First musings

This is the post excerpt.


Usually people who start a blog have a specific topic they feel strongly about and want to talk about it. Me, I just wanna write. I hope to be writing about a lot of stuff, in no particular order or time frame. Feel free to comment and share if it touches you in any way.


Your right? Denied

My child is 12 years old. They were born in Brooklyn. They live in Brooklyn. In new York State. They are a citizen. They go to school. But you’d never know it when you ask them about their studies.

They have never learned about the human body. The skeletal system. The brain. The way their intestines work.

They’ve never looked at a map, or a globe, and learned about the different states in this great big country. Let alone other countries. Never learnt about other cultures, rituals, foods.

They’ve never done a science project, participated in a spelling bee, or been part of a stem class or robotics group.

They’ve never read a book, specifically for the purpose of writing a report on it. Or their own response to it. They’ve never written an essay. Or done a single assignment testing for reading comprehension.

The most they’ve received, is basic math and reading skills. Think rudimentary phonics and simple third grade level reading and math. Nothing beyond simple division.

The school has a small yard, never utilized for any organized sports. In fact, ball playing is banned. Sometimes the kids will play with a squashed box. Needless to say, there is no gym.

You’d think that since their school day is so long, they’d actually learn something and then some. But no. At 12 years old, their school day starts at 7:40 am with prayers, and ends at 5:30 pm after an hour and a half of “English” classes (basic reading or math). At the time I wrote this, it was  October 14, 2018, and these “English” classes had yet to have commenced.

My kid is one of the lucky ones. They’re smart. And have excellent memory skills. I taught them how to read write and speak English when they were just 4 years old. So they could be on level when I placed them into a better school down the line. And so that they would be able to communicate with their dads family.

I have been fighting over three years in court to place my child in an appropriate school where they can get the education they deserve, but have been blocked from doing so by two NYS judges.

The only pushback this and similar yeshivos (religious boys schools) have is from this wonderful organization. Please consider supporting them.


The space others hold for us. Or not.

I wrote this a year ago. While my understanding has broadened to understand that noone owes us anything, the hurt is still there.

Also, we still experience this.

How many more times will I get hung out to dry with no one there to do supervision? Can we do statistics? Averages? Bets?
Cmon maybe a drinking game?
I take care of myself and my kid
What is so fucking difficult?!?
Why are people like this?
Am I supposed to not see him?
It’s sunday
So I don’t even have the library to hang out in
I’m so tired
How do people stay normal and alive?
Yes I know noone owes me anything
But this pain and frustration and sheer agony is too much.
I can’t
It makes me hate the world
And hate every single time I am generous or nice to someone. And I am generally generous and nice.
I’m tired.
Worn out
On the verge of tears
Why am I trying so hard???
To those of you who are thinking why am I so self centered and selfish, well please just scroll on.
And may you never know this abandonment

Life in the day of

It’s 3:16 pm.
I’m dashing out the office door.
I need to be in Brooklyn by four pm to pick my kid up from school.
I only arrived to work at like 2. School got in the way.
Normally my kid gets done by 5:30 but they still haven’t started “English” classes yet. It’s only October 11, what’s the rush.

I don’t mind picking up my kid from school. I consider it a privilege. What I do mind is the fact that they’re wasting so much time in a place that offers virtually zero in the way of education, secular and Judaic.                 Another thing I mind is that it’s so far away! There are perfectly good schools closer to the neighborhood, but my hands are tied by an abusive ex and a corrupt and negligent judge. And I mind that if I don’t pick them up, they get to commute for almost an hour with no safe way of communicating with anyone.            So I tear myself apart.

