Hello,

This is really hard to write, but I’m asking you to first hear my story. If you choose to donate or share, please know by reading my story, you’ve already answered part of my prayer.

I’m Tarra, a mom, retired Air Force veteran, and family medicine doctor who is now in the hardest chapter of her own life—recovering from a collapsed lung, VATS pleurodesis with lung wedge resections /biopsy, fighting an interstate custody battle to stay in my 3-year-old daughter’s life. After years of documented physical, emotional, verbal, and financial abuse, I did what I believed any mother with a duty to protect would do: I called 911, left with my daughter, and rebuilt safety with my parents in California. Because of jurisdiction rulings and a parallel case in North Carolina, she is now required to live there with her father in our co-owned house, while I remain in California, ordered to travel one week every month to maintain a relationship with her and prove my ongoing involvement. Every visit requires round-trip airfare, an Airbnb or other housing, a rental car, gas, food for us both, all costs of these unsupervised visitations—on top of ongoing legal fees—all while recent hospitalizations and lung surgery have made consistent work nearly difficult and drained both my savings and my parents’ retirement. I’m not asking for help with medical bills; I’m asking for help covering the travel, basic living, and legal costs that are the price of standing up for what’s right, keeping my bond with my daughter intact while I heal and continue pursuing accountability through the courts. Any support—whether a donation or simply sharing this—helps me keep showing up for my little girl and move us one step closer to a safer, more stable future.

A more detailed story is below, for the curious and if you’re interested, as I’m sure there are many questions.

My detailed story:

I’m fighting for two things at the same time: my serious health crisis, and my right to stay fully present in my daughter’s life—while paying the very real cost of standing up to documented physical, emotional, verbal, and financial abuse.

I’m a mom, a retired Air Force veteran, and a family medicine doctor. For years, I pushed through residency in South Carolina while raising our daughter and trying to hold my family together—the way so many women do—minimizing harm, protecting my partner, and telling myself I was doing it for the “greater good” of our family. Eventually, bruises and death threats made it clear that “staying” was no longer protecting anyone. On October 4, 2023—my second day in North Carolina, in a house where our child and I had never truly lived (a property we planned to sell or rent so we could all build our lives in California after my residency)—I called 911. I initially thought I could stay and work it out, but something worse happened and I realized my life was in danger whether I stayed or left. I left with our daughter for her health and well‑being, and my own. I did what I believed any mother with a duty to protect would do.

After that, we were safe in California with my parents by early November 2023. She was in school, and I truly hoped her father would seek mental‑health care, take accountability, and become the father I believed he could be.

Instead, he disappeared.

Process servers could not locate him to personally serve the California domestic‑violence restraining/custody papers, and the hearing kept getting delayed. We didn’t fully understand what was unfolding until it had already unfolded: before the California hearing even began, he avoided service long enough to file a competing custody motion in North Carolina, creating a parallel case that, in my understanding, is exactly what laws like the UCCJEA are intended to prevent.

Then, by the end of 2023, a new California judge took the case and ultimately declined to renew my temporary restraining order, which had been renewed several times before while he was still avoiding service. The judge ruled that California lacked “personal jurisdiction” to continue restraining‑order renewals or proceed with a full Domestic Violence trial against a nonresident from North Carolina. Redacted Ca DVRO CaseThe court also concluded that the witnessed events in California did not “rise to the level” she believed was required for renewal—despite describing those same events in her closing statements in a way that aligned with how Domestic Violence/Intimate Partner Violence is defined by both the Dept of HHS and California's DOJ Penal Code §13700(a). That contradiction left us bewildered, so we appealed. The appeal is still pending in the California Third District Court of Appeal, but our hopes are dim.

Once the restraining order was not renewed, the attached custody orders were lost, and the parallel case that had been brewing in North Carolina surged forward. Evidence of avoidance of service—an affidavit of non‑service, and private‑investigator audio in which he and his father discuss intentionally avoiding service of California custody papers in order to push the case to North Carolina—did not stop the shift. At this point, it has been incredibly hard to feel like the system is functioning in a way that protects victims and children, or rewards basic compliance and accountability.

In North Carolina, the court was told by him and his counsel that he was essentially “cleared of wrongdoing” and that California “declined custody,” rather than the reality that California’s ruling turned on a personal‑jurisdiction barrier and renewal standards—not a full hearing of the totality of violence over the prior years, and not a custody hearing on the merits. The states did not meaningfully communicate, and the version presented in North Carolina was treated as authoritative. Before I had a meaningful opportunity to respond at the outset, I was treated as not credible, labeled a “flight risk” rather than recognized as a protective parent, and I was told to relinquish our child to a state 2,000+ miles away or face incarceration.

So instead of safety and stability, the last year and a half has become an interstate custody nightmare anchored in a state where my daughter was not born and where neither of us lived. Under the current temporary orders, our now 3‑year‑old must remain in North Carolina, living in our unsold co‑owned property (equity our family was praying would help pay bills and help me rebuild in California), primarily with her father, while I live in California in our family home—where she and I used to happily share life with her grandparents. Until this separation, she and I had never spent any meaningful time apart; I breastfed her for 14 months.

