The Night my Husband Chose Alcohol Over Me for the Last Time

Reflections from December 23, 2022

On Friday, I worked a half-day and came home early. I wanted to tidy up and get things ready for the holiday weekend. As soon as I arrived home, Autumn immediately asked about her presents. I was confused, as I hadn't realized she knew about them, so I asked, "What presents?"

She replied, "The ones in the car."

I explained that not all the gifts were hers, but she insisted they were, saying, "Dad already told me they're all mine and that I could have them now."

I gently but firmly repeated, "No, some are for your brother, and they're for Christmas—not right now. Please don't worry about it. You can talk to Dad when he gets home."

I walked away to cool down, kept busy, and got Austin distracted. After a bit, I gave all the kids a ten-minute warning for chores. Aurora and Maddie hadn't been feeling well, having stayed home sick, so I only asked them to tidy up their shoes and personal belongings in the living and dining rooms. They did this without complaint and then headed upstairs to clean their rooms.

Andrew helped me with the dining room, upstairs bathroom, hallway, and the younger boys' room. He was a huge help, whether by distracting Austin or running errands around the house. Afterward, I assisted Andrew and Maddie in finishing up their room, which mostly just needed sweeping.

Then I went downstairs and began cleaning the living room—moving couches, desks, and sweeping thoroughly, creating quite a big pile of dirt in the process.

Throughout all this, Autumn refused to help because she was upset about her gifts. When Nick finally arrived home, it was getting late, and I explained to him that Autumn hadn't done her chores and asked if he could have her help him finish cleaning.

At this point, I headed to the VFW up the street to meet my grandparents, as I usually do. Unfortunately, due to bad weather, my grandparents didn't make it, so I didn't drink much in order to give my aunt and her friend a ride home—something my grandmother Andrea usually handles. We all ended up leaving earlier than usual because of the weather and the upcoming holiday.

When I returned home, I was frustrated to find the cleaning still unfinished, and Nick sounded like he'd been drinking, which goes against my house rules. I greeted everyone briefly, then asked if they could watch TV upstairs because I wanted to finish cleaning and needed some space.

Autumn immediately pushed back, saying, "No."

I paused, giving her a stern look, and she argued that she didn't have a TV in her room. I responded, "You can use the little boys' room or Andy and Maddie's room."

She countered again, saying, "Dad was going to watch with us."

"Then Dad can go upstairs too," I said.

Autumn became even more defiant, saying, "There are three of us and only one of you—why should we have to move?"

Trying to stay calm despite my growing frustration, I said, "Because this is my room and my house, and I really want some quiet and space right now."

Autumn then snapped back, "This isn't your room. Most of your stuff is in the basement, so why don't you go down there?"

I firmly told her, "You absolutely cannot talk to me like that."

Finally, Nick intervened to back me up, but then questioned me, asking, "What's the big deal anyway? Why can't everyone just stay down here?"

After some back-and-forth, I admitted I was frustrated by his drinking. He tried insisting he'd only had one drink, but I doubted that. Autumn then escalated the situation, accusing me of acting just like her mom and demanding her phone back, claiming she needed it to call people.

I reminded her, "You're still grounded and haven't finished cleaning your room, so you haven't earned your phone back yet. You can use the house phone."

Nick became angry, insisting she could have her phone, and demanded to know where it was. Trying to remain calm, I took the phone from the drawer and placed it in my pocket. At this point, I asked Autumn to go upstairs, explaining that this conversation was between Nick and me, about our relationship—not about her.

Nick disagreed, saying, "No, Autumn can stay. I need her as my witness."

I reminded him, "There are cameras in the living and dining rooms. It's not okay to put a 13-year-old in the middle."

He kept pushing, becoming angrier, and I realized that no matter what I did, the situation wasn't going to de-escalate. I called my mom, asking if she could watch my four-year-old, Austin. After dressing him, I removed him from the stressful environment.

After dropping Austin off and briefly talking with my mom about the situation, I decided to go out again to spend some time with friends and calm myself down.

As I sat there reflecting on everything, I never imagined that this night would mark the end of our relationship. Nick had chosen alcohol over me and our family. I understood he was under immense stress—his ex, Mary, had always been abusive toward everyone, causing chaos in our home. But his drinking gradually escalated, becoming his primary way of coping. As his dependency grew, my feelings seemed to matter less and less to him.

Looking back, I often wish I had known how to handle things differently—how to fix the growing divide. But even now, I'm not sure I could have figured it out. At the time, DCF had become involved, and my greatest fear was losing my children. The pressure was overwhelming, and the stakes felt unbearably high.

This wasn’t the future I envisioned. Yet, here I am, still trying to heal, learn, and move forward, hoping that someday I'll fully understand the lessons from this painful chapter of my life.

The College Conundrum: A System Rigged Against Many but espically Parents

The College Conundrum: A System Rigged Against Many

Higher education is often touted as the gateway to success, yet for many, it remains an elusive dream. The traditional college system, with its soaring costs and inherent barriers, functions more like an exclusive club than a beacon of opportunity. Despite the narrative that “anyone can go to college if they work hard enough,” the reality is that higher education is a privilege—one that is often out of reach for those who need it most. Especially those who are young parents it older adults with children wanting to go back. 

The Financial Burden

The escalating cost of college tuition is a well-documented crisis. In the U.S., the average cost of tuition and fees for a four-year college has increased by 179% since 1980, while wages have stagnated (CNBC, 2021).

But tuition is only the tip of the iceberg. Students also face costs for:

• Housing and food
• Textbooks, which can cost over $1,200 per year (College Board, 2023)
• Additional fees, such as technology, parking, and health insurance

These financial barriers discourage many potential students, particularly those from low-income backgrounds, from even considering higher education. When college costs more than an annual full-time salary at minimum wage, it’s not just a challenge—it’s a structural barrier.

The Childcare Challenge

For student-parents, the road to a degree is even more daunting. More than one in five college students in the U.S. are parents, and yet most colleges are not designed to accommodate them (Institute for Women’s Policy Research, 2021).

• The cost of childcare is one of the biggest reasons student-parents drop out. Full-time infant care can cost over $11,000 per year, often exceeding tuition costs at public colleges (Economic Policy Institute, 2022).
• Colleges have cut on-campus childcare programs in recent years, leaving many parents without options (The Century Foundation, 2019).

For single parents or those without strong family support, this creates an impossible choice: pursue education or care for their children.

Transportation Troubles

Where you live can determine whether college is even an option. Many students reside in “education deserts”—areas where the nearest college is unreachable without a car or requires hours of commuting.

• 35% of U.S. counties have no public four-year institution (Urban Institute, 2018).
• Public transit is often unreliable, unaffordable, or nonexistent in these areas, making attending classes nearly impossible.
• Community colleges are more accessible but face declining funding, limiting availability of classes and forcing students to enroll in schools farther away (Brookings Institution, 2020).

Students who can’t afford a car or live too far from a campus are effectively shut out of higher education before they even begin.

The Opportunity Cost: Paying to NOT Work

Attending college doesn’t just mean paying tuition—it also means not earning a full-time income while studying. Many students must choose between working full-time and attending school, which greatly reduces their likelihood of graduating.

• The average college student works 30+ hours a week, but working more than 20 hours lowers graduation rates significantly (Georgetown University Center on Education and the Workforce, 2021).
• Those who take on student debt face an even bigger challenge: they must not only pay tuition but also accumulate loans they will be repaying for decades (Federal Reserve, 2023).

For low-income students, college isn’t just expensive—it’s a financial trap. They must risk financial instability just for the chance at earning a degree, with no guarantee of success.

A System Favoring the Privileged

When you put it all together—costs, childcare, transportation, and lost income—it becomes clear that higher education is not accessible to everyone.

Instead, the system favors:
✔ Students from wealthy families who can afford tuition and living expenses
✔ Those without children or caregiving responsibilities
✔ People who live in areas with easy access to colleges
✔ Students who don’t need to work full-time to survive

For everyone else, college is not just a challenge—it’s an obstacle course designed for them to fail.

