When the Switch Flips

You know, the funny thing about writing Reflection articles is that everything you put on paper—or in this case, on a computer screen—is really nothing more than a mirror of something you’ve lived through. Sometimes, it can be a funny moment that just feels like it’s too good not to share. Other times, it might be something really serious—something way too painful to ignore. And then there are those slow, agonizing reoccurrences that keep cropping up. The kind you don’t even realize is happening until they’ve already changed your life completely.

For me, most of the Reflections I write are actually tied to real-life events from my past that, may (or may not) reflect what many of you have gone through as well. That’s what parental alienation does—it leaves pieces of the same story scattered across the lives of those affected. The details might change, but the damage often has shared similarities. And the part I want to talk about today is something I haven’t really talked much about before. It’s about the way my alienator used to change her moods—fast, dramatic, and without any warning.

Before the international abduction… before the courts… and before the alienation… there was this pattern I couldn’t quite understand. I was married to someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—control her emotional outbursts. Anger was always simmering just below the surface, and trust me, it didn’t take much to trigger it into a full-blown all-day (or all-month) love affair. Sometimes I felt like I was walking through a minefield. Other times, it was like being held hostage in a house that was wired with explosives, and afraid of which step would set them off.

One minute, she could be sweet, affectionate, and even charming. We’d be laughing about something random or planning a weekend or a night out. And then, like a light switch, it would all turn. The laughter would vanish. Her eyes would change, and her voice would cause anyone to cringe. It felt like I was in an alternate reality. One moment I was her husband and the next, I was public enemy number one.

And when I say it was sudden, I really mean it. There was no warning. No slow unraveling. Nor any time to prepare. I could walk into the kitchen and say something as innocent as “What should we cook for dinner?” and suddenly she would go on the attack. I could come home from work in a good mood, only to be met with a glare with daggers, or a full-blown explosion over something I didn’t even know had happened.

At first, I thought it might be the stress of being in a new marital relationship. Or maybe something unresolved from her past. I just wanted to believe there was some understandable reason behind it all. For the most part, I gave the benefit of the doubt more times than you can shake a stick at. But over time, a pattern emerged, and it became harder and harder to ignore. These mood swings weren’t just random moments. Often they showed up when things were too calm in the house. When I thought we were actually getting along. Or when I seemed happy.

It’s as if she couldn’t stand that peace. Like stillness was something to be treated like a threat or something. Or maybe, she felt like it meant she wasn’t in control. So she’d create chaos when there was no need. A sudden accusation out of nowhere. A twisting of my words into something I never meant. And just like that, I’d find myself apologizing, defending, or retreating—anything that would put things back to normal.

But here’s the thing: over time, this routine became my new normal. And I adapted to it. I even learned to tiptoe around my alienator. I became fluent in tone-checking and emotional damage control on myself. I would scan her energy the moment I walked through the front door. And the sad part is, I started believing that maybe I was the problem. That somehow if I were different, or more supportive, the explosions wouldn’t happen.

Nowadays, with the passage of time and the renewed perspective that comes from surviving alienation, I now see it for what it really was. This wasn’t just volatility, instead, it was pure manipulation—mixed with a healthy dose of control. It was a system that was designed to keep me unsure of myself and always on edge. And it laid the perfect groundwork for what was about to come next: erasing me from my children’s lives. Keep in mind, that someone who can switch faces that easily can also play the victim. They can also perform for the family courts. They can fool their families, friends, and even their own children.

That mood switch—it wasn’t just emotional. It was a dangerous weapon. And it worked.

After telling you about my take on things as they unfolded in my life, I want to ask each of you something I’ve always wondered: does any of this sound familiar to you? Or was I the only one who lived with someone like this?

David Shubert