Let’s Set This Straight

People have had a lot to say to me and about me over the years. Maybe you have heard some of these yourself:

Too sensitive. Too aggressive. Not aggressive enough. Too intimidating. Too quiet. Too shy. Too weird. Too headstrong. Too outspoken. Not outspoken enough. Not good enough. 

Snobby. Crazy. Mean. Dramatic. Slow. Boring. Anxious. Bitter. Angry. Resentful.

But none of those hit me as hard as hearing I was a danger to my children.

In 2021, a Child Protective Services caseworker informed me that her investigation into my daughter’s sexual abuse allegations toward her father resulted in a finding that I was actually the one at fault for harming our children.

“SEVERE EMOTIONAL MALTREATMENT,” the letter read. It went on to say that in her professional opinion, I had fabricated the entire thing, coached my child into her disclosure(s), and even drew fake pictures in her journal. Though I was following the directions given to me by the children’s advocacy center, the caseworker labeled my six reports to the intake line “inappropriate.” She said that none of the professional reports (of which there were 11) were valid either, because I had duped them all with my made-up allegations and forced the children into making fake disclosures to them. I was required to spend the next 3+ months having regular visits from a CPS contracted parenting coach. When the caseworker left our meeting, she said she wished she could have done more to get them out of my care, but she would trust the family courts to take care of it from there. 

Even five years later, I struggle to find the words to describe how it felt to survive from one moment to the next during that time. Devastated is too soft. Despair gets a little closer. It was, ultimately, a mixture of emotions too deep for words. In the midst of my inability to process how believing my child’s disclosure had turned into me being labeled a sadistic, unfit mother, I too caved into believing what they had said about me. It was easier to believe that my kids were better off without me than to accept that asking CPS to protect children could be so dangerous.

I read over 100 pages of testimony in which his friends had told this caseworker how bull headed and crazy they had always observed me to be. Each one shared the same premise: “Once she gets something into her head, no amount of evidence will convince her otherwise.” One simply said, “I never did like her anyway.” Many accused me of making up things to be wrong with the kids. “He doesn’t seem autistic.” “They don’t really have food sensitivities.” “She probably has ‘munchausen by proxy.’” 

Was I crazy? Was I making it all up? Was I so crazy that I didn’t even know I was crazy? That’s pretty darn crazy.

All this noise tumbled around in my brain constantly. I would wake up night after night drenched in sweat. During the day, I was constantly anxious instead of being present, especially in parenting. I was afraid to mess up. I was afraid to say the wrong thing to them. And when I wasn’t able to parent perfectly, the Unfit Mother narrative gained even more momentum. My soul was like a tangled up pile of jewelry. Once valuable; now worthless. As he once quipped to his guy friends in the group chat, “She’s like an old truck. Nice body; Lotta headaches.” That was me: nothing but a giant migraine headache.

I had endured years of marital abuse. It broke me down and left me believing I wasn’t worth standing up for. Still, some part of me rose up in strength and was able to get out. 

None of that broke me to the level that this did. This time, it wasn’t just one husband dictating to me who I was. I had my whole community–former friends, family members, and professionals–telling me who I was. And who I was, was a crazy, sadistic, unfit mother. I was worthless. I was someone to be ashamed of. I was someone people needed to protect their children from.

Ultimately, the finding against me was dismissed when CPS realized their “evidence” was going to have to stand up to the actual laws of evidence in a real courtroom. Despite their 180, that original piece of paper continued to be brought up and used against me with the guardian ad litem, several judges, and magistrates. It gained him increased custody time. It was even used to destroy my credibility with the children’ s doctors, teachers, school counselors, and psychologists (and those are just the instances I know of). As a teacher by profession, I have lived with constant fear that people will find out and conclude that I shouldn’t be teaching children even though I have passed many background checks since then, proving that it’s no longer on my record. Still, I believed the message: I was worthless. Tarnished. Not good enough. A danger to children.

I have done a lot of healing since then. I don’t believe I am a bad mom anymore. I’m not as fixated on perfect performance. But, it’s definitely still impacting me today. Anytime I make a mistake–whether big or small–I am incredibly hard on myself. It can be difficult to pull out of the frequent shame spirals, but I’m much more aware and able to find stable ground more quickly with so much practice and therapeutic support.

I haven’t spoken about it much in previous blog posts, but I have been a believer in Jesus since I was 12 years old. However, my faith has been at the level of “Lord, help my unbelief” for what feels like the past 15-20 years. Yet, the Bible says that mustard seed-sized faith can still move mountains. So, I’m turning to my faith to rediscover who God says I am. It’s time for my “pile of jewelry” to get untangled. Set Straight. Polished. Renewed. 

If this resonates with you, I hope you’ll follow along. If you would prefer to judge me from a distance or out loud in the comments, you’re welcome here, too. Maybe we will learn something together through the friction.

Psalm 11:7 (paraphrased) God’s business is putting things right; He loves getting the lines straight, setting us straight, and helping us stand tall.