The Path Forward: A More Equitable System

If we truly want higher education to be a path to success rather than a paywall to privilege, we need systemic changes:

1️⃣ Affordable Education

• Tuition-free or reduced-cost college programs like the TSU Promise (which covers tuition for families earning under $125,000) should be expanded nationwide (Houston Chronicle, 2024).

2️⃣ Better Childcare Support

• Investment in on-campus childcare centers would allow student-parents to continue their education without sacrificing their families’ well-being (The Century Foundation, 2019).

3️⃣ More Accessible Transportation

• Free or discounted public transportation passes for students would remove a major barrier for those without cars (American Public Transportation Association, 2021).

4️⃣ Flexible Learning Options

• Hybrid and online learning options must be expanded to accommodate students who work, care for families, or live in remote areas (Brookings, 2023).

Final Thoughts

Higher education should be about learning, growth, and opportunity. But right now, it’s just another system designed to keep certain people ahead while making it nearly impossible for others to succeed. Until we shift away from a for-profit model and invest in policies that prioritize people over profit, we will continue to see education function as a luxury instead of a right.

It’s time to dismantle the barriers that keep so many from reaching their full potential. Because education should open doors—not keep them locked behind a price tag.

Sharing My Story: Building Community & Healing Generations

Sharing My Story: Building Community & Healing Generations

Originally delivered at the Children’s Hospital Behavioral Health Summit – October 28, 2022

Wela’lin for having me. I’m so honored to be here today and to share part of my story with you.

My name is Tashena. I live in rural Central Massachusetts, and I’m a mother of four biological children and two bonus kids. I’m the oldest of five siblings, a proud Mi’kmaq woman, pansexual, and neurodivergent. Growing up, I was “the Indian girl” with the unusual name—awkward, poor, and very misunderstood. The odds weren’t exactly in my favor.

Mental Health Is a Family Story

Mental health struggles run deep in my family: my parents, my siblings, and now my children and stepchildren have all been impacted. All of my children have experienced medical, behavioral, or mental health challenges. As a parent, I want to protect them from the pain I experienced growing up—but that’s not always easy.

Early Struggles & Early Interventions

When I was six months old, I was placed in foster care due to dislocated hips and the need for medical care. I later returned to my mother’s care. But communication was a huge challenge for me. I could answer factual questions, but I couldn’t describe my feelings or pain. I remember feeling overwhelmed and stuck—even as a toddler. That’s when I first had the thought: “I just don’t want to exist.”

Thankfully, Early Intervention and Head Start became lifelines. I believe these programs saved me. I just wish that, even now, we screened young children more thoroughly—especially for social and emotional delays in girls. It could save lives.

The Weight of Misunderstanding

Kindergarten was exhausting. I was smart, but I struggled with social expectations. I was held back—not for academic reasons, but for being “socially delayed.” This affected my self-esteem more than most people realized. People assume children are okay if they don’t say otherwise—but many kids don’t know how to speak up.

Luckily, in first grade, I joined the “Cool Kids Choir.” It gave me a sense of belonging, without overwhelming social pressure. It helped me develop confidence. Programs like this can save lives.

Growing Up with Trauma

My father, a veteran, struggled with PTSD. My mother and grandmother tried to hold our family together, but the weight of intergenerational trauma was heavy. My teenage years were full of mental health challenges—for my siblings, my mom, and myself. By 13, several of us were self-harming. My home life was so chaotic, I sought refuge at our local Youth Center after school. It became my sanctuary.

Hope & Setbacks

The Youth Center gave me purpose. I got my first job as a teen leader. It felt amazing to be needed and helpful. But as family stress increased and my grades slipped, I lost that job—my safe space. I spiraled. I started drinking. I became a teen mom. Still, I managed to graduate.

Parenting in the System

Today, I parent children with complex needs. My stepdaughter has had multiple crisis calls. Some days, I’m thankful I even know Mobile Crisis exists. Most families don’t. She’s spent time in the ER—without me, because I’m “just” the stepparent. I knew what she needed, but I had to stay on speakerphone while her father was with her physically. That’s not how support should work.

Eventually, we got in-home therapy and DCF support. She improved. But then all the services were removed—at once. A few months later, she began to spiral again. It took nearly a year to get another in-home therapist, and we’re still on a waitlist for outpatient services. Why is support always all or nothing?

My 13-year-old son struggles with anxiety and ADHD. It took months to get a private evaluation, and even longer to receive the results. The school refuses to test him. He is still struggling.

Connection Is Everything

When my kids struggle, I return to what I know—connection. We visit family, eat dinner together, and find community wherever we can. There aren’t many resources in rural Massachusetts. If I had one wish, it would be to build a community center in every town—with transportation.

My life experience has given me insight I use to help others. I talk to families about healing, community, and how our Mi’kmaq and Indigenous ways teach us that we are never meant to carry this burden alone.

The Power of Culture & Community

Indigenous wisdom teaches us that healing lives in the community. Colonization took away our language, songs, holidays, and traditions. We were forced to assimilate into communities that didn’t feel like home.

We’ve built walls—around ourselves, around each other, around our pain. But real healing requires breaking those walls down and rebuilding trust, relationships, and community. That’s how we survive. That’s how we thrive.

A Final Reflection

I often wonder—if my mom had someone to talk to back then, would things have been different? If there had been less stigma, more support, and more spaces for connection—could we have broken the cycle sooner?

I don’t know. But I do know that I am here. And I am stubborn. And I have found meaning in helping others. When I support other families, I think of my mom. My siblings. My younger self. I think about what we all needed.

Because healing takes a village. And healing is possible.

Teamwork makes the dream work.

Wela’lioq na teliula’lin,
—Tashena

A Letter I Never Sent—and the Fire That Still Burns

A Letter I Never Sent—and the Fire That Still Burns

Originally written: June 30, 2022

Back in June of 2022, I wrote a letter with every intention of organizing an event for Indigenous Peoples Day. I was inspired, driven—and deeply afraid. I never followed through. Not because the cause wasn’t important (it still is), but because fear of failure, fear of rejection, and the weight of doing things alone held me back. My ideas always seem to require more time and energy than I have.

But today, I’m revisiting that letter not as a failure, but as a seed that was planted. Even if the event didn’t bloom, the dream behind it still lives. And so, I want to share the original message—with updated insight and renewed commitment.

What follows is the letter I wrote on June 30th, 2022…

Good afternoon,

My name is Tashena. I am Mi'kmaq and from North Brookfield. I recently heard about the Barre Museum and stolen artifacts in April. I was unable to make the event, but it seemed like it was promising, and there was a group of people who had it under control, and I didn't hear anything much after, so I had hoped it was resolved.

With International Indigenous People's Day coming up in August, I have had a nagging feeling that I want to do something. I thought about a moment of prayer on the Weundmouth Meadows in North Brookfield, but through a message from my cousin from Canada pushing me to look into it, I found myself deeply embedded in this cause. I brought it to the attention of my group, the Rural Justice Network. Although we haven't had much time because we are planning Small Town Pride, we strongly feel like this is something we want to help keep public pressure on. So I have reached out to a few other people and I'm reaching out to you now. We have four solid weeks to make a significant presence.

International Indigenous People's Day is August 9th. We want to stand out at the Museum from 5:00 to 8:00 p.m.

Right now with all the chaos going on with the Supreme Court I know it's hard to think about what may seem like a little issue. Unfortunately, ignoring these little issues and not correcting these little injustices is what gets us to the big injustices. We might not be able to make a big difference in the Supreme Court decision right now, but we can make a difference here. Especially with the U.S. Supreme Court expanding state power over Native American tribes and fracturing Indigenous rights at a national level. It's now more than ever that we need to stand together in solidarity one small justice at a time.

Thank you for reading and for your continued support.

Wela'lin,
Tashena Marie

Closing Reflection

Reading this again reminds me that even when we don’t follow through, the intentions we carry still matter. The fire in our hearts doesn’t go out—it waits. It waits for the right moment, the right energy, and the right support to rise again.

Maybe you’ve written a letter you never sent. Maybe you’ve had a vision for justice, healing, or community and felt like you had to put it aside. That’s okay. You haven’t failed. You’ve planted something. Let it grow when the time is right.

