Walking through fire.
Beginning the court chapter.
It’s time. We’re going to court.
Not everything will be shared—because some parts are sacred, some parts are strategic, and some parts are still tender.
But I’m taking you with me.
Through the appropriate moments—the ones we can learn from together. Because there’s power in transparency. And because no one should have to navigate this alone.
I’m doing this my way. No script. No shame. Just discernment, fire, and truth.
Unconventional? Maybe.
Necessary? Absolutely.
I never imagined myself in family court—at least, not like this.
I thought the hard part was behind me. Leaving. Surviving. Starting over with nothing but my boys and a backbone made of grief and instinct. But what no one tells you is how long the battle stretches out after the relationship ends. How many systems you have to face. How often you find yourself in rooms full of paperwork and policy, trying to advocate for your children while carrying the trauma the system overlooks.
Right now, I’m preparing to represent myself in a custody and child support case—against someone who financially and emotionally abused me over the course of several years. Someone who avoided accountability while I held the weight of our children’s needs, both born and lost, alone. Rent. Groceries. Stability. All of it. On me. While he lived freely—manipulating, spending, evading.
There were months I barely made it. I’ve filed for bankruptcy. I’ve juggled single motherhood and entrepreneurship. I’ve cried into my sons’ soft arms, whispered manifestations while checking my bank balance, and stood tall in front of abusers who barely looked me in the eye.
But I’m still here. And I’m choosing to walk into this next chapter—court—with clarity and community. Not because I want to, but because I have to.
Because my sons deserves consistency.
Because I deserve peace.
Because survivors shouldn’t have to suffer in silence just because the legal system is complicated, cold, or indifferent.
Here’s what I know:
The system isn’t made for women like me—self-employed, previously financially dependent, healing from abuse, and navigating it all alone. But that doesn’t mean I’m powerless. It means I have to get creative. It means I have to get loud in the right ways. It means I need to lean on discernment, not just emotion.
So, no—I’m not going to share everything.
But I am going to share what can help others:
How to prepare.
How to cope.
How to document.
How to push forward when it feels impossible.
How to honour your truth while staying strategic.
I’ll show you how I’m doing it. Not perfectly, but with integrity. With purpose.
If you’re in the thick of it too—custody, court, child support, surviving the aftermath of abuse—you are not alone.
We were never meant to walk through fire by ourselves.
And there’s so much power in community.
So, let’s begin.