The translation of the text is: «The divorce of Jessica Alba and Cash Warren: how they cope with parenting»
5 june 2026 в 19:13
Jessica Alba and Cash Warren attended their daughter Honor’s graduation, but not next to each other.
Photos from the event flooded the internet. Jessica on one side, Cash on the other. Between them—a polite but painful distance. The captions for the pictures are traditionally filled with bitterness and awkwardness. It is hinted that the two adults, who confirmed their separation in January 2025, should have been able to handle a joint photo session for parents by June.
I look at these photos and see something entirely different. I see two nervous systems trying to survive on a day that biology did not intend for survival. If you have ever been in the same room with someone who was once close to you, you know what I’m talking about.
Humans are designed as an interdependent species. From cradle to grave, your nervous system scans the space, asking two quiet questions: «Are you here for me?» and «Am I good enough for you?»
When a marriage ends, these questions do not disappear. The connection is severed, but the biological memory of it remains. You may have divorced on paper, but your body did not receive the notification.
Graduation forces you to be near someone who was once your support. The same hall, the same child, the same shared history sitting between you on a folding chair. But the safety is gone. Therefore, your nervous system perceives the situation as an existential threat. You suddenly find yourself vulnerable next to someone who knows exactly where you are weak.
This is where shame comes in. My favorite definition of shame is the simplest one I know. Shame is the feeling of separation from belonging. It is the sudden interruption of any good feeling, replaced by a hot, oppressive certainty that you do not fit in this room.
To survive in such a situation, we resort to what is called the Shame Compass. We attack others, attack ourselves, withdraw, or retreat inward. When you see two ex-partners standing twenty feet apart and refusing to make eye contact, you are witnessing withdrawal in its most refined form. It is not anger. It is the protective part that intervenes to cover the wound that is still bleeding.
I see this every Tuesday in my office in San Francisco. Founders, executives, creatives—all sitting at opposite ends of my couch like two strangers waiting for a bus, with bags on the other side of the street.
They do not look broken. They look tough. They expertly describe «mangoes». They give me a neat, logical analysis of how unreasonable their ex-partner was at the school event. Where they stood, who they talked to, how cold their body language was. They can describe the color and texture of that mango for an hour. But describing a mango is entirely different from the vulnerable act of tasting it.
In fact, I see in these high-achieving individuals someone hiding in an emotional basement. They spent the entire graduation gasping from private anxiety, quietly convinced that they are failures as parents, as partners, as individuals. They put on a brave face, take pictures, stand twenty feet apart. The energy required to display this indifference is simply colossal.
If any of this feels familiar, you can recognize your attachment dynamics in just three minutes. It is the same map I use with clients on the first day.
The pattern I observe in my office looks like an echo chamber. One partner sends numerous logistical messages about schedules to demonstrate their competence. The other responds with a single thumbs-up emoji to remain guarded. The more one reaches out, the deeper the other hides. They no longer argue. They throw invisible boomerangs of judgment and defense, maintaining a safe distance, both stuck in separate bubbles of suffering, both convinced that the other is the villain.
Culture wants Jessica and Cash to demonstrate conscious co-parenting
Photos from the event flooded the internet. Jessica on one side, Cash on the other. Between them—a polite but painful distance. The captions for the pictures are traditionally filled with bitterness and awkwardness. It is hinted that the two adults, who confirmed their separation in January 2025, should have been able to handle a joint photo session for parents by June.
I look at these photos and see something entirely different. I see two nervous systems trying to survive on a day that biology did not intend for survival. If you have ever been in the same room with someone who was once close to you, you know what I’m talking about.
Humans are designed as an interdependent species. From cradle to grave, your nervous system scans the space, asking two quiet questions: «Are you here for me?» and «Am I good enough for you?»
When a marriage ends, these questions do not disappear. The connection is severed, but the biological memory of it remains. You may have divorced on paper, but your body did not receive the notification.
Graduation forces you to be near someone who was once your support. The same hall, the same child, the same shared history sitting between you on a folding chair. But the safety is gone. Therefore, your nervous system perceives the situation as an existential threat. You suddenly find yourself vulnerable next to someone who knows exactly where you are weak.
This is where shame comes in. My favorite definition of shame is the simplest one I know. Shame is the feeling of separation from belonging. It is the sudden interruption of any good feeling, replaced by a hot, oppressive certainty that you do not fit in this room.
To survive in such a situation, we resort to what is called the Shame Compass. We attack others, attack ourselves, withdraw, or retreat inward. When you see two ex-partners standing twenty feet apart and refusing to make eye contact, you are witnessing withdrawal in its most refined form. It is not anger. It is the protective part that intervenes to cover the wound that is still bleeding.
I see this every Tuesday in my office in San Francisco. Founders, executives, creatives—all sitting at opposite ends of my couch like two strangers waiting for a bus, with bags on the other side of the street.
They do not look broken. They look tough. They expertly describe «mangoes». They give me a neat, logical analysis of how unreasonable their ex-partner was at the school event. Where they stood, who they talked to, how cold their body language was. They can describe the color and texture of that mango for an hour. But describing a mango is entirely different from the vulnerable act of tasting it.
In fact, I see in these high-achieving individuals someone hiding in an emotional basement. They spent the entire graduation gasping from private anxiety, quietly convinced that they are failures as parents, as partners, as individuals. They put on a brave face, take pictures, stand twenty feet apart. The energy required to display this indifference is simply colossal.
If any of this feels familiar, you can recognize your attachment dynamics in just three minutes. It is the same map I use with clients on the first day.
The pattern I observe in my office looks like an echo chamber. One partner sends numerous logistical messages about schedules to demonstrate their competence. The other responds with a single thumbs-up emoji to remain guarded. The more one reaches out, the deeper the other hides. They no longer argue. They throw invisible boomerangs of judgment and defense, maintaining a safe distance, both stuck in separate bubbles of suffering, both convinced that the other is the villain.
Culture wants Jessica and Cash to demonstrate conscious co-parenting
© Artemenko Olga