Let’s continue showing up. For each other. For our ancestors. For the future we want to build.

Wela’lioq na teliula’lin,
—Tashena

🌀 June 21, 2022 — An Unexpected Visit

🌀 June 21, 2022 — An Unexpected Visit

Today, something unexpected happened. It's Nick Birthday Aurora and Autumns Dad. 

I ran outside becase I saw Katie had showed up out of nowhere. I called Aurora down and opened the door—Katie was standing there. She just wanted Aurora to sign a card. I thought, okay, cool, and let it be.

But then, halfway through Aurora signing it, Katie looked over at me and said, “Look at Aurora’s hands—they’re so dirty.”

I just stared back. Didn’t say a word.

Then she added, “Do you have a wipe to wash them?”

I replied, “No.”

Aurora had already started walking back inside at that point. So I said, “Thanks for having Aurora sign the card,” and I shut the door.

Then Katie called back out, “Oh wait—she has to sign another one!”

I went inside and found Aurora at the sink, already washing her hands—up-set and ashmed "why didn't i know better to was my hands" "my mom is going to be so mad" - worried her mom was going to be so mad

I sent her back out to finish, but of course, Katie was still complaining about Aurora getting the card dirty.

All I could think was: It’s not about the card.

---

Sometimes, even small interactions carry the weight of years of tension. I'm learning to honor my boundaries, trust Aurora, and keep choosing peace where I can.

Bullies

To the Town Bully: A Reflection on Kindness and Strength

There’s a quiet strength in choosing peace.

A lot of times, I think people look at me as weak—because I rarely get angry, because I try to see the good in everybody. I’ve been told I’m “too soft” or that I let people walk all over me. But here’s the truth:

It takes more strength to walk away from conflict than it does to stand and fight just to win.

I don’t avoid drama because I’m afraid of it—I avoid it because I know the cost. Most fights don’t end with resolution. They end with two people hurt, more divided than they were before. And that’s not the world I want to help create.

I don’t believe most people are evil. Even those who lash out, gossip, or try to tear others down… what I often see is pain. A desperate cry to be seen, to be loved. A person who has been taught—directly or indirectly—that they are not worthy, that they must attack first before they’re rejected.

That’s not weakness. That’s wounding.

And wounds don’t heal from judgment. They heal from community. From patience. From someone saying, “I see your pain, and I still see your humanity.”

So to the town bully—you know who you are.

I want you to know: We see the good in you, too. We recognize the ways you’ve shown up for our community, and those moments matter. You matter. And I hope that one day, you let yourself feel loved without needing to fight for it.

To the rest of us: when we encounter someone who spreads hate, remember—it doesn’t mean we have to tolerate harm, but we can respond in ways that don’t continue the cycle. We can set boundaries with compassion, and we can still show up with integrity.

Sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is refuse to match someone’s darkness, and instead offer light.

Retaliate with kindness.
Respond with love.
Disrupt with gentleness.
Heal with community.

That’s how we make waves.
That’s how we build real change.

Wela’lioq na teliula’lin,
—Tashena

You're Not Alone, Mama

Date: April 3, 2022

One of the biggest mistakes I've made over the last few years is assuming that no one else feels alone.

I used to believe the moms out there advocating for our community must have had great friends and family support surrounding them—that they didn't need any more support. I couldn't have been more wrong.

The truth is, while you can get too much of some things, the support of your community, and the validation that what you're doing matters—those are things you can never have enough of.

I'll admit, I'm not great at small talk. I struggle with knowing when to reach out or give space. When other moms invite me to playdates, I'm never quite sure when a colleague becomes a friend—or what the difference even is.

But what I do know is what it feels like to feel alone. And I know I never want another mom in our community to feel that way again. Especially not the ones fighting for our kids, for our schools, for our healing, for our community.

That’s why, by working alongside four other amazing moms, I’m dreaming of something bigger. Not only do I want to bring positivity back to the forefront of our community—I want to bring moms closer. I want us to have a safe space, one that reminds us that we are supported, no matter what.

And this invitation isn't just for those who carry the "Mom" title. It's for everyone who mothers—for anyone who's ever stayed up at night worrying over a child, or who has had to figure out how to keep a little one alive while somehow surviving yourself.

If you've been up at night with a little one, wondering how you'll manage to keep going—I'm talking to you. You're one of us.

We need to stick together. For ourselves. For our kids.

Disclaimer: Anyone who has been abusive does not count in this mom category. Our support and solidarity are rooted in care, not harm.

💛 Learning Together: Reflections on Parenting, Struggle, and the Sacred Teachings

💛 Learning Together: Reflections on Parenting, Struggle, and the Sacred Teachings

Parenting is never easy. Blended families, trauma histories, and co-parenting struggles only add to the mix—but we show up anyway. We keep learning, trying, and growing. And that, in itself, is sacred work.

Recently, I’ve been reflecting on some of the patterns I'm seeing in our home. These aren’t just “bad behaviors” or parenting challenges—they are signs of deeper emotional needs. And they remind me of the teachings I strive to pass down, even when it feels like we’re stumbling along the way.

🪶 Aurora: Holding Too Much

Aurora, our youngest daughter, is carrying more than any ten-year-old should. She’s shared with her sister Maddisen that she lies to both of her parents and has asked Madd to keep secrets—serious ones, about adult things. That’s not a child's burden to carry, and I don’t believe she’s doing it to manipulate or divide. She’s doing it because she’s scared, uncertain, and trying to keep the peace.

She’s also been sneaking food and has told us she doesn’t feel motivated to do anything. She says she’s bored and lonely at her mom’s house, so she just eats and plays on the laptop all day. Her body is changing, her energy is low, and her spark seems dimmed. It’s hard to watch, and we’re trying to support her without adding shame or pressure.

From a cultural lens, I know that these behaviors aren’t just about discipline—they’re cries for Love, Truth, and Balance. I want to show her Respect and Honesty, while also teaching her that she doesn't have to please everyone to be loved.

🍂 Autumn: Growing Pains & Small Victories

Autumn has had her share of struggles too. After losing access to her phone, she told us she felt like she had no motivation to do anything. And for a while, it really showed. But recently, she started to shake off that “poor me” feeling and has been doing more schoolwork and taking steps in the right direction.

It’s been a delicate balance. We know that technology can be a lifeline for connection, but also a distraction. We’re adjusting her phone settings so she can have it back—but with boundaries that support her growth.

She mentioned that her recent visit with her mom went okay, but that there were passive-aggressive comments like “Too bad you weren’t with me.” And while Autumn wants connection, it seems like the draw is more about clothes or gifts than emotional closeness. Still, I remind myself that Honesty and Humility often grow slowly, over time.

🌱 We're Trying—And That Matters

Some days it feels like we’re doing everything “wrong.” But then I remember: We’re not trying to raise perfect children. We’re trying to raise whole human beings—children who know what it means to be loved, seen, and safe. And that requires modeling the Seven Sacred Teachings even when things are messy and hard.

Love in the way we listen without judgment.
Respect in the way we honor each child’s feelings.
Courage in the way we keep showing up even when it’s tough.
Honesty in the way we name what’s not working.
Wisdom in the way we seek support and share tools.
Humility in the way we admit we don’t have all the answers.
Truth in the way we reflect, grow, and keep trying.

So no, we don’t always get it right. But we keep learning. And in that learning, I believe healing happens—for us, for our children, and for the generations to come.

Navigating Love, Loyalty, and Listening

💔 Navigating Love, Loyalty, and Listening

Valentine’s Day wasn’t exactly picture-perfect, but it ended up teaching me a lot about the weight our children carry and how important it is to create spaces where they feel safe to share what’s on their hearts.

It started with a phone call from the school. Dresden, one of the staff I trust, reached out to let me know that Aurora had told her teacher she wished she could go to her mom’s house after school. My heart sank—not because I don’t want Aurora to feel connected to her mother, but because I knew exactly why she said it.

