let him.....

He'll say you broke the family.

But I'll tell you the truth:

I didn’t break the family 💔 I broke the silence.

I stopped forcing smiles that hurt my soul, I

stopped biting my tongue to preserve a peace

that was never peace at all — just performance.

A fragile illusion built on fear, denial, and control.

I watched the cycle spin like clockwork:

Manipulation dressed as love.

Guilt masquerading as care.

The subtle digs. The shifting blame.

The lies no one dared to name.

I buried my voice to keep the calm.

I let it go — again and again — until I couldn’t anymore. 

Because it wasn't goint to stop with me.

I wasn't going to let it reach my child.

Her tiny heart was growing inside me. I wasn't going to allow her to carry that same weight anymore.

And that was the breaking point.

Not of the family —

But of the chains that held me quiet.

I rose. I spoke.

Not to cause harm — but to stop it.

Not to divide — but to defend.

And suddenly, I'm the problem?

No.

Let’s be clear.

I didn’t ruin the family.

I exposed what was already rotten.

I chose truth over comfort,

Healing over hiding,

Future over familiarity.

I became the interruption.

The cycle-breaker.

The brave one.

So let him talk. Let him twist the story.

You know what you’re building now:

A legacy of safety, truth, and peace.

This isn’t betrayal.

It’s liberation.

I didn’t lose my voice.

I reclaimed it —

And used it with courage, clarity, and love.

It would end with us. Ru and I. Momma's got you. 

Silence isn't always acceptance...

You can’t mistreat someone and then play the victim when they decide they've had enough. That’s not just unfair — it’s delusional. You don’t get to constantly dismiss someone’s feelings, exploit their kindness, or treat them like an afterthought, and then act shocked when they choose to walk away. People may be patient, they may endure more than they should — but everyone has a breaking point. Silence isn’t always acceptance. Sometimes it’s the calm before the goodbye.

Loyalty doesn’t mean staying through emotional neglect. Love doesn’t mean accepting disrespect just to keep the peace. You can’t lie, manipulate, gaslight, or belittle someone and then cry betrayal when they stop trusting you. You don’t get to make someone feel small and invisible, and then feel entitled to their presence, time, or energy.

You can’t treat people like they’re replaceable and then wonder why they stop showing up for you. Relationships — whether they're rooted in friendship, family, or romance — are not one-sided investments. They survive on mutual respect, consistent effort, and genuine understanding. Without those foundations, they collapse — not because someone gave up, but because someone got tired of being undervalued and hurt.

What’s truly unfair is rewriting the narrative to paint yourself as innocent while ignoring the damage you caused. What’s truly delusional is expecting endless forgiveness from someone you repeatedly wounded. People don’t just “switch up.” They change when they realize they’re pouring into someone who only takes, never gives.

So before you point fingers or label someone as disloyal, take a moment and ask yourself the hard questions: Were you honest? Were you present? Did you value them the way they valued you? Or did you take them for granted until they had no choice but to walk away for the sake of their own peace?

Because in the end, walking away isn’t betrayal — it’s survival. Sometimes, the most loyal thing a person can do for themselves is to stop accepting pain from someone they once loved deeply. And if you pushed them to that point, it’s not their fault they left. It’s yours.

I'm not perfect, but I'm present.

A narcissist doesn’t break your heart in the way people imagine. It’s not always loud or obvious. They don’t shatter you with one devastating blow—instead, they chip away at you piece by piece. They dismantle your confidence, erode your spirit, and distort your sense of reality. They don’t just inflict pain—they convince you that you deserved it.

Narcissists are master manipulators. They begin with lovebombing—an overwhelming flood of affection, attention, and praise designed to disarm you. You feel seen, cherished, even special. But just as quickly, they pull it all away. The warmth vanishes. You're left scrambling, questioning what went wrong. Wondering what you did to cause the shift. Trying harder, giving more—unaware that this was the trap all along. They want you hooked on their approval, desperate for their validation. They want you to chase the very person who is quietly destroying you.

They gaslight you until you doubt your own mind. They rewrite the past, twist your words, and make you question your emotions. Every confrontation ends with you apologizing for your pain, while they calmly play the victim. You bleed—and somehow, you're the one saying sorry. And the cruelest part? They do it all with a smile, with a calculated calmness that makes you look unstable.

