Before: Walking Into Hell — After: Truth, Laughter, and a Mic Drop
The Docket Tells the Truth – Before
Today was another reminder of how broken and disconnected the system can be.
This morning, there was still no online confirmation that my emergency motion was before the court. Nothing on the portal. Nothing my lawyer could see. Nothing that gave me peace of mind. So I drove to the courthouse. Because when you’ve lived through trauma, you learn quickly: never assume the system will catch you, check for yourself.
And there it was, in black and white on the docket board: 10:00 a.m. My case. My children’s safety. My fight.
Scraps of Support
I spoke with my lawyer, who had my notes and confirmed some points. A friend who had an appointment today bumped it so she could be here with me. That meant more than I can explain—just knowing someone was willing to stand beside me in this.
I even checked with security at the front desk to see if my ex could legally be in the courthouse with his bail conditions. The woman in charge looked at me like I was crazy for even asking. Maybe they’re immune to it, maybe they don’t understand, maybe they judge. What they don’t see is that for me, these aren’t abstract rules or hypotheticals—this is life-altering. Every glance, every possible encounter, can be a trigger.
The Uncertainty
This hearing is technically by teleconference, which should mean he won’t be physically present. But I can’t rule it out, and that uncertainty gnaws at me. I hate that I even have to carry that fear into a courthouse, of all places—a place that’s supposed to provide protection and order.
What They Don’t See
The truth is, trauma rewires you. It makes you cautious in ways that others might mock or dismiss. What feels like paranoia to them is survival to me. When officials roll their eyes or brush off my questions, I feel the judgment. But I remind myself: they don’t know my back story. They don’t carry my scars.
Anchors That Hold Me
For now, I’ve got my hot coffee—my small comfort, though I’ve learned it can’t come with me into the courtroom. It’ll be left outside, waiting for me when I walk back out. And I’ve got my friend—my chosen family, my “wife,” because that’s the kind of bond we have. Full support, no explanations needed, no justifications required.
It’s this kind of anchor that makes days like today survivable. The system might not understand trauma, but the people who truly stand beside you do. And sometimes, that’s enough to keep walking into rooms you’d rather never enter, to keep fighting battles you should never have had to face.
The Children Who Carry It Too
Two of my kids are home sick today—the two brave enough to walk into a police station and say, my dad did this, my dad said that. They know what’s at stake, and they can’t function. Both are curled up under blankets, hiding away.
Trauma is horrific, especially in children. They don’t have the strength yet to compartmentalize, to force themselves through the motions of the day. I wish I could hide too. But that’s the difference between children and adults. I don’t have the luxury of pulling the covers over my head. I have no choice but to keep going.
As Winston Churchill once said: “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
The Illusion of Compromise
It’s hard to imagine how a court could grant even half of what he’s asking for, let alone all of it, when he’s facing charges of rape against me, assault on two of our children, and uttering threats of bodily harm and loss of life. But I’ve also learned the hard way that court can be as capricious as fate.
One demand in particular twists the knife: daily video calls into my home. Into a house where three victims live—supposedly protected by bail and police conditions. A house where he once installed hidden cameras in the bathroom and other rooms. Can the court seriously contemplate that? And what kind of lawyer even files such a request on behalf of a client with that history?
I think I know the answer. They throw everything onto the table, hoping to cloud the issues. Then they pretend to compromise: Well, if we drop the video calls, maybe we can still get X, Y, or Z. But here’s the truth: some things are not bargaining chips. Some things must be a BIG FAT NO. They must be HELL NO.
This is why I fired my last lawyer. He told me to trade my son’s safety—parenting time with his father—in exchange for consent for my daughter to travel. That’s not negotiation. That’s betrayal.
There are lines that cannot be crossed. Safety isn’t up for negotiation. My children’s well-being isn’t a pawn to be traded for paperwork. And the sooner the system stops pretending otherwise, the sooner it might start serving justice instead of strategy.
The Before
This is the before.
Me waiting. Trying not to spiral. Not knowing exactly what my lawyer can block or what the judge will allow. Not knowing the outcome. Full of hope, but also despair and cynicism. Me realising that teleconference means NOT in the court room so a quick call to the lawyer and a zoom link and I was good to go.
And then there was the news that came across my feed this weekend: Alex Paz, a woman caught in domestic violence, shot dead by the husband she was divorcing. A county deputy killed as well.
It feels never-ending—this tide of women trying so hard to rebuild their lives, escaping violence, only to be stopped cold. Too many don’t make it out.
So I remind myself: I am one of the lucky ones. As brutal as these courtroom battles are, I am alive. My children are alive. And that is not nothing.
