Winning the Breakup Is Chess, Not Checkers: A Different Kind of Divorce Strategy in Nova Scotia
People love to talk about "strategy" when it comes to separating. And every time I hear it, I want to ask… what does that even mean to you?
Because usually what they mean is: planning someone's downfall with coordinated steps and sleight of hand. Out-maneuvering. Out-lawyering. Out-pettying. Getting the upper hand on the person who used to know your coffee order.
And listen, I get it. When you're separating, especially after a long relationship, especially when there are kids, especially when you feel like the rug got pulled out, the urge to win is loud. It feels like justice. It feels like proof that you weren't crazy, that you weren't the problem, that you deserve more than what's being offered.
But please believe me when I say this:
You will not sleep better five years from now because you got the Vitamix. That is playing checkers.
What "winning the breakup" actually looks like
Here's what I've come to believe, both from sitting with people in the middle of their hardest seasons and from my own life:
Winning the breakup means feeling proud of how you conducted yourself during one of the hardest seasons of your life.
That's it. That's the whole thing.
Not the assets. Not the optics. Not who told the better version of the story at the dinner party. Not whether your ex's new partner thinks you're unhinged. Not whether you got the better lawyer or the bigger settlement or the house.
How you behaved. How you spoke about them. How you showed up for your kids. How you carried yourself when no one was watching and when everyone was.
THAT is chess.
Why this matters more than you think (the shame conversation no one wants to have)
Shame is sticky. I cannot say this enough. It follows you around like a smell. It's so much harder to shake, face, and heal than people expect, and most people walking through separation are already carrying more shame than they're admitting.
If you're reading this, chances are you've already said things you regret. Maybe you've done underhanded things. Sent the screenshot. Made the comment in front of the kids. Posted the cryptic Instagram caption. Talked to the mutual friend you knew would talk. Did the thing with the bank account. Said the sentence you can't unsay. Cancelled the cell plan without warning.
I'm not here to make you feel worse. I'm here to say: those moments don't speak to your better nature or your higher self, and you already know that. You can feel it.
This is your sign to wake up. Slow down.
You can still take the high road from here. Not because you're a saint. Not because they deserve it. Because your future self is going to thank you. Your future therapy bill is going to thank you. Your kids, eventually, when they're old enough to make sense of any of this, are going to thank you.
Chess vs. checkers: a working definition for separating in Nova Scotia
Checkers is petty, in-the-moment moves designed to "win" the next exchange. It feels good for about six minutes. It costs you, in some form, for years.
Chess is behaving in a way that you and your kids will be proud of years from now. It's playing the long game when every nerve in your body wants to play the short one.
Some examples of what this looks like in practice, especially for separating and co-parenting in Nova Scotia where the family law and family resource court system can keep you tangled up with your ex for years:
Not weaponizing the kids, even when you have every receipt to do it
Not responding to the inflammatory text within ten minutes
Not bringing your lawyer into a fight that should have been a two-sentence email
Not commenting on their parenting in front of the children
Not telling the story of your marriage as a one-sided indictment, even to your most trusted people
Not letting your nervous system run the negotiation
Not making decisions about money, custody, or housing from the most activated version of yourself
None of this means rolling over. None of it means being a doormat. None of it means pretending things were fine when they weren't. You can be clear, firm, and even strategic in the actual sense of the word — while also not setting fire to your own integrity on the way out.
Reactivity is the real opponent
Most of the regret people carry after a separation isn't about the big decisions. It's about the reactive moments. The texts sent at 11pm. The conversations had in the kitchen with the kids in the next room. The escalations that didn't have to escalate.
Reactivity is one of the things I work on most with clients — whether they're navigating high-conflict divorce, trying to figure out whether to stay or go, learning to co-parent with someone who triggers them, or rebuilding themselves on the other side of a relationship rupture.
Because here's the truth: you cannot control what your ex does. You cannot control the lawyers, the timing, the gossip, the new partner, the way the story gets told. You can only control how you show up in your own life during this season.
That's a hard pill. It's also the only pill that actually works.
If this resonates
I'm a therapist, mediator, and divorce coach based in Nova Scotia, working with people across Nova Scotia and Ontario in therapy, and across Canada in coaching and mediation. My work centers on humane separation, the idea that divorce can happen with maturity, clarity, and a lot less destruction than the culture tells us to expect.
I offer free 20-minute consultations on Friday afternoons. If reading this made something land, if you're somewhere in the chess vs. checkers question right now, you can book through my website.
Your future self is paying attention to what you do this week.
Make it chess.