Because the truth is, a narcissist doesn’t want love. They want control. They don’t nurture, they deplete. They don’t build with you—they tear you down to feel taller. It doesn’t matter how much you give; they never came to receive. They came to take, to consume, to devour every soft part of you.

So if you’ve managed to walk away from someone like that, don’t regret the time you lost. Don’t carry shame for how long you stayed. Carry pride—for the courage it took to leave. For choosing healing over chaos. For remembering who you were before someone tried to rewrite your story to fit their narrative.

That isn’t weakness.

That’s survival.

That’s power.

There is power in choosing peace...

Some people aren’t interested in understanding you — they’re invested in provoking you. They’ve already written their version of the story, and in it, you’re the villain, the unstable one, the source of all the chaos. They don’t want clarity, they want confirmation — proof that their narrative is true. And to get it, they’ll push, prod, and provoke, hoping you’ll break character and give them exactly what they’ve been waiting for.

Understand this: it’s not about who you are. It’s about who they need you to be to justify their own behavior, deflect their own guilt, or maintain their illusion of control. If they can bait you into reacting — if you raise your voice, lose your temper, or step out of alignment with your truth — they feel vindicated. Not because they were ever right, but because your reaction now becomes their evidence.

This is often more than a one-time manipulation — it’s a pattern. These people study your wounds, memorize your soft spots, and wait for the right moment to strike. Not to heal, not to understand, but to control. To dominate. To keep the spotlight off themselves. They aren’t after peace — they’re after power.

But here’s what they fear most: your refusal to perform. Your refusal to engage in the chaos they orchestrate. You are not obligated to play the role they’ve cast you in. You don’t owe anyone a reaction just because they demand one. Your silence is not weakness — it’s strategy. Your calm is not apathy — it’s mastery.

There is power in choosing peace. There is strength in restraint. There is wisdom in knowing when to speak and when to stay silent. When you stand firm in your truth without bending to provocation, their illusions start to unravel — not because you fought back, but because you didn’t need to.

You don’t need to explain yourself to people who are committed to misunderstanding you. Let them speculate. Let them twist the truth. Let them expose their own intentions through their desperate attempts to trigger you. Meanwhile, you stay anchored in grace, in dignity, in self-respect.

That’s your power. Quiet. Steady. Unshakable. And it’s something they can’t touch — no matter how hard they try.

after he was sentenced.....

 Soon after he was sentenced to three years of community corrections, everything in my world shifted. I found myself a single mother, raising his two children on my own. One was just starting high school as a freshman, and the other had only recently turned one. Life was challenging, but ironically, we were managing better than we had in years — mostly because he was no longer in the picture day-to-day. Being in jail in Greeley, Colorado, he finally needed me in a way he hadn’t before. And for once, I was the one in control.

Then, in August of 2023, my grandmother passed away. I packed up both kids and made the trip back home to Nebraska, a place that still felt like home even through all the changes. Midway through that emotional week, I noticed I was late. I casually mentioned it to my sister. We laughed nervously and drove to Dollar General, where we grabbed a three-pack of pregnancy tests.

I took the first one as soon as we got back. Within seconds, it turned positive. I stared at it in disbelief — not fear, not joy, just complete shock. I immediately took the other two tests. Positive. Positive. No ambiguity. No question. I was pregnant.

My sister was the first person I told. That night, I accepted another collect call and told Ruby’s father. I don’t remember being scared — not at first. I was nervous, yes, but also quietly excited. I had already committed myself to this family. I had taken in both of his children and was doing everything I could to give them stability. And now, here I was, carrying another child. A symbol of hope, of new beginnings, of the family we had been dreaming of. I promised him I’d wait for him, and at the time, I believed that with all my heart. I still held onto the idea that we would be a family — whole, healed, and together.

After telling my older kids and sharing the news with our families, the baby was welcomed with open arms. This unexpected little life quickly became the greatest surprise and blessing I never knew I needed. While he was incarcerated, we talked often. More than ever before. Our conversations were filled with plans and promises. We spoke of the future — not just dreams, but decisions. We decided that when he was released from community corrections, we’d move the family back to Nebraska. We imagined raising our two little girls in a small town, surrounded by love, support, and stability — everything we never had growing up.

For a while, I truly believed in that future. I was building something real, something lasting. I thought we were both investing in that same dream. But what I didn’t know then — what I couldn’t have known — is that we wouldn’t make it to that point. The ending I had envisioned was never ours to reach.