I write these thoughts out here not just for myself, but in case they make a difference for someone else going through this. Or maybe to help others understand what this rollercoaster ride is really like.
For Alex Paz, and for all the women who didn’t make it out.
The Waiting Room of Justice – After
The emergency motion was brought because I withheld my son once his father was arrested and charged with child abuse and with uttering threats of bodily harm and loss of life against two of our older daughters. I could not, in good conscience, place him in that environment while those charges hang over us all. As one of my girls said “you are safe – until you are not….”
Although we had reached an agreement to adjourn to October 31, with the condition that he could have community-supervised visitation—public places like parks, swimming lessons, karate, museums, or the mall—the emergency motion was filed just days later.
So there I sat, nerves knotted, waiting for the worst.
And then the judge opened with one sentence:
“I am not sure why we are here.”
Hope, in one line.
The Same Excuses
The judge confirmed what I already knew in my gut: no confirmation of motion had been filed by the other side. Imagine that—the same lawyer, the same court, the same excuse. Their admin “mistakes” somehow always manage to waste time and drain energy.
The OCL [Office of the Children’s Lawyer] report still isn’t complete. The opposition argued that my son’s relationship with his father has been “tainted,” and that it’s difficult to accept that he cannot see him—that I’m “running the show.” Oh, the bitter irony. Read back through my blogs: I am not running the show at all. I am reacting, surviving, piecing together stability in the chaos he created.
What the Judge Saw
My lawyer confirmed that we had offered community supervision: a minimum of 2 to 3 hours per week in a public setting. This was reasonable, given that supervised access centres are nearly impossible to secure. The judge agreed—twice—calling it “very, very reasonable” and “a very generous offer.”
When asked what was different between this emergency motion and the one scheduled for the end of the month, opposing counsel descended into a Monty Python routine: fumbling papers, stuttering, trying and failing to find documents in the court system. Turns out he has three separate email accounts in the court case center system and keeps filing under the wrong one. Despite three phone calls, he has failed to get them consolidated.
The judge confirmed he couldn’t find the materials either, saying:
“Despite my diligent efforts, I couldn’t find them either. Technology and I are not friends, and I cannot offer you any advice to sort this out. But I suggest you take the initiative and get it done.”
Thank goodness my video and audio were off, because I was laughing out loud.
The Decision
In the end, the judge dismissed the emergency motion in full — for five reasons:
- “The matter could have waited” — it was already scheduled to be heard on October 31st.
- “It did not meet the urgent criteria” (as my lawyer had correctly pointed out).
- “The lawyer failed to file a confirmation or any materials in the court case center.”
- “Given the serious criminal charges, the court needs the input of the OCL” before considering any unsupervised access. The judge added: “If I were presiding over the motion at the end of the month, I would be very reluctant to allow any unsupervised access without the OCL’s report.”
- “Despite those charges, that they had been offered a very, very generous access arrangement under the circumstances” — to have that refused was patently unreasonable (for readers: “patently unreasonable” is actually a legal standard of review. It means a decision is so clearly irrational or absurd that no reasonable decision-maker could have reached it. It’s stronger than just saying the decision was “wrong” or “unreasonable”).
The judge also stressed: “These are serious criminal charges” In fact they already set for trial in January, with a prejudicial trial next week as well.
Finally, he awarded me all the costs my lawyer asked for — and then added:
“Had your lawyer asked for more, I would have without hesitation awarded you twice as much.”
And then came the best part: realizing how badly he had botched the motion, opposing counsel asked the court to put the costs order against him personally.
Mic. Drop.
The judge replied: “Not only would that require a substantial amount of paperwork, but I also do not wish to embarrass you any further.” Instead, he closed with a clear solution: he said he would “highly recommend taking the supervised access offer without prejudice arrangement.”
The Golden Moments
My friend had come with me as moral support, because the court system can be capricious and unpredictable. And she was right to come — because this day gave us more than just relief.
There were so many golden moments of validation. And because my ex had left his camera on, I could see his face. Let’s just say: he was not happy. (Total understatement.)
So my friend and I ended up crying tears of laughter, taking this win — because they don’t happen often.
And for once, the system gave me back a little faith. That judges can see through the noise, the excuses, the posturing, to what really matters.
And what matters most is this: the safety of my son.
The Road Ahead
For now, it was a victory — a smashed-out-of-the-park victory. But that is just one battle. The war is ongoing, with the next battle booked for October 31st — the day of monsters. How apt for my ex.
That date may yet shift, as we will need a long motion, and I will be meeting with my lawyer to prepare a cross-motion. Stand by. I am going on the attack. I am done defending. It’s time to charge into hell.
As General George S. Patton once said:
“May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won’t.”