I had already sent an email the night before, expressing concern that Aurora might be pressured or manipulated into choosing between homes. I’ve seen this before. And sure enough, as soon as she got off the bus, Aurora told us everything.

“I’m glad you didn’t give me a choice.”

Aurora looked at me and said, “I’m glad you made me come here. I felt like Mom was trying to make me go there.”

She shared that her mom had said something like, “If you come home after school, I’ll take you sledding and we can have so much fun. You won’t have to deal with Autumn being mean to you.”

It hit me like a wave. The way a child’s heart can be pulled in so many directions. The way love and manipulation can feel the same at that age. I told her how glad I was she was here with us—and then we shifted into celebration mode.

🎁 Valentine’s Day Moments

We opened gifts. Autumn had picked out something small for each of her siblings—a watch or a little jewelry or a bath scrubby. She gave Aurora two jewelry sets because, as she said, “Aurora already has a nice watch from when we went to Walmart on Saturday.”

My mom sent everyone a few little goodies. My grandmother mailed a care package from Canada. I made cookies and cupcakes. We laughed, ate, and cleaned up together as a family.

🧺 Laundry and Little Truths

Later, I went upstairs to help the girls with their laundry and dresses for the next day. As we folded clothes, I circled back to what Aurora had said earlier. Gently, I asked if she felt like her mom was trying to make her go to her house.

She nodded and said, “Well, she was basically bribing me—saying we can go sledding and get ice cream. She knows I’ve really wanted to go sledding all winter.” I apologized for hating the cold and not being much of a snow person—but I could feel the bigger issue surfacing.

I asked her one more thing: “Can I check in about something? Dad told me you called and said you were afraid of Autumn. Is that something you were feeling, or something someone told you to say?”

Aurora paused, then admitted, “Mom told me to call Dad and say I was afraid of Autumn. I felt like if I didn’t, she would be really mad at me.”

She went on to say, “Sometimes Mom reminds me of the worst bad guy in My Little Pony.”

🪶 Holding Space Without Judgment

I don’t share this to criticize. I share this because it matters—because kids deserve to be believed, protected, and supported without having to choose sides. What Aurora is navigating is too heavy for a 10-year-old. And she’s not alone.

So many kids are trying to please everyone, to keep peace in broken systems, to carry secrets they should never have been handed. This is where we must bring in the Seven Sacred Teachings:

• Love: Creating a safe, consistent home where Aurora can be a kid.
• Respect: Honoring her voice and not dismissing her truth.
• Courage: Asking hard questions and having honest conversations.
• Honesty: Helping her untangle what's hers to carry and what isn’t.
• Wisdom: Recognizing when manipulation is disguised as kindness.
• Humility: Knowing we can’t fix it all, but we can show up.
• Truth: Rooting our parenting in transparency, compassion, and protection.

Every family is complicated. Ours is no different. But what I hope is different is that we keep listening. We keep asking. We keep protecting these kids from the emotional weight of adult dynamics. We keep healing.

One cupcake, one truth, one snowy day at a time.

Spring Staycation & Small Lessons in Communication

🌿 Spring Staycation & Small Lessons in Communication

Nick and I canceled our April vacation—the one we had paid for last year—because we learned we won’t have Aurora with us that week. It was a hard decision, but ultimately the right one. So instead, we decided to plan something smaller, something local and flexible.

It took a while to figure out the timing, but we finally made it happen today—and I’m so glad we did. It wasn’t elaborate or expensive, but it was filled with moments that mattered.

💙 One-on-One Moments

Both girls seemed to really enjoy themselves, each in their own way.

• Aurora chose to go with Nick to the Titanic Museum, and it meant a lot to her to have that focused time with her dad.
• Later, Autumn and Nick went out for dinner together—just the two of them. Another intentional moment of connection.

We’ve been trying to make more space for this kind of 1-on-1 bonding lately. When you have a big family and blended dynamics, it’s easy to let individual needs get swallowed up. But these small moments are sacred. They’re how we build Love and Respect in ways that stick.

🌱 Practicing Communication

Of course, no day is without its challenges. Aurora continues to struggle with how to communicate when she's frustrated—especially with Austin. He sometimes takes her things (as younger siblings do), and instead of using her words, she reacts physically or with angry looks. We had two of those moments today.

Each time, we gently walked her through the steps: pause, breathe, use words, ask for help. It may seem small, but every time she practices, she grows. These are the daily moments where we’re trying to teach Courage, Honesty, and Truth.

Autumn, interestingly, does something similar. When she saw Austin playing with toilet paper in the bathroom (again, sibling life!), she didn’t come tell us directly. Instead, she just shouted something vague like, “Guys, oh my gosh, come here! Austin!” but didn’t explain. It reminded me that communication isn’t always intuitive—it’s learned. Modeled. Practiced.

🪶 We’re Still Learning

I don’t write these stories because I think we’re doing everything right. I write them because they remind me we’re trying—and that counts.

We’re learning to slow down. To listen. To speak with intention. To respond instead of react. These are hard skills, even for adults. But they are part of how we embody the Seven Sacred Teachings in our everyday lives.

• Love: Making time for 1-on-1 connection.
• Respect: Listening to each child’s unique needs.
• Courage: Practicing communication even when it's hard.
• Honesty: Naming behaviors and patterns gently.
• Wisdom: Seeing the deeper needs beneath the behaviors.
• Humility: Acknowledging we’re still learning too.
• Truth: Staying rooted in our values as we grow.

Today was a good reminder that we don’t have to wait for a big vacation to feel joy, connection, and growth. Sometimes it’s the little days—the quiet ones—that hold the biggest lessons.

Valentine's Week: Holding Space for Anger, Hurt, and Growth

Valentine's Week: Holding Space for Anger, Hurt, and Growth

Date: February 13–14, 2022

Sunday was a mix of bonding and big emotions. I dyed Maddisen and Autumn’s hair with temporary color. They both loved it, and Autumn even let us take a picture, which is rare for her. She’s always been very sensitive to being recorded or photographed, so we’ve made sure to respect that. It felt like a win when she took a selfie and gave us permission to share it.

Monday started off okay. Autumn had a 2-hour delay at school, and she was excited to walk to school early and see her friends. But the day before, we’d had a long and hard talk after a rough moment. Autumn had told her mom to shut up in a text message. She was visibly upset after a call where her mom accused her of being a bad sister to Aurora. That hurt deeply because Autumn has been working so hard lately to be kind and connected to her sister. When her mom didn’t stop texting, Autumn reacted.

She told me what happened right away, and I took her phone until Nick got home. We sat together and had a long, thoughtful conversation about how to express difficult feelings without lashing out—even when the person you’re angry with has hurt you. Autumn said she doesn’t feel like her mom deserves kindness, and that broke my heart. She said she would never speak to even the meanest friend that way, but she felt like her mom deserved to be hurt. That kind of pain doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from repeated invalidation and emotional injury.

She also asked us not to share any photos of her with her mom again. We honored that request.

After our talk, we agreed she could have her phone but no texting privileges for the rest of the day. She accepted the consequence and seemed relieved just to be heard.

Meanwhile, Katie continued sending aggressive and hostile messages, even threatening to keep Aurora from visits or call for wellness checks. It’s exhausting. These accusations that Autumn is a danger to Aurora have been discussed at length with Keryth, our in-home support. Keryth made it clear Aurora is not unsafe here, and that pulling her away would only increase the girls’ stress. But of course, with Keryth out of the office, all we can do is try to document and stay steady.

This is the part of parenting through trauma that no one talks about—the holding, the de-escalating, the balancing between protecting our kids and trying not to fall apart ourselves. These behaviors aren’t our children’s faults. They are doing the best they can in circumstances they didn’t ask for. We are too.

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Labels: Trauma-Informed Parenting, Co-Parenting Challenges, Protective Parenting, Emotional Regulation, Parent-Child Communication, Aurora, Autumn, February 2022

Valentine’s Prep, Hair Dye, and a Little More Trust

Valentine’s Prep, Hair Dye, and a Little More Trust

Posted: February 12, 2022

Last night I dyed Maddisen’s and Autumn’s hair with temporary color. It washes out in about 30 days. They absolutely loved it. Autumn usually avoids pictures and is terrified of being recorded, so we’ve been really respectful and letting her work through that at her own pace. Last night, she not only let us take a photo—she took a selfie and said we could share it.

