how you show up in court or mediation. You might lash out, pull back, micromanage, or self-sabotage—all in defense of a scenario that hasn’t even happened. That’s the cost of the Hypothetical Fight.
One of the reasons this loop is so powerful is because of something called confirmation bias. Once you believe she’s out to ruin you—or that the court is rigged, or that no one will ever see your side—your brain starts scanning for evidence. And sure enough, it finds it. Every pause, every text, every look becomes proof of the worst. You’re not seeing clearly. You’re seeing through a filter.
And yet, there’s a way out. A way to shift your entire internal landscape with a word so simple it might surprise you: “Maybe.”
When I teach this tool to my clients, it’s not about indecision. It’s about possibility.
Maybe she’s not trying to destroy you.
Maybe she’s just scared.
Maybe you don’t know what will happen in court.
Maybe things turn out better than you’re preparing for.
That word—maybe—acts like a wedge in the door of fear. It doesn’t force you to abandon caution. It simply opens you up to the possibility that your fear might not be the truth. And in that space, something extraordinary happens: you stop reacting and start choosing how you actually want to respond.
Of course, this fear doesn’t come from nowhere. It’s trying to protect you. It’s the part of your psyche that says, “I’ve seen this before. Let’s not get hurt again.” In a strange way, it’s loyal. But it’s also outdated. What served you during chaos or childhood or in your past relationship may now be the very thing keeping you stuck. The goal isn’t to kill that part of you. The goal is to thank it—and gently set it down.
When we can acknowledge that part of ourselves with compassion, we begin to integrate instead of suppress. We stop being hijacked by our stories and start becoming the author again.
This is the shift from reaction to response. From fear to grounded power. It’s not easy. But it is possible. And I see it happen every day in the men I work with.
In group settings, this transformation accelerates. You hear your story come out of someone else’s mouth, and suddenly you’re not alone. You’re not crazy. You’re not doomed. You’re just scared—and so is everyone else. The group becomes the mirror you didn’t know you needed.
What I want you to remember is this: the worst-case scenario you’re preparing for may never happen. But reacting to it as if it already has? That can do real damage—to your peace, your relationships, and your sense of self.
You have the power to pause.
To question the narrative.
To say maybe.
And from that pause, you get to choose your next step—not from fear, but from clarity.
If this landed for you, here’s what you can do right now:
You’re not meant to fight shadows alone.
Let’s bring some light in.