A Lifeline to Stability and Dreams

I’m Monica, and I’m fighting to survive — emotionally, physically, and financially.

I’ve always worked hard. I show up. I’m reliable, experienced, professional, outgoing, and kind. I’ve spent years being the person people count on — smart, knowledgeable, and willing to go above and beyond. But none of that has protected me from the damage I’ve endured. Not from people. Not from systems that are broken — and not from people who have no safety net.

I’ve been through things that no one should have to go through just to keep a job or try to build a life. I’ve been bullied, slandered, taken advantage of, and discarded. I’ve lost jobs not because of my performance, but because I had no one to back me up. There either was no HR, or I didn’t have access to it — and if I did, it existed solely to protect the company, no matter how unethical or damaging their actions were. I’ve watched the truth be twisted to cover their tracks, and I’ve had my own name dragged through the mud while staying silent, because I didn’t have a choice.

This hasn’t been a short-term struggle. The abuse has gone on for over a decade. I’ve been on the receiving end of every tactic imaginable — bullying, manipulation, gaslighting, lies, exclusion, retaliation, and erasure — relentlessly, for years.

My abusers keep winning. And they keep trying to control the narrative. To maintain their power, their reputation, and their image — while ruining mine. They don’t want people to see the version of themselves they gave to me behind closed doors. They don’t want their reputations hurt — even as they destroy my livelihood, my name, my chances. They want me stuck in a story of defeat. Silenced. Invisible. Broken. And every time I try to move forward, that weight follows me — because they’ve made sure of it.

I’ve been paid wages far below my worth. I’ve been promised raises and advancement that never came. I was offered the bare minimum, no matter how much I gave. And I gave a lot. I worked hard. I went above and beyond. I made those companies money — more than most. I gave them everything. And this is how hard work pays off? With slander? With exclusion? With being cast aside?

If I had been paid fairly for the work I did, or could do haven given the opportunity, I’d be so much further ahead right now. I wouldn’t be starting over, again and again. I wouldn’t be scrambling just to survive.

The emotional and professional cost of being slandered — of having your name tarnished, your character questioned, and your reputation destroyed — is impossible to overstate. It doesn’t just hurt in the moment. It follows you. It makes it harder to find work, to trust people, to feel safe, to move forward. It isolates you. It steals your confidence and peace. It convinces others to turn away. And eventually, it takes everything you’ve built.

I’ve been punished for doing the right thing. I’ve been erased, scapegoated, mischaracterized, and pushed out — time and time again — not because I lacked value, but because I was inconvenient to those in power.

And each time, I’ve had to start from scratch. Each time, I’ve had to be the new employee. No protection. No benefits. Constantly starting over in unfamiliar environments where I’m walking on eggshells — surrounded by cliques, navigating new hierarchies, and learning quickly how disposable I am. It’s exhausting. And it’s not just a job — it’s my survival.

I’ve also been overlooked even when I was thriving. When I came up with innovative solutions to real problems — things that would have helped everyone, and often would have eliminated the need for their discriminatory behaviors in the first place — I was retaliated against. They did the opposite. They made it worse. Even when what I proposed would’ve improved systems, protected health, boosted morale, and supported growth, I was punished. What should have been recognized as smart, effective leadership became another reason to target me. Sometimes, the very things I tried to prevent caused harm — to me and to others. And still, they continued.

Yes — I’ve faced wages far below my worth.

Yes — I’ve lived through empty promises of raises and advancement. (Or had them dangled in-front of me. Whatever to try to cause hurt and harm).

Yes — I’ve been offered the bare minimum despite my effort and impact.

Through all of it, I’ve kept working. I’ve shown up — over and over. But I need help with monthly bills.

I’m driving a car that’s barely holding on. Without it, I lose the job I rely on — and without that, everything else collapses. I live every day hoping I can get to where I need to be without breaking down. The stress of that alone is constant and exhausting.

My health has also taken a hit. I’ve had to take a lot of time off work in the past few months due to medical issues — and every appointment has cost more than time. Gas. Parking. Lost wages. It adds up fast. Even though we’re in Canada and healthcare is supposed to be “free,” that hasn’t been the reality for me. I’ve never had stable benefits — and the few times I did, I was barely making enough to cover my basic needs, let alone access services like therapy, dental care, or even prescriptions. Preventative care is a luxury I’ve never been able to afford.

I wish I could take care of myself when I need to — not just when I’ve hit a breaking point and scraped enough together to manage it.

I also have a pet who’s overdue for veterinary care, and I’ve been watching things escalate with no way to help. It’s heartbreaking.

And I have no support system. There is no backup. There’s just me.

The emotional damage caused by slander, discrimination, and repeated exploitation is impossible to describe fully. It’s taken my peace, my progress, and years of potential from me. I’ve been forced into silence and isolation, and it’s cost me everything — not just professionally, but personally. I’ve lost friendships, family, and connections because of the lies that were told about me. Things that were once upon a time central to my life are now ghosts.

And this is just the workplace stuff. Not touching on anything even personal outside of toxic workplaces. And the toll this has taken on my personal life is something I can’t even begin to quantify.

There are nights I come home and stare at the TV, but I can’t even absorb a single second of it. My mind is spinning, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to survive it all. It’s been like this for a decade. Every day. All day. I need peace. I need healing.

But I’m still here — and I’m still fighting for a life that’s mine.

This campaign is about survival — but it’s also about healing. I’m raising $30,000–$35,000 to finally stabilize and start putting the pieces back together.

That includes:

• Monthly bills

• Car repairs or replacement

• Medical and dental expenses

• Veterinary care

• Therapy to begin working through the trauma

• Legal fees

• Student loan debt

• The opportunity to tell my story in if entirety to help make the world a better place

• A path out of survival mode — to breathe, heal, and rebuild

Because I don’t just want to survive — I want to live. I want peace. I want to be well. I want to laugh again, deeply and freely. I want a shot at my dreams one day. I want to make music. To write. To do comedy. To make art. To grow things and watch them thrive. I want to build a beautiful life that no one can take from me. I want the chance to finally live the life I’ve fought so hard for — not in constant crisis, but in calm, in creativity, in joy. In peace.

I want to believe that the things I’ve been through don’t define me — that I’m still allowed to dream. That I’m still allowed to feel safe. That there is hope.

Slander and discrimination have cost me years of my life. They’ve cost me friendships, security, my health, and my future. They’ve left me emotionally wrecked, professionally sidelined, and afraid to speak up — because the consequences always fell on me. And the grief that comes with that kind of loss — time and time again — is its own kind of death.

This isn’t about pity. This is about justice. About dignity. About peace.

I’ve sacrificed everything to try to build something better — only to watch it be taken away, again and again. And still, I’ve never stopped trying. I’m exhausted — chronically stuck in fight-or-flight — but I haven’t given up.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I know how many people are struggling right now, and I don’t take your time or energy for granted. If you’re able to donate, it would mean everything. And if you can’t, sharing this with others who might be able to help is just as meaningful.

Your support — in any form — is a step toward freedom, peace, and finally being able to rise above everything that’s tried to hold me down.

With all my heart,

Monica