This morning, Autumn slept in until about 10:00 AM, then joined us for breakfast and even helped Austin with a puzzle. She let us take another photo too, which was such a huge deal!

After that, she cleaned her room, did her laundry, and told us that she finished all her missing assignments for the semester. She still struggles when asked directly to do something—she says it makes her feel angry and resistant—so we’ve been shifting our approach, rephrasing how we ask things, and working on rebuilding her trust with adults.

Around 3:00 PM, she came down for lunch. I called Aurora to check in, and she was home alone but doing okay—happy, calm, and confident.

Autumn did her daily chore, and then the two of us went to Walmart around 5:30 to pick up a few small things for Valentine’s Day—for her and the little kids. After shopping, we stopped at her mom’s to help Kay Kay and Maliyah, who were sleeping over. We were home by 8:30. Autumn asked to play video games, so we gave her the okay until 10:30 PM. She went to bed without any issues.

Here are the photos she said we could share:
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Looking Back: What Set Everything Off?

Looking Back: What Set Everything Off?

Date: February 11, 2022

Nick and I have been doing a ton of thinking about a good question Keryth asked us: "What do you think triggered all of this escalation?" And after sitting with it for a while, we realized that there were two big things that stood out.

First, the girls hadn’t really spent much time at their mom’s house during the summer or the months of October through December. There was always some reason or excuse, and they ended up being at our house more often. That in itself seemed to shift things.

Second, we started noticing real changes when Autumn got her first boyfriend. Katie wasn’t happy about it. She said things like “It’s not a real boyfriend if I’ve never met him” and told Autumn she was too young. She even told us, but not Autumn directly, that she thought Autumn was emotionally immature and that the boy probably wasn’t even really into her—he was just being nice.

What’s more, since New Year’s we haven’t heard a word about Katie’s own boyfriend. When we asked Autumn if they were still together, she said no—Katie told her they broke up because she can’t have kids. And that seemed to match the pattern we’ve seen in the past. Whenever Katie goes through a breakup, the intensity ramps up. The jealousy, the hostility, and the negative talk all get worse.

We also found out from the school adjustment counselor today that Aurora made a comment about wishing she was hit by a truck or a bus. That hit hard. This kind of emotional weight is not something a child should have to carry.

Katie also sent us a flurry of hostile messages today. And what’s hard is that sometimes, buried under the criticism and condescension, she brings up things that actually do matter. But no matter how we respond—whether we apologize, offer a resolution, or try to de-escalate—she keeps attacking. It’s exhausting.

Autumn, meanwhile, was awesome today. She got all her schoolwork done (or at least says she did—we’re going to double-check tomorrow just to be sure). She jumped into her chores right after school, cleaned her room, played Fortnite for about two hours, then curled up for movie night and fell asleep around 10:00. We also made a plan to go through her bag tomorrow and review anything she might have missed while out for the dentist and PT.

It’s important to say again: these behaviors are not the kids’ fault. They are doing the best they can in a difficult and unpredictable situation. And while we work to keep things steady here, it’s hard to parent in the middle of so much ongoing trauma—especially when nobody seems to want to help.

Friday Reflections: Navigating Appointments, Expectations, and Emotional Recovery

Friday Reflections: Navigating Appointments, Expectations, and Emotional Recovery

Friday was a full day. Autumn was excited about her dentist appointment that morning—she looked forward to the laughing gas again. Even though she was missing school, she made sure to spend time on her group project beforehand, doing extra work and sending her friends an update on what she had done.

I brought Autumn and Austin to the dentist so Nick could attend his parenting meeting. He was also really sore and tired from a vaccine he received the day before. Both kids did great during the appointment. Autumn was a bit nervous, but she pushed through. They only addressed two of her cavities, so we scheduled another appointment for March 4th. The dentist said that once her cavities are taken care of, we could consider an orthodontic consult for braces if we're interested.

After the appointment, I grabbed them a treat at McDonald's for doing well, dropped Austin off at 1:30, and then brought Autumn to physical therapy. When we arrived, I was informed that Autumn’s mom had called ahead and said I wasn't allowed to attend. I wasn’t given a choice—just told I couldn’t go in. So I stayed outside and let Autumn go in on her own. She was really upset and felt like her mom was just trying to create more issues.

Later in the evening, Autumn’s mouth and ankles were sore. Nick was completely wiped out from his vaccine, so I managed most of the evening solo while he rested. Even with all that, Autumn finished her two overdue math assignments and submitted the others due in Google Classroom. She should be caught up for the semester.

She did get a low grade on a math quiz the day before, and we agreed that next time, she’ll study with us to prepare.

That night, Autumn lost her device privileges after dinner because she went on her computer to talk with friends before finishing her room. We explained the consequence clearly: no devices for the night and until her responsibilities were completed the next day.

Over the last 24 hours, we tried to talk to Autumn about her mom’s text messages. She told us she was too angry to respond and didn’t want to say something rude. She just needed space. She also said she was tired of talking about it and wanted to take a break. So we made a deal—if she watched Encanto with us, we’d take the weekend off from any stressful conversations. Just calm, just connection.

Sometimes, parenting through this level of trauma and unpredictability feels impossible. But days like today remind me that we are growing, healing, and learning together.

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Labels: co-parenting, trauma recovery, parenting teens, dental visit, blended family, emotional regulation, school support, therapy barriers, parenting through conflict

Phone Calls, Panic, and Power Struggles

Date: January 27, 2022

Tonight was another exhausting glimpse into how hard it is to co-parent when your children are caught in the middle of ongoing chaos and emotional strain.

Around 8:30 PM, Aurora called Nick from Autumn’s phone to say goodnight. I was nearby, as always, listening in, trying to support him while he did his best to be present for his daughters. When Nick asked to speak to Autumn, Aurora froze. She wouldn’t pass the phone and acted scared and confused. Eventually, Nick offered to call the house phone instead.

He finally got Autumn on the phone. I could hear Katie and Autumn going back and forth in the background—Autumn asking for privacy, Katie refusing. It was painful to hear. Nick did manage to have a short conversation with Autumn. She told him she wasn’t okay, but she was excited about Andrew visiting school the next day. (Andrew had been homeschooling with me after struggling post-COVID with remote learning and needed a gentle transition back to in-person school. This visit was a big deal.)

Autumn and Andrew talked briefly and made plans for school. But Katie began yelling again, saying Autumn had made Aurora cry. Autumn denied it, explaining she hadn’t even talked to her. Katie insisted otherwise.

Autumn asked for just one minute to say goodbye. Katie allowed it—barely. Autumn quickly said goodbye, but as the call was ending, she whispered, "I’m going to get screamed at now." Katie jumped back on the line, suddenly calm, saying, “No, you're not,” then added that Aurora wanted to talk.

Aurora got on the phone. I could still hear yelling in the background. I gently encouraged her to go to another room. She said she was tired and didn’t want to talk much. I made a few jokes to lighten the mood, and she laughed a little.

Then she said it: “Autumn scares me.”

We asked gently what about Autumn scared her. Aurora said it was when Autumn yelled at Mom and told her she wished she would die. She said yelling always scares her. We validated her feelings and reassured her it wasn’t her fault. We also reminded her that we had been talking to Autumn and hadn’t heard her yell—so we asked if something else had happened. Aurora just said, “She always scares me,” but didn’t explain further.

She seemed uncomfortable. I asked if she’d talked to Ms. Mack (the school counselor), but she said Ms. Mack wasn’t at school today. I gently reminded her that if things at home aren’t okay, that doesn’t mean it’s her fault, and she’s not alone.

Then Katie suddenly interrupted, said something quickly, and hung up. A minute later, Aurora called back just to say goodnight. We reminded her we loved her and told her she could always talk to us. She said goodnight and hung up.

