Anyone who truly knows me knows how hard it is for me to ask for help. My whole life has been built on survival — working three jobs, carrying the weight of everything alone, never letting myself need anyone. Independence became my armor because depending on others never felt safe. Even when I’m drowning, I stay silent until I have absolutely no other choice.

Today, I’ve reached that point. And it breaks me to say that out loud.

I am a survivor of 18 years of domestic abuse. In the middle of the COVID pandemic, I fled across state lines with my four children, determined to save them and rebuild a life from nothing. I worked myself to the bone, fought through a brutal $33,000 divorce, and asked for nothing except full custody. By God’s grace, I got it — and their father was denied visitation because of the abuse he inflicted on them too.

For five years, I fought to give my children stability. I worked hard, healed slowly, and finally — at 39 — I bought our first home. A safe place. A place that felt like redemption after everything we had survived.

Then November 3rd came. My company downsized, and I was laid off after years of loyal work. I didn’t panic — I applied for jobs immediately, determined to keep us afloat. But just weeks later, right before Christmas, I suffered a severe Jones fracture. One of the hardest fractures to heal. I was put on strict non‑weight‑bearing orders, and at my most recent appointment, my doctor extended my recovery again. I’ve now been essentially bedridden since early December.

The hardest part — the part that keeps me up at night — is watching my children carry burdens no child should ever have to carry. They cook, they clean, they take care of each other, all while trying to keep up with school. It brings back memories of my own childhood, caring for my mother during her cancer battle, and it shatters me to see history repeating in any way.

I have now been unemployed for six months. The financial strain is crushing. I have fought with everything in me to hold our life together, but I am at the end of what I can do alone.

The funds raised will go directly toward rent, utilities, medical expenses, and essential bills while I recover and continue applying for remote work — the only kind I can physically do right now. I apply every single day to over 1,100 places. I’m trying. I’m fighting. But nothing has come through yet.

Your support would mean more than I can ever express. It would give my children stability in a season that has shaken us to our core. It would help us stay in our home, keep the lights on, and make it through until I can walk again — until I can work again — until I can breathe again.

Thank you for reading this. Thank you for caring. Thank you for any kindness you can offer, whether it’s financial support or simply lifting our family up in prayer. Every bit of help is a reminder that we are not alone, that God is still moving, and that He has not brought us this far to leave us.

I am believing for a miracle. I am believing for provision. And I am believing that one day, I will be able to help someone else in need too.

if you’re unable to help financially, please keep us in your prayers. We desperately need it!