So why are we here?

3, 438 days since I left.

1,548 days ago was the day she disappeared. Tomorrow it will be 1,549. My daughter. My child. My baby. My beautiful, grown-up girl. My children’s sister. She’s a woman now. I hope she’s fierce and that she knows she is loved to the ends of the earth.

1,137 days since I had to break my children’s hearts a third time and tell them about their brother. Tell them they would never hear him laugh again, or watch him eat oreos. I can still HEAR the sound of my children’s screams and feel their hot tears. I can still feel the fury rising in me as I stood in my best high heels and black dress, under heavy surveillance… lest I make an expected scene. Oh, I’ll give you a scene, my “friends.” Watch me as closely as I’m watching you, I dare you. You could NEVER.

It’s been a long journey and it’s still not even a little bit over, so why, exactly, are we here?

We are here today because no one cared and life went on, and I am not alone and there are others like me. Because my kids aren’t alone. There are others like them. We are here today to use our outside voices, and to let them know…. we’re still here.

We are here today because the me in the barracks hiding my journal under the dirty striped mattress and trading peanut butter packets from my MRE is the same me who was first meeting their dad and falling for all the things is the same me who cried and prayed and wondered and wailed is the same me who left in the night is the same me who had no food is the same me who had so much food I couldn’t give it away fast enough is the same me who rocked the baby to sleep is the same me who oversaw my kids’ latin recitation is the same me who showered all the blood away is the same me who cooked dinner in an apron - their favorite- is the same me at the power lunch is the same me singing Nicki Minaj at the top of my lungs is the same me who told the teens to knock it off is the same me who shut down the club AND the office is the same me who drove the mini-van is the same me who learned to drive at 32 and carried her car seats for miles because they never let me is the same me who spent hours poring over curriculum questions is the same me with the eyeliner on point is the same me who sleeps with a knife by her pillow is the same me laying under a swaying palm tree at a luxury resort in Mexico is the same me … who is you. I am you, too.

There is a part of me for every step of the journey from infancy through trauma to recovery, and I was always alone, even when I wasn’t— which was never, of course— because we’re never really, really alone. But you? I don’t want you to feel alone. So here we are.

People used to follow my content because they wanted to learn how to get their households together and grow as women and mothers, to self-educate and pray and sing and cook French food and raise their kids, because they wanted to try and own me, or because they wanted to send screenshots to each other and sneer while I bared my soul. There are always three kinds of people in life: The real one. The power-hungry. The flying monkey.

Either way, they followed.

Then I left and it all shattered— the life I’d been building and showing bits and pieces of. They told me all about it in my DMs. They wanted answers, and I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know how to create anything anymore. All the joy and freedom I thought I was headed for had been a lie. Everything I built and worked for was taken from me. Everything I sweat and prayed and struggled over. Gone. I didn’t want to create anything else. I wanted to crawl into the earth and be swallowed… And that was before they started trying to kill my kids.

But I look at my timeline and I see something I almost missed— even in a grief so dark my eyes would never adjust, I was still creating. And I’m doing it now.
Now I create like my life depends on it. And it does. Thank you for subscribing. I promise you this newsletter will be worth the cost of the cup of coffee you can choose to buy me. And know that if you can’t, this newsletter will still be free.

My vision is that here you will find help for me, and for you.

All the things I wish I’d known, that no one told me as I walked alone. A reason to know them. All the things I had to learn and do each day.

How to get safe. How to stay safe. How to heal, and soothe your nervous system. How to parent, and educate your kids, even if your kids are… different now. How to bring that joy back into your lives. How to communicate with challenging people, and do impossible things. How to start a business with a baby, work from home, even home educate if you want to. How to run the town. How to stay close to God even when you shudder at the sight of things you once found sacred. How to be a doctor and a pharmacist and a seamstress and a teacher and a mom AND a dad and a zookeeper and a nurse and a lawyer and a social worker and an advocate. How to pay your lawyer, talk to the court, DSS, and law enforcement. How to keep stalkers away and safely find your car. How to get out of a choke-hold. Why co-parenting won’t work… and why if it does, you’ll never be able to convince me you have struggles. How to make a police report. How to advocate when you are ignored. How to apply the things you learned in therapy. How to make the best quiche and draw a bird, a bird you recognize from his song alone. How to get your money in order, and travel and live your dreams, and laugh right in the face of the ones who thought they were sending you deep into the earth, one way or another.

That’s what we’re doing here.

Enjoy these notes from the trenches. I’m older now, and wiser. I hope they bless you and bring you back home to yourself and everything you can create. I hope your kids are okay. I hope you are too, now. And if you’re not… stay a while. This is a safe house.

B’Shalom, L’Shalom,

Barbie