I wish I could explain the heartbreak of hearing a child say they’re scared and having no real way to help. It is so hard to parent children who are being repeatedly traumatized by the other parent—and no one seems to want to help. These kids’ struggles are not their fault. They’re not the result of bad parenting on our end. They are a reflection of pain, confusion, and survival in an environment where the adults are supposed to protect them but so often fail to do so.

We keep showing up. But it never feels like enough.

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Labels: co-parenting, trauma recovery, parenting through crisis, high-conflict custody, sibling dynamics, emotional abuse, child safety, family court, blended family struggles

Unheard Warnings

January 27, 2022 — Unheard Warnings

Tonight was another heartbreaking reminder of how unsupported our family has felt—how the harmful patterns were so obvious, and yet nothing ever changed. I don’t write this to blame or shame. I write this because the truth matters, and our girls deserved better.

Aurora called from Autumn’s phone around 8:30 PM to say goodnight. I talked to her briefly and asked if I could speak to Autumn. But Aurora froze—scared and confused—and wouldn’t hand over the phone. I offered to just call the house phone instead.

When I did, I finally got to speak with Autumn. She wasn’t okay. We talked about how her brother Andrew was visiting her school tomorrow. At the time, we had been homeschooling Andrew—he’d needed extra support transitioning from remote learning back into a school environment after COVID. Autumn was excited to see him, and for a moment she sounded like a typical kid again. She and Andrew talked briefly and even set some silly “rules” for their day together. It was a small, good moment.

But that moment was short-lived. Katie started yelling for Autumn to get off the phone. Autumn tried to say goodnight, but was interrupted repeatedly. I asked what happened at school, and Autumn hesitated before saying she had met with a police officer. Then she paused and said, “I can’t talk about that here anyway.” It was clear she didn’t feel safe.

The yelling escalated. Katie accused Autumn of making Aurora cry. Autumn insisted she hadn’t even spoken to her. Katie refused to believe her. Autumn asked to say goodbye without being interrupted and warned us she’d get screamed at. And she did.

Katie jumped back on the phone, saying Aurora had something to talk about. I could hear both of them yelling in the background. I gently asked Aurora to go into another room so we could talk privately.

She was quiet and withdrawn. After some gentle jokes and encouragement, she finally said: “Autumn scares me.”

I asked what scared her. She said, “When Autumn yells at Mom and says ‘I wish you would die.’”

We told her that kind of language is not okay and asked her what scared her the most. She said, “The yelling. Yelling always scares me.” I validated that for her and apologized she had to experience it.

I tried to understand more about what had happened on the phone between her and Autumn, but Aurora didn’t offer much detail. She just said Autumn yells a lot and it makes her feel scared. When I asked if she was upset about losing her laptop (as Autumn had suggested), she shrugged and said “kinda but not really.”

I asked if she’d been able to talk to Ms. Mack, her school counselor. She said no—Ms. Mack wasn’t in that day. Before we could finish our conversation, Katie jumped in and hung up the phone.

Aurora called back a few minutes later. I told her, “Whatever is going on is not your fault, okay? We love you.” And we said goodnight.

But I couldn’t sleep. We were doing everything we could to stay calm, document everything, and keep the lines of communication open. But watching this happen again and again—seeing the fear in our daughters’ eyes, hearing it in their voices—it felt like screaming into the void.

We said goodnight. But nothing about it felt okay.

When No One Seems to Care: Parenting Through Fear and Failing Systems

When No One Seems to Care: Parenting Through Fear and Failing Systems

Late January 2022 was one of the hardest emotional stretches I can remember. Not because something big happened, but because everything kept happening. Again and again. And no one seemed to care.

On January 25th, Aurora had a panic attack after I calmly reminded the kids about helping with chores. She bolted, apologizing rapidly, over and over, and then walked straight into a wall. I found her trying to calm down in the bathroom, and when I gently asked what was wrong, she told me she got scared because she thought she was “in really big trouble.” This wasn’t about chores. This was about fear. Deep-rooted fear.

I called her GI doctor that same day to schedule the breath test she needed. We kept up with her medical care because, honestly, it felt like no one else would.

But it was the very next day, January 26th, when everything really hit me. Autumn called us around 4 PM, panicking and yelling back and forth with her mom. Nick told them to call back when things had calmed down. Instead, a few minutes later, Aurora called asking about her watch, but Katie was interrupting her constantly—talking over her, barely letting her speak. The phone was passed back and forth like a game, but no one was listening to the children.

At 9 PM, Autumn called back. This time she was scared. Really scared.

She said she was being blackmailed.

She started to talk, but we heard yelling in the background. Autumn told us Katie was about to unplug the house phone—and then the call cut off. Just like that. Gone. Nick tried to call back, but Katie refused to let Autumn speak. Eventually, he convinced her to plug the phone back in.

And that’s when Autumn shared what was going on.

She was in the shower earlier, and Katie wouldn’t leave the bathroom while she was naked—then yelled at her for locking the door. Autumn said that if she didn’t lie to her principal and say she wanted to leave her social issues class, her mom had made the following threats:

• I’m switching your schools.
• I’ll make sure you never talk to Trever again.
• You’re never getting your phone back.
• I’ll pull you from the class anyway.
• I’ll make sure you’re never with your friends.
• I’m taking your Chromebook and you’re not getting it back.

Then Autumn said the part that still echoes in my chest:

“I’m so afraid of the verbal abuse from Mom that I would rather die, but I don’t really want to.”
“I can’t go back to Mom’s. I won’t survive five days there.”

She said she was going to threaten suicide—just to avoid being sent back. Even if she had to lie, or half-lie, to get help.

We begged her not to lie. We told her we would write to the school ourselves. Nick and I did write—to the teachers, the counselor, the admin. We told them she was planning to come in tomorrow and talk, and we asked them to please hear her. And not forget Aurora either—our sweet, sensitive girl who gets so easily overlooked in the chaos.

But even with that… nothing happened.

No calls from DCF. No safety planning. No therapist outreach. No protective steps. No accountability. Just silence.

And we just kept surviving. Again.

Trying to Stay Steady in a Storm: Parenting When Nothing Feels Predictable

Trying to Stay Steady in a Storm: Parenting When Nothing Feels Predictable

The second half of January 2022 was a blur of tension, tenderness, and emotional exhaustion. I felt like I was trying to steer a boat through a storm, holding the wheel steady while the wind kept shifting direction.

On January 15th, the morning phone call started hostile. Katie was interrupting the girls constantly, correcting everything they said. Aurora, my gentle and bright child, sounded defeated. Autumn was clearly angry and exhausted. She wasn't being rude exactly—just...done. She was still upset about the night before, especially after Katie had acted afraid of her and told Aurora to stay away from her. It was heartbreaking to hear. No child should have to tiptoe around their parent's emotional volatility.

By January 21st, both girls seemed to be in a bit better spirits. Aurora mentioned that her mom and Autumn had been fighting a lot again. We gently reminded her that it’s okay to take space when things get hard. We encouraged her to talk to her school counselor, Keryth, or any trusted adult if she felt overwhelmed or scared. She could always call me, Nick, or any family member when she needed support. She didn’t have any schoolwork—grades had closed for the term—and I tried to keep the atmosphere light, even though everything felt heavy.

I called and was able to get Autumn a physical therapy appointment set up for the following Thursday. That felt like a small win in the middle of a long week.

Then came January 24th.

Autumn told us Katie broke her phone and said she couldn’t use OFW (Our Family Wizard). Katie ended up messaging Aurora’s nutritionist on MyChart instead, which was frustrating given the ongoing communication issues. Autumn didn’t have any homework. Aurora played Prodigy and read for a bit. She took her medicine in the morning and at night without issue.

But something she said caught me off guard—again. Aurora told us she was scared to go to school. That it was all too much. And then she told us that she wanted to be a boy named Alexander.

It wasn’t said with fanfare or urgency—just a quiet, matter-of-fact vulnerability. Like she needed someone to hold her identity for a moment, without questions or corrections. I didn’t know what to say, so I just told her I heard her. And that it was okay to explore. That we would support her no matter what.

