In March of 2022, my life changed forever.
A car accident left me with a moderate traumatic brain injury and suddenly, I was a single mother trying to keep three children alive and stable while relearning how to function in my own body. I didn’t have the luxury of rest or recovery. I had school drop-offs, meals to make, bills to juggle, and little humans who still needed their mom; whether I was ready or not.
I pushed forward because that’s what mothers do.
A year later, I lost my best friend of 21 years.
That loss hollowed me out in a way I didn’t know was possible. He had been my constant, my witness, my anchor through life’s chaos. After he died, the world felt quieter, heavier, and unbearably lonely. I didn’t just grieve him, I grieved the version of myself that existed before that loss.
At the same time, my marriage was quietly collapsing.
After more than 13 years together, the man I believed was my safe place told me he was seeing someone else; someone I knew from my past and knew to be deeply unhealthy. When I needed him most, he was already gone. The ground beneath me cracked open.
So when I unexpectedly ran into and met my now, ex boyfriend a month later, it felt like fate.
It felt orchestrated. Perfect. Like maybe..finally, life was giving something back. I believed my children and I were about to experience what “family” was supposed to feel like. I was ecstatic. Hope rushed in where grief had lived for too long.
I was wrong.
What I thought was healing was the beginning of my living nightmare.
The man I trusted was not who he claimed to be. He was manipulative, controlling, and cruel in ways that are hard to put into words. My history of childhood trauma and my brain injury left me with severe complex PTSD and he knew it. He used it.
I remember sitting beside him after episodes of abuse, completely dissociated, unable to move or speak. He would calmly tell me, “I know you’re upset and probably don’t understand this yet, but you will. It’s all part of the process. Just trust me.”
And with nowhere else to go, I did.
For two and a half years, my world grew smaller, darker, colder. Until one day, I realized the truth: staying was destroying my children.
So I left.
I walked away believing the community around me would help us land on our feet. Instead, I found myself homeless with three kids and nothing to fall back on. Trauma had stripped me of my sense of direction, identity, and safety.
Months later, exhausted and desperate, I made the mistake of believing him again.
He convinced me everything had been a misunderstanding while quietly facing a warrant for family violence and seeking to persuade me into helping him make it disappear. For three months, my children and I lived back in his home while I worked my seventh job and saved money, planning a final, peaceful exit.
Then he was arrested.
I was told the system would protect us long enough to relocate. It didn’t.
After his release, he escalated. Friends were moved into the house to monitor me. Utilities were shut off; first water, then electricity. He snuck people into the home while I worked nights. One weekend, he brought a group of friends over. I stayed quiet, overwhelmed, trying to survive until we could leave.
That night, he became violent.
A week later, I came home from work to find a Notice to Vacate taped to my bedroom door.
Police were called daily by him and his family until eventually, despite overwhelming evidence contradicting his claims, officers forced my children and me out of the home and onto the streets on a school night.
I sent my children to stay with family temporarily, believing it would be brief.
It hasn’t been.
Over the last two months, harassment has escalated beyond anything I imagined. Police have shown up expecting to arrest me based on false narratives I didn’t yet understand. Now, I do.
I am facing false charges of child abuse with intent to injure…accusations so devastating I struggle to write them. My children are too young to understand why their mother hasn’t come for them yet. They only know they’re waiting.
To make matters worse, my ex pursued an illegal eviction after I was already gone, creating a paper trail to support his story. Now, instead of fighting for justice for what was done to us, I must fight for my own freedom and integrity which fits his scheme and is going exactly as he planned.
I am 5’3”, 125 pounds.
He is 6’2”, 250 pounds.
I will let the math speak for itself.
I have always found a way forward on my own. But this time, the cost is too high. The price is my children’s stability, safety, and quality of life.
I am a mother who loves her children fiercely. I am navigating layers of trauma, legal battles, and displacement- all while trying to hold onto hope. I am asking, humbly and honestly, for compassion, support, and financial assistance to secure legal defense and rebuild a safe home for my children and me.
If you’ve taken the time to read this, thank you.
Your kindness..whether through support, sharing, or simply believing me, means more than I can express.
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