I’ve lived through domestic violence — physical, emotional, and verbal abuse that stripped me of my identity, my confidence, and my sense of safety. I’ve been abandoned, betrayed, and left to pick up the pieces while trying to keep life stable for my children. But nothing compares to the pain I’m in right now — a pain I never saw coming.

It began with a small bump on my 3-month-old son’s head. Out of concern, I took him to not one, but four different doctors and hospitals. Every single professional told me the same thing: “It’s nothing to worry about.” After being told time after time that is was nothing to be concerned about, I trusted them. I did what any loving mother would do.

Then, out of nowhere, my baby started having seizures. No signs. No warnings. No preparation. What began as a routine hospital visit quickly spiraled into a nightmare — accusations, an investigation, and a CPS case based on false allegations.

I didn’t do this. I didn’t fail my child. I asked for help, and I was dismissed — until suddenly, I was being blamed.

The day my children were taken from me was the worst moment of my life. I still see their faces. I still hear their cries. I still remember the helplessness in their eyes as they were pulled from my arms, not understanding why their world was suddenly torn apart. That memory lives in me every single day.

It’s been almost a year since my children were ripped from my arms. They’re now 16, 10, and just 1 year old — and I’m still fighting, every single day, to bring them home. The system wants to reunite me with my two older children, but not my baby. How does that make sense? How can I be trusted to raise the children I’ve walked through every stage of life with — yet be told I’m not fit for the one who needs me most right now? Especially when I know I was a good mother and did everything I could to protect them. It breaks me in ways I can’t even explain. That kind of pain doesn’t just ache — it haunts.

But even in my devastation, I’ve made a choice:
I will not let this destroy me through this fight.

I created Becoming Her in the middle of the storm. This isn’t just a brand — it’s my declaration. It’s my healing, my fight, and my voice when the world tried to silence me. It’s a platform where I can be honest, where I can process, and where I can stand tall — not just for me, but for every woman who knows what it’s like to feel broken by something she didn’t cause.

I share my story because I know what it’s like to feel invisible. This is for the women who have been knocked down by life and are trying to stand again. For the women battling through trauma, heartbreak, motherhood, weight struggles, spiritual disconnection, single parenting — and the kind of pain that rarely gets spoken out loud.

I want to support those women. I want them to know:
You are not alone. Your story matters. And you are not what you've been through. You're still becoming -- and you're allowed to. So am I.

I'm not perfect. But I'm still here. Still Becoming the woman I was meant to be. Fighting and not giving up.