It’s moments like that that make everything else fade for a second. The co-parenting chaos, the broken phones, the daily battles—they all fall away. Because what matters most is making sure our kids feel safe, heard, and loved. That’s all I ever wanted.

A Phone, a Panic, and a Pattern: Co-Parenting at Its Worst

A Phone, a Panic, and a Pattern: Co-Parenting at Its Worst

Autumn had a really hard day yesterday. It was Friday, and we were still picking up the pieces from Wednesday night. She had a really rough time at her mom's, and communication had completely shut down. Katie even took away her phone mid-week, preventing her from reaching out—even to her dad.

Then yesterday, I heard that DCF had been contacted again. I’m pretty sure it was the school who made the report, though I haven’t gotten full confirmation yet.

By the time Friday rolled around, Katie claimed Autumn had "turned things around" and gave her the phone back. But the damage had already been done. The emotional rollercoaster of going from silenced and punished to suddenly "better" is exhausting—for all of us.

To add to the chaos, Nick’s stepfather Ray called asking if he could cancel Autumn's phone line because they were tight on money and worried about losing service. I get it—we’ve all been stretched thin. Nick asked him to hold off until Monday. I thought that was fair. I suggested we ask Autumn what kind of phone she’d want if we switched her to our plan—rather than just choosing something for her. She’s older now. She deserves to feel included in decisions that affect her.

So I texted Autumn, trying to keep it light and positive. I framed it like all the parents were working together to pick something safe and sustainable. But apparently, Katie took that the wrong way. I also mentioned that buying a new iPhone outright wasn’t financially feasible on top of everything else we’re dealing with. Nick chimed in too, saying flat out that an iPhone isn’t even an option. It all spiraled quickly.

Autumn misunderstood and thought we were taking the phone away from her permanently—or giving it to another kid we trusted more. She spiraled into panic. She said her life was over. I could see the fear and heartbreak in her eyes, and it shattered me.

We tried to explain that Nick needed a device for work, and that the iPhone wasn’t ideal anyway because it's hard to supervise. We tried to redirect her into picking a new phone that would arrive Monday so she wouldn't be without one for long. But before we could get her calm, Katie jumped in again—clearly frustrated. She said we had set Autumn up to fail, accused us of misrepresenting her position, and was furious that I spoke up.

I apologized immediately. I really thought Katie was as frustrated as we were about the iPhone’s lack of parental controls. I never meant to overstep. I just wanted to make this transition as smooth as possible for Autumn. But instead of working together, Katie talked over me for so long that I eventually said, "Are you done lecturing us? Because we’d like to have a conversation like adults." I didn’t even realize she had already hung up.

Later, around 7 p.m., Nick tried to check in with the girls—especially Aurora, just to see how she was holding up. No answer. Not from Autumn’s phone. Not the house phone. Not even Aurora's tablet. We tried again later. Still nothing.

Finally, at 9:30 p.m., Autumn called. She was very upset. Her mom had deleted CaptuA—the app she'd been using to work on a school project. This was especially frustrating because earlier that afternoon, Katie had actually asked for the parental PIN so Autumn could access that very same app for school.

We tried to calm her down. I offered to help her recreate her project. Nick tried to reassure her it was going to be okay. But the chaos just kept mounting. Katie interrupted again, there was more arguing—mostly between her and Autumn. I honestly couldn’t even keep track of everything that was said. I started recording the call just so I could review it later. I was that overwhelmed.

I got hung up on. We called back. More yelling. More chaos. I tried again. No answer.

Worried about Aurora, I called the house phone. Katie answered but kept talking over me. I asked repeatedly to talk to Aurora. I was calm. Polite. But it felt like she was purposely ignoring me. At one point, I said, "If I don’t hear from Aurora, I’m calling in a wellness check." That’s when Katie suddenly changed her tone: "Oh well, of course! You could’ve just asked."

When Aurora finally got on the phone, she gave her usual sweet response—that she was fine, having an okay day, getting ready to watch a movie with mom. But when I asked about Autumn, she said, "Autumn has been being mean to mom all day. But I’m used to it. It’s normal there." That part haunted me.

We ended on a soft note—talking about her basketball sneakers and trying to sing her bedtime song, "Tomorrow" from Annie. I held back tears.

I called back to say goodnight to Autumn. Katie answered again. She said Autumn could talk, but only if she didn’t touch the phone. The yelling between Katie and Autumn continued. Aurora was told to stay away from her sister. Eventually, Katie let Autumn talk—but only from the table and still screaming at her not to touch the phone.

Autumn asked if we could video call so we could see that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was shaking. I tried to reassure her. We both did. I told her she needed rest, and that tomorrow might feel better. Katie interrupted again. I tried to wrap things up with love and reassurance. Katie said something about the sneakers. I don’t even remember.

I ended the call by saying, "Please, if you need anything tonight with Autumn, just call me." Katie replied, "Well, she was fine before she talked to you. And don’t threaten to call the police on me."

I hung up.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not because of anything she said. But because my kids were hurting, and all I could do was keep showing up, no matter how hard Katie tried to shut us out.

When Kids Carry Too Much: Notes From the Other End of the Phone

When Kids Carry Too Much: Notes From the Other End of the Phone

01.10.2022
Tonight, I caught Autumn on her phone after 8:30. Curious, I checked the settings—and realized the parental controls were gone. I wasn’t surprised. About a week ago, Katie had asked Nick for the PIN, saying Autumn wanted to add a new contact. I meant to check her phone as soon as she got home but forgot.

When I brought it up, Autumn was upset. She kept saying everyone hates her and that we don't care. She still did all her responsibilities—though moody and complaining—but did them. At one point, I asked her to take a break upstairs when she was being short and rude. Just a reset. That helped.

01.11.2022
Aurora got off the bus at her mom’s house today. It was just a mix-up—Dad put the wrong address in the agenda. At dinner, Autumn was more irritable than usual. When she snapped at me, I sent her upstairs to chill for five minutes. Before bed, Nick and I told them we'd miss them over the next five days and that when they get back, we want to be more consistent. We asked what they'd like for dinner next week. Autumn said chicken broccoli alfredo and pasta with meat sauce. Aurora wanted ice cream and pizza.

01.12.2022
Katie sent a message through OFW about some concerns and said she'd allow Autumn to talk to us for 15 minutes max. When the house phone rang, I was surprised it was Aurora. Her voice was small. I asked how she was doing, and she said, “I’m scared.” She mentioned a family meeting had just happened and said, “Autumn is mean. She told Mom that she wishes she were dead.” She was scared because they’d been arguing for a while.

We tried to ask more, but Aurora said she was tired. She passed the phone to Autumn. In the background, we heard Katie yelling at Autumn: “Get away from me.” Autumn shouted back, “I don’t want to be near you, I just want to talk to Dad.” She asked to take the call in the bathroom for privacy. Katie said no—Autumn couldn’t be trusted. We could hear Katie say, “Everything you did was recorded. I’m recording this. This conversation will be recorded.”

Autumn finally said hi, sounding breathless and like she was hyperventilating. I froze, but managed a soft “Hey, what’s up?” Katie was still in the background, saying things we couldn’t quite make out. My anxiety kicked in, so I handed the call over to Tashena.

Tashena gently asked what happened. Autumn cried and said, “Mom was yelling and swearing. She kicked a laundry basket at me.” When asked if she felt physically unsafe, Autumn said, “I don’t think so. I just want to go to sleep.” She didn’t think she’d be able to go to school tomorrow without crying.

We told her to think on it overnight. Sometimes things feel more intense in the moment. If she was still feeling too overwhelmed tomorrow, she could go to the counselor or the nurse. She told us Mom had said, “No one will ever believe you. You lie all the time.” We reminded her that wasn’t true. She restated it: “No one will believe me.”

I just wanted to reach through the phone and hug her. We reminded her she could always come to us, and that what she feels matters—even if someone else says otherwise.

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Parenting through trauma, from the sidelines of control, is one of the hardest paths we’ve ever walked. But we keep walking it. For them.

