Anna Whitehouse Our first nativity play as an ex-couple was… okay, actually

The set-pieces of the festive season can be a harsh reminder of the realities of separation, but we’re making it work and the girls are thriving

Istood at the school nativity play today beaming at my youngest. She was the Bethlehem star and her gap-toothed smile and twinkling eyes hit all the parental pride notes. But this year was different to last. I’m standing next to my ex-husband Matt, manically taking photos and recording her one whispered line; but we aren’t the unit we were in 2022.

It’s these significant moments that have hit hard post-divorce. Surrounded by other couples cuddling and hand-holding, it feels disjointed standing next to the man I married knowing we are going back to separate homes once Mary has delivered Jesus. There’s a flicker of heartache remembering the previous nine nativities when we were together; the nuclear family doing festive things. The grief of Christmas past, perhaps.

There’s also the over-excitement of our kids in these moments of unity that stings. Like it means so much to them seeing us stand side-by-side. It makes me wonder what we’ve taken away. Only the night before my eldest said to Matt that she missed me. I caught her eye in the audience and she came over for a cuddle as they filed out. A fleeting moment of holding my firstborn, knowing I couldn’t tuck her up that night.

But we showed up together, a co-parenting unit, and I am resolutely proud of us. Our pact to each other when we separated was to repeat the words “decency, respect and kindness” before WhatsApping, meeting or administrating and it has stood us in good stead. I was in charge of videography, while Matt took to excitable waving at every opportunity. We may be separated, but we remain a solid team.

And that is reflected in our former in-laws. Both sides of our family have held us in this juncture and I will forever be grateful for that. There was no mud-slinging or berating, just a collective sadness about a future that doesn’t quite look like it did on the Wedding Day tin. I’ve made sure to share videos and photos of the girls with Matt’s Mum and sister. Equally, he’s been in touch with my mum and dad to share relevant term dates for their diaries. There’s often two words used around divorce – amicable or acrimonious – and I’d say we are healthily in between. It’s a feeling of polite neutrality, with only fleeting disagreements about fridge-stocking and washing machine-managing.

It’s been a bit of a Rubik’s cube working out how to spend our first Christmas. But we’ve settled on the kids staying with my family the week before, the four of us on Christmas Day and the remaining week with Matt’s family. While waking up on Christmas morning in separate beds in our family home – we are “magpie parenting”, where the kids remain in one place, while the adults “fly” around the nest – will seem strange, it means a lot to be able to spend the day together. Without huffiness or passive aggression laced through proceedings.

There’s a genuine peace and calm this year that feels remarkably differ

It feels like we have upended a Lego box and we’re trying to piece something familiar back together

ent to the previous one. Last Christmas Day was just four months before deciding to divorce, and tensions were running high. This year, by contrast, we’ve planned early. There’s an equal division of festive labour. Matt’s on food, I’m on presents; and we are making it work. Remove the underlying resentment and keep full focus on the girls, and I truly believe joy can come unto all.

There are worries about next Christmas. Will this be the last time we spend the day together? Will there be new partners to blend? Other kids in the mix? It feels like a Lego box has been upended and we are slightly scrabbling about trying to piece something familiar back together.

But when my anxious mind runs away, I come back to the lightness. The ease of exchanges, the lack of underlying frustration that I’ve gone too far with the kid’s presents or Matt’s had to take on the weight of school forms and nativity costumes. With one week on and one off, there’s a natural divide of tasks. If it’s my week it’s on me, if it’s his week it’s on him and there’s no room for arguing about who didn’t do what.

I do wonder how it will feel saying goodbye to them all on Boxing Day. The eerie quiet of the family home that only the day before was filled with excited squeals and belted-out Christmas carols. That week is usually set aside, reserved for familial vegging-out and cold cuts. But I’m swinging by my parents for that period and it will be nice to have child-free time with them to say thank you for all the childcare slack they’ve picked up as Matt and I have reconstructed our lives.

I was asked today how I feel since Matt and I divorced. And I really faltered. It’s chaos on many levels. Anyone looking in might feel levels of passive anxiety. Half of my things are in the family home, the other half in a flat up the road. I sometimes wake up and wonder where I am and – in sadder moments – where my children are. But I hold onto the fact that they are seemingly thriving.

A recently-divorced friend said to me this week that sometimes you need to think about how you feel “overall”. To try and unpick the detail of busy family lives that have been split in two feels too much at times. I do know that our girls are thriving. They’re asking questions openly about anything that bothers them, and we are both able to give them love and support.

What I truly feel “overall” is that they are seeing happier versions of their parents emerge from the separation rubble. And while it’s not a Christmas Day I ever imagined as I walked down the aisle, perhaps for now it truly is a gift.

gUnknown territory: Anna and her ex-husband are negotiating their first Christmas as a former couple