I now understand why so many women in abusive relationships feel trapped and stay. Bruises may fade, but the emotional and legal fallout can stretch for years—especially when children are involved and the system does not clearly protect the parent who tried to get safe.

So here we are. Month after month, I make the cross‑country trip into a situation that understandably triggers fear and anxiety—because the person we needed protection from is still at the center of this process. But I keep going anyway, because my daughter deserves her mother. It has been this way since March 27, 2024.

Maintaining visitation (I am ordered one week per month) from across the country is painfully expensive and not optional. Every monthly visit requires round‑trip airfare, housing (Airbnb or similar), a rental car, gas, and food for both of us, all costs tied to these supervised exchanges/visitation logistics. These visits aren’t “extra.” They are the only way I can hold our child, maintain our bond, and demonstrate consistent involvement as the case drags on. Early in the process, when I missed just one visit at the beginning, I was penalized and nothing improved in the orders. I learned quickly that my only workable course of action for my daughter and our family is to keep showing up, no matter the cost.

What pushed me to finally start this GoFundMe is that my health has taken a dramatic turn, and we can no longer absorb these costs on our own.

I’ve had several medical setbacks over the last year, but the worst has been in the last few months—and it has financially devastated both me and my parents. In September, my lung collapsed unexpectedly and I was hospitalized for an extended period. The causes weren’t fully clear—possibly constant flying, extreme stress, lung lesions, snorkeling, or a combination—but the outcome was the same: repeated hospitalizations, lost income, and mounting costs on top of continued visitation travel, even with risk to my health.

I have since undergone lung surgery (VATS pleurodesis with wedge resections), and I still have biopsy results pending for a growth that has me worried. I was discharged on December 4, 2025, and it still hurts to breathe. I’ve been doing flexible consulting work with veterans to bring in some income and preserve the ability to travel for visitation, but repeated hospitalizations culminating in surgery have made consistent work difficult right now. When you add nonstop travel requirements and ongoing legal fees, my savings have been wiped out in just a few months. My parents have poured their retirement funds into keeping me afloat and keeping all of us connected to our little “rainbow miracle,” Eve—and they’re now at the point of needing to sell belongings to keep up. This December may be the first Christmas in two years that they get to see her, and my father is already talking about giving me his ticket because I still can’t manage the cost of my own travel. I genuinely don’t know how I’m going to make it work without help.

I am also determined to pursue accountability through lawful channels. The abuse in my case is documented through extensive evidence already provided to my attorney; I simply have not yet had a day in court where that full record has been meaningfully heard, and that is a hard pill to swallow after two years.

There are legally recorded voice recordings capturing rages, threats to “end me,” and physical violence; video documentation (including home security footage) of a minor being placed at risk; medical records of physical harm predating our daughter’s birth; and years of photos of bruising. There was also his arrest for “the last hit.”

Some people have asked why I recorded so much. I’ve learned that victims often begin recording when they’re being gaslit—when they’re repeatedly told events didn’t happen the way they remember, or that they “caused” the abuse. After each incident, there would often be apologies and explanations that left me doubting myself. Recording became a way to anchor reality, and later, a way to leave a record for my parents in case something happened to me—because I kept so much of this quiet for so long. My last recording was titled, “just in case.”

Now we are waiting for North Carolina to proceed. I remain hopeful about the next steps, and the judge so far has seemed compassionate. There is also the custody appeal still pending in California, but the process has left me concerned about the message sent to victims of intimate partner violence when jurisdiction becomes a barrier to protection. Appeals are an uphill battle—they don’t “redo” the case; they review a limited record and look for specific legal errors—so while we are continuing to fight, we are also living with the reality of delay.

What makes standing up for myself so important is this: I am not alone. Multiple women have shared with me their experiences with this same man, and their statements are part of ongoing legal processes. Some describe being silenced or pressured through intimidation, financial imbalance, community influence, or fear of retaliation; he and his family are prominent in their community. Early on, I made a promise—to myself and to them—that in addition to fighting for my own child, I would not be quiet. I am determined to use my voice to stand up for women’s rights, everyone's right—the right to live without abuse—and the basic truth that mothers and children deserve protection, not punishment, for trying to be safe.

Your support will help cover:

• Travel required to maintain visitation (airfare, Airbnbs/housing, rental cars, gas)

• Food and essentials for me and my daughter during visits

• Easing the strain on my aging parents, who have fronted essential costs from their retirement and are now facing selling belongings to keep up

• Basic living expenses for my family and me while I recover from Lung Surgery and work toward returning to consistent work

• Legal fees so I can stay in the fight—pursue custody arrangements that truly protect our daughter, and seek accountability through appropriate legal channels

By helping me continue this fight, you are also helping push back against a harmful precedent in my case—one that, in practice, has allowed documented abuse in one state to go largely unaddressed because the abusive partner lives in another (and in my case, the abuse spanned multiple states). I want my case to say clearly that we do not accept that as the price of coming forward.

If you can donate, you are helping a mother and proud veteran keep her bond with her child across the country while she heals—and keep going in a battle she never wanted, but must endure.

If you can’t donate, sharing this page is powerful too.

But truly, the fact that you read these words and heard my story is the most touching of all. I’m grateful someone is finally listening.

Thank you for standing with my family.