When Sensory Overload Meets Meltdown: Navigating Big Emotions as a Neurodivergent Parent

January 9, 2022
Today was hard. I was upstairs cleaning the little boys’ room while the kids were doing chores downstairs. Maddy came up to tell me Aurora had done something—what it was, I can’t even remember now. Aurora shouted upstairs at Maddy, “Don’t lie,” and Maddy screamed back, “I’m not lying, YOU are the liar!”

I immediately told them both to stop and that I’d talk to them in a minute. When I came down about 10 minutes later, Aurora was in the bathroom, just staring at the wall. I gently told her, “Hey, you’re not going to get video game time just sitting in here.” She told me she was scared of Maddy because Maddy had yelled. I reassured her that Maddy isn’t scary—she was just frustrated and I would talk to her about it.

I went to talk to Maddy and started to explain that yelling isn’t okay, especially when it makes someone else feel unsafe. Just as I was mid-sentence, Aurora walked out of the bathroom. I said, “Hey, perfect timing…” but she shrieked, like she had seen a ghost, and ran right back in.

I followed her and told her calmly, “You can’t do that. If you needed more space, you could’ve just stayed away from Maddy instead of acting like you were in danger.” Aurora started crying and saying she really was scared. I asked her to calm down so I could understand, but she started making loud squeaky sounds—sounds that hit every nerve in my body. White noise, certain pitches—I struggle a lot with sensory sensitivity.

I asked her to go upstairs to calm down. She refused, saying upstairs was scary. Her volume got louder and louder, and my brain started to fog from the overload. I told her again she needed to go calm down. She said she didn’t care about losing privileges because it was better than being scared all the time.

I stayed calm until this point, but her volume and the sound escalated. I raised my voice—not to yell, but just to be heard. She told me I was yelling. I told her I wasn’t yelling, I just couldn’t hear myself think. Then she repeated, “Stop yelling.”

That’s when I cracked. I shouted. I didn’t want to, but the sound and the chaos tipped me over the edge. I mimicked the squeaky noise loudly and begged her to go upstairs. Aurora ran upstairs. I was a wreck.

Nick called me just as I was about to call him. He talked to her first and calmed her down, then I talked to her too. I apologized. I told her it’s not okay for me to yell, even if I’m overwhelmed. I shared that I have anxiety and sensory issues, and sometimes the noise gets too much. I also asked her to please stop making that specific noise when she’s upset, and she knew exactly which one I meant. She hasn’t made it since.

She finished her chores and was okay the rest of the day—and even the rest of the week. Few to no meltdowns after that.

Parenting neurodivergent kids while being neurodivergent myself is an emotional tightrope. Some days are messy. But even in the mess, there’s space for repair, learning, and love.

The Reality of New Year’s & Tax Season: A Personal Shift in Perspective

The Reality of New Year’s & Tax Season: A Personal Shift in Perspective

Every year, right after Christmas, my brain shifts immediately to two things:

Taxes and New Year’s.

Let’s start with taxes. We’re what I like to call “upper-lower-class”—a family with three kids, living paycheck to paycheck, with just enough income to owe nothing, but not enough to keep up without that refund. So yes, tax season matters.

We always need our refund yesterday. Something always comes up.

This year? Work slowed down, like it always does around the holidays. Then my husband got sick and couldn’t work for a week—no PTO left. Then one of the kids got sick and, of course, our insurance decided this was the perfect time to stop working properly. Three doctor’s appointments and a round of medication later, we were using credit cards just to keep things moving.

So yeah—taxes. We rely on that refund to clean up the financial mess the holiday season leaves behind, especially when you’re living on a budget that already has no wiggle room. (And let’s be honest, who doesn’t end up using credit cards for Christmas?)

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Now let’s talk New Year’s…

Every year, people post resolutions:

• ✨ Lose weight
• ✨ Save money
• ✨ Be better
• ✨ Do more
• ✨ Fix your life

It’s a lot.

But last year? For the first time ever, I didn’t make a New Year’s resolution.

I used to vow to be a better person every January. I’d tell myself I needed to volunteer more, give more, help more, heal more. Basically… be “more” of everything. But here’s what I realized:

I was already trying. I didn’t need a fresh resolution. I needed rest. I needed to stop trying to prove myself through perfectionism.

So I quit.

Not life, not growing, not caring—I just quit the pressure of assigning it all to the first of January.

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Now? I measure my growth in moments, not milestones.

In how I respond when life throws curveballs.

In how I show up for my kids when we’re all running on fumes.

In how I let myself rest when I need to.

If you’re feeling the pressure this season—whether it’s financial, emotional, or spiritual—you’re not alone. And if resolutions work for you, that’s beautiful. But if they don’t? That’s okay too.

Sometimes, surviving is the resolution.
Sometimes, loving yourself as you are is enough.
Sometimes, the biggest change you can make is choosing peace.

Wela’lioq,
—Tashena

Documenting the Timeline: Health, Communication, and Parenting Through the Gaps

January 4, 2022
This morning, Autumn was sent home from school for feeling dizzy and nauseous. We suspected it was likely because she hadn’t eaten breakfast, and after a quick bite at home, she bounced back quickly. She asked to call her mom to ask for some of her things. On the phone, Katie said she’d drop the stuff off—but only if Dad messaged her via email. This has been an ongoing boundary issue, as we no longer use email for communication with her. We explained gently to Autumn that it probably wasn’t going to happen today. She was only staying one more night before heading back to her mom’s, and her things should come back with her on Friday anyway. Meanwhile, Aurora told us she hasn’t been taking her Miralax or following her elimination diet regularly while at her mom’s. We’re trying to balance honoring their voices and keeping their health consistent, but it’s tough when the communication isn’t consistent across homes.

December 24, 2021
Aurora had a nutritionist appointment today. She openly discussed what she’s been eating at our house, but when asked about food at her mom’s, she became nervous. Her responses included things like, “Shouldn’t you ask Mom?” or “Why do you want to know?” or “I don’t remember.” The nutritionist emailed us afterward and strongly recommended continuing the elimination diet, noting that it could help with both her physical symptoms and sense of routine. Aurora’s been struggling with gut health and dietary inconsistencies, so we’re doing what we can to follow through from our end.

December 20, 2021
Aurora had a severe stomach ache tonight. It hit hard around dinner. She couldn’t sit still and instead laid face-down on the bench, saying her stomach hurt too much to move. We called the nurse line, and after hearing about Aurora’s recent increase in dairy intake and lack of normal bowel movements, they recommended Miralax tonight, a possible laxative tomorrow, and a doctor’s visit if symptoms didn’t improve. If things worsened overnight, we were told to bring her to the ER. We’re trying to document not just for our own reference but because timelines matter. When co-parenting gets complicated and communication breaks down, keeping track becomes an act of care—not just for the kids, but for our own clarity and peace of mind.

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Wela'lioq for making space to read and remember—because the little things are often the biggest pieces of the puzzle.

2021 Year in Review: Showing Up Through the Storm
Date: Jan 3, 2022

2021 was a year that felt like it lasted forever—but somehow flew by too fast. It was hard, chaotic, painful, and exhausting. But we survived. Despite the inconsistencies. Despite the unknowns. Despite the challenges of co-parenting, school transitions, and complex trauma—we made it through.

We saw everything from DCF reports to mental health crises, school emergencies, and police calls during visits at their mom’s house. But through every storm, we kept showing up. Whether it was appointments, teacher meetings, IEPs, ER visits, or just making sure there was enough love to go around—we kept going.

We didn’t mind that the girls were with us more than 50% of the time, even though it went far beyond the court agreement. What broke our hearts was how difficult every transition back to their mom’s house became. Each one left the kids more anxious, more guarded, and struggling to feel safe. It felt like we were rebuilding from scratch after every visit.

But despite all of that—we had beautiful moments too. We saw the kids grow. We held space for their stories. We got through birthdays, holidays, sports, and remote learning. We created a home where they could just be kids, even for a little while. And through it all, we stayed rooted in love, healing, and hope.

This isn’t a year we’d ever want to repeat—but it is a year we’re proud we survived. And that counts for something.

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Labels: 2021 reflection, parenting, trauma, resilience, advocacy, blended family, co-parenting, autism parenting