Because silence is what they count on

I couldn’t stay silent anymore. I’ve exhausted every avenue to seek justice in my case, yet I still wake each day gripped by fear—fear of the men who controlled my life for 36 years. This blog isn’t just a space for personal reflection—it’s a declaration. A refusal to be erased. It is the beginning of a louder, unrelenting fight for change.

Because abuse is too often normalized, mental health is weaponized, and we live in a patriarchal system designed to discredit women the moment we speak out. When I was five—when I should have started kindergarten—a CPS case was opened. My father had refused to register our “homeschool,” keeping me hidden from the state. When they finally came, I was coached to lie. I was told to smile, say I was happy, and show off a room that had just been staged as mine. I was warned that if I told the truth—about my mother sleeping beside me, about what was really happening in that house—they would take me away. So I lied. The state left. And the abuse continued.

It didn’t end when I left—it followed me into marriage, into motherhood, and into courtrooms where I’m now forced to share parenting with the man who abused me in every imaginable way for 13 years. I was told that if I pressed charges the next time he threatened me, the courts would finally listen. I did. And in return, my visitation was suspended. This system doesn’t just fail survivors—it empowers abusers and punishes the abused. It protects the one who caused the trauma and demands that I constantly prove mine.

I started this project because family court is failing women like me every single day.

I started this blog to expose narcissistic abuse—the kind that doesn’t always leave bruises, but constantly erodes your sanity. But let me be clear: many narcissists do more than manipulate. They also physically, sexually, financially, and emotionally abuse their partners, and I lived through it all. My father did it. My ex-husband still does it—this time through the court system. And the system believes them. Because they’re calm, articulate, and practiced. Because they know how to establish credibility. And because I have scars: trauma, diagnoses, emotional responses. The paper trail of my pain is now weaponized against me. He has lied on court documents—fabrications accepted as fact—and now uses those documents to reinforce his story. No one listened in the beginning, and no one listens now, because his fantasy has been filed into the record.

So let me say it clearly:

I have PTSD because of a lifetime of abuse at the hands of violent, narcissistic men.

I started therapy a year before I ended my marriage, and two years before I cut ties with my parents. I am stable. I work. I have a family, friends, a home, and a supportive community. And still, my past is used as a weapon. My trauma, my healing, my honesty are twisted and turned against me by the very people who caused it.

I started this blog for every survivor who has ever been called crazy, emotional, unfit—for every mother who lost custody not because she failed, but because she *fought*.

Because the statistics don’t lie:

It takes an average of seven attempts to leave an abuser for good.

Pregnancy and the post-separation period are the most dangerous times for a woman.

Women die every day in situations like mine—and afterward, people whisper, *“Why didn’t she just leave?”*

We leave. And then we lose everything.

We leave, and we risk our children being handed over to the very people who hurt us—abusers who now hold full legal power, while we’re forced to watch from the margins, unable to protect them. We stay, and we face escalating violence, psychological torture, and the very real risk of death. Whether we leave or stay, we’re judged by courts, by strangers, by people who have never had to flee with no money, no support, and no safe place to go. People who’ve never stood in a doorway with a packed bag, knowing the man inside just threatened to kill themselves, your child, and you. And still, they ask why we didn’t leave sooner.

I started this blog as a platform for change—real, structural change.

That means:

* Domestic violence training for Guardians ad Litem

* Trauma-informed psychological evaluations in custody cases

* Mediators trained in narcissistic abuse

* Judges who hold men accountable when they lie on legal documents

* Systems that understand post-separation abuse is not parenting—it’s *continued control*

And I started this blog so survivors could find it and feel seen.

To know they are not alone.

To know their trauma is real.

To know there are more of us than anyone wants to admit.

We are not crazy.

We are not too broken.

We are what survival looks like.

To every survivor reading this: I see you. I believe you. This space is for you. And together, we will not be silent.