Let Me Burn for a Minute
Don’t you dare tell me to calm down.
Don’t tell me to breathe, or pray harder, or wait my turn.
Because I’m DONE.
I am so tired of being the one holding it all together while everyone else gets to fall apart or walk away.
You think I’m strong?
No. I’m angry. I’m shredded. I’m on fire.
I’m holding this freaking house of cards up with blood in my mouth and a scream in my chest because no one else will.
My son is crumbling.
My daughter is healing wounds no child should ever have.
And the people who were supposed to protect them?
The state? The system? Their own father?
They helped in the childrens abuse.
They looked away.
They turned their backs.
They closed their files.
And now?
The same man who ignored seizures.
Who let his daughter bleed alone on a bathroom floor. Who made her sleep isolated in a wood room on a concrete floor for wetting herself after a seizure.
Who let our kids be violated and also violated them too —
DARES to ask for custody like he didn’t hand them over to evil with an evil smile and no soul?
And the judge?
Calls childhood trauma “hearsay.”
Strips away our abuse like it never existed
Who completely ignores our truths.
And stands ready to return them to very chains that they were dying in .
I’ve begged. I’ve worked. I’ve screamed. I’ve sacrificed.
I’ve overdrafted my account to fund their dreams and give them a normal childhood.
I’ve rearranged my whole life at least twice just this year to save theirs.
And what do I get?
“Well get back to you.”
“We can put you on the waitlist. “
“Sorry, they’re just out of reach.”
“Sorry, your case isn’t a top priority.”
“Sorry, we don’t have services we can offer your children.”
F**K. THAT.
I don’t want your fake support.
I don’t want your empty promises.
I dont want to see actions- or lack thereof, NOT matching up with what’s been said.
If you got viable suggestions and genuine support – great! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
If you’re not here to HELP, and can only provide the same run-around as others, get OUT of my way.
Because I’m not calm.
I’m not graceful.
I’m not your quiet, well-behaved mother of trauma survivors.
I’m an inferno.
I’m rage.
I’m grief sharpened into a freaking weapon.
I’m a mother who has DONE EVERYTHING to keep her children and still gets told it’s not enough.
So here I am.
Unfiltered. Unpretty. Unapologetic.
And I will burn this whole narrative down if it means my kids survive.
If it means they get SEEN.
HEARD.
BELIEVED.
LOVED.
HELPED.
HEALED.
You think I’m too much?
Then you’ve never had to fight demons wrapped tightly in bloodlines and family names.
You’ve never tried to save a child from the people who should’ve protected them.
I don’t need calm.
I don’t need platitudes.
I don’t need your pity.
I need change.
I need justice.
I need this world to do better.
Until then —
Let. Me. F*ing. Burn.
If my words spoke to your heart, you can help support our journey:
Letters From the Edge 