When Parents Weaponise Their Kids: The Hidden Damage of Conflict and Even Divorce

AI Generated Image via DALL-E

There are few positions more painful, confusing, or emotionally exhausting than being a child stuck between two parents at war. For some, it’s a low, ever-present tension that never truly fades. For others, it’s loud and overt - a constant tug-of-war between the two people who are meant to be their emotional foundation. And in either case, the message is the same: pick a side, or else.

When parents fall into conflict, children often become the silent casualties. Not just in custody battles or legal disputes, but in the emotional, unspoken (and often spoken) wars that unfold in kitchens, car rides, or whispered phone calls. And unlike adults, children don’t have the power to walk away or take space. They are bound by loyalty, survival, and love to both people. And that’s what makes it so devastating. Because what happens when your loyalty to one parent feels like betrayal to the other? What happens when you’re weaponised, a go-between, or an emotional buffer?

This experience may not leave bruises or scars you can see, but the imprint it leaves on the nervous system, the emotional body, and the developing sense of self can be just as deep.

Many children in these situations are not just passively witnessing conflict. They are actively involved in it - pulled in, pressured, and often used in ways that are deeply inappropriate for their age. One of the most damaging roles a child can be given is that of the weapon. When one parent uses the child to hurt, punish, or manipulate the other, that child is no longer just a child. They become a pawn in a game they never asked to play. Perhaps they are encouraged to speak badly about the other parent, or they overhear things no child should hear. Perhaps they’re praised for siding with one parent, and shamed or punished when they show love for the other. Over time, this distorts their understanding of love and connection. Love becomes conditional. Safety becomes performance. And authenticity becomes a risk.

Sometimes, the child is asked to become the spy. A seemingly innocent, "So what did Mum say about me?" or "Did your dad mention anything about the new girlfriend?" puts the child in an impossible position. They may be coached to listen, to report, to betray their own emotional experiences for the sake of peace. It teaches them to be hypervigilant, to filter their words, to suppress their own feelings in favour of managing others'. It teaches them that honesty can get people hurt, and that their role in relationships is to serve and soothe, not to express or be.

Other times, it’s more subtle - emotional collusion. A child might be praised for "being mature" when they agree with a parent’s grievances or sit in on adult conversations. They might feel emotionally rewarded for taking sides, even if it means lying or suppressing their own experiences. This isn’t maturity - this is enmeshment. And it places an emotional weight on their shoulders that they were never designed to carry.

What makes all of this so damaging is that it erodes the child’s internal compass. It teaches them that their feelings are secondary, that their needs must be sacrificed to keep others happy, and that love always comes with strings attached. Trust, which should be cultivated and protected in childhood, instead becomes a risky gamble. The people they are supposed to feel safest with have made their safety conditional. They learn to question their instincts. They learn that speaking up might cost them a relationship. And this doesn’t just go away with time. As those children grow into adults, the lessons learned in the crossfire don’t just vanish. They carry them forward into their relationships, their parenting, their self-worth. Many adults who were once trapped between warring parents struggle with deep trust issues. Conflict doesn’t feel like something to be worked through - it feels like something that could explode your entire world. They may either avoid conflict entirely, shutting down and withdrawing when things get hard, or they might go the other way - becoming combative, defensive, and hyper-reactive because it’s the only way they’ve learned to be heard.

AI Generated Image via DALL-E

Some people become expert people-pleasers. They learn to scan every room for tension, to sense what everyone else needs before they can even access their own. They are the peacemakers, the fixers, the ones who can calm any storm - but who struggle to feel known, safe, or truly connected. Others develop an anxious attachment to relationships - clinging to people who show them warmth, fearing abandonment with every disagreement, and bending over backward to keep the peace, no matter the cost. And then there are those who shut it all down. Who build walls so high no one can climb them. Who become fiercely independent, not because they don’t crave connection, but because connection has always felt dangerous. Vulnerability was never met with protection, only pressure. So, they hide their feelings, keep others at a distance, and convince themselves that needing nothing is safer than needing someone.

These dynamics are especially tricky because they often come with a deep sense of guilt. Many adult children of high-conflict divorce or emotionally immature parents carry a belief that they were somehow responsible for what happened. That maybe if they had been easier, quieter, more obedient, more lovable, the fighting would have stopped. And that same belief can echo in their adult lives - in the belief that if their relationships are hard, it must be their fault.

But truthfully, it was never your fault. You were a child. You were doing your best to navigate a situation no child should have to face. And those early roles you were given - the spy, the peacekeeper, the therapist, the scapegoat - they were survival strategies. They kept you connected in a situation where disconnection felt life-threatening. But survival isn’t the same as living. And those same strategies that once kept you safe may now be keeping you stuck.

So, what do children in these situations truly need? First and foremost, they need to be children. They need emotional safety. They need to know that they are not responsible for adult emotions or decisions. They need the freedom to love both parents without guilt, shame, or pressure. They need space to explore who they are outside of the roles they’ve been assigned. They need consistency, not perfection. Presence, not performance. And what about the adult survivors of this dynamic? Healing begins with acknowledgment. With naming the experience for what it was. With saying, out loud, that it was not okay - even if no one else agrees. That being used as a pawn, a mediator, a buffer was not loving. It was a violation of your emotional boundaries. And it is okay to grieve that. It continues with compassion, by learning to separate who you are from who you had to be. Giving yourself permission to lay down the roles that no longer serve you. Beginning to trust your own feelings, even when they differ from others'. Learning to say no, not because you’re cruel or distant, but because you matter too.

Healing also involves boundaries - with others, yes, but also with yourself. With the inner critic that still tells you to be quiet, be good, don’t make waves. With the fear that love will be taken away if you speak your truth. With the old belief that your worth is tied to how well you manage other people’s emotions.

And maybe, most of all, it means reconnecting with the part of you that never got to be a child. The part that felt unsafe, unseen, unheard. The part that learned to smile through heartbreak and carry the weight of adults on their tiny shoulders. That child is still inside you. And they are waiting for someone to say: I see you. I believe you. You never should have had to hold all of that. You don’t have to hold it now. You can set it down. You can build something new. You can find safety, not through silence or self-sacrifice, but through truth and tenderness. You are not the bridge between broken people. You are not the fixer. You are not the spy. You are not responsible for anyone else’s pain.

You are allowed to be whole, to be loved, to be free. You are allowed to be you.