It’s our overnight visitation day, and before you say “oh that’s great that you get to spend some overnights together”, read further.
My wonderful family member, who we will be spending the night at, and who has opened their home to us over 90% of the past year +, had asked me if I would be able to come Wednesdays instead of Thursdays.
I particularly dislike doing overnights on Wednesdays. The drain these overnights have on is incredibly difficult. I take solace in the fact that my kid has a small school day on Friday and I don’t have classes (and I have already seen it is impossible to work that day.) So instead I spend it trying to heal with art (there is no healing in abuse) and then I collapse, laying immobile for hours.
I ask if it would be possible to do Thursday this week and talk about options for the following weeks.
Thankfully they agree.
After work yesterday, I literally couldn’t move. I laid in bed from 3-10 pm. Pain searing through my whole body.
They ask if we can come later in the afternoon. I agree.
So I’m frantically thinking where we can spend the next couple of hours. Should we spend it in my car? Should I take advantage of this “free” time and go see a movie?
I ask them if they will be able to have dinner for us, or if I should do it myself this time.
There is no response for a while.
Another thing to worry and stress about.
I don’t blame them. They don’t owe us anything. They’re already doing so much.
We take up precious space in their small living space.
I blame my abusers. Two men who have so much hatred and rage, that they don’t care what this child is going through. A woman who has no backbone or integrity and doesn’t care what hell she’s putting us through.

3:45 pm
I get a text, telling me I actually don’t have to come later, and that they will have dinner.
My whole body sags in relief.
No money needed to be spent on the theater. Or takeout food.
We just need to wait a little over a half an hour til we can go into the place.

And this is what I deal with every single fucking week and sometimes multiple times a week.
The toll this has taken on our bodies and my mind is unbelievably high. I am empty. I have no energy. I have nothing to give.
I can’t learn. I can’t work. I am a shell of what I can be.
All in the best interest of the child.
Now we’re just sitting here. Waiting for 5:30.
So we can invade someone’s personal space against our will. In shame. In pain.
This is what abuse looks like.

Whose best interest?

“In the child’s best interest”. That’s a phrase the judge that’s dragged out our custody case for more than three years now, likes to throw around.

Here’s what the child’s best interest looks like.

Seperated from Mom, the primary caregiver who was kicked out of the home for no reason specified.

Placed under restricted supervised visitation by a social worker, for no specific reason or path to “rehabilitation”. Initially, I was supposed to see my kid for four hours twice a week with a social worker, but what social worker does that? So I ended up seeing him 6 hours over a period of 6 weeks.

It has been over three years, and we are still under supervised visitation. Not warranted, not requested by child. Encouraged by forensic psychologist but no reason given.

We have been through a dozen people and homes. We split our time between traveling, a boiler room and strange beds. Sometimes we’re relegated to the basement, the front steps, the local park, the library. Almost every week we travel almost two hours to the plave where we can be supervised. We arrive in time for bed, sometimes eating dinner in the car, only to wake up at the crack of dawn to drive back to a school that does not meet the needs of my child.

My kid has been deprived of an education.

He has been deprived of coming home to a loving parent and home, where a hot dinner awaits. Instead we’re eating takeout two/three times a week at $20-$30 a pop.

He has been COMPLETELY cut off from family and friends. Completely. No play dates, no extended visits.

We have been ripped from our home. Our possessions stolen. Or left to strangers.

He has lost space for playing. For toys. For frolicking in the grass and sun.

He is being denied any therapeutic help.

He is being fed lies about his mom. By dad.

He is being interrogated after every single visit with Mom.

My kids health is at an all time low. Emotionally and physically neglected.

He travels a public bus alone without any form of communication every single morning at 7am, for an hour, and on days I don’t travel in myself, afternoon. Anybody could kidnap him and he’d have no way of reaching out.

We live with constant anxiety. Will someone take us in this week? Or not?

It’s been over three years that we have spent a holiday or weekend together.

I am not an alcoholic.

I am not abusive.

I am not mentally or physically incapable of caring after him.

My PTSD is so bad, and yet I get blamed. They hit me, and then they accuse me of being hurt.

We are suffering abuse in a place that’s supposed to protect.

A trial that’s over two years long.

An attacking lawyer.

An unsympathetic judge.



I have no hope.


If you can help us, please please please do.


On abuse

In my reality, #iamkavanaugh
And #iamford.
I am testifying to my abuse, and I am being accused of things I did not do.
And so I identify with both of these people being torn apart.
I am not saying they did or didn’t do these things.
I don’t know, and neither will you. I am just saying, most of you have never been in their situation (on the stand, humiliated, accused and torn apart.) But I have, and I am, and I still will. It is horrific. And I’m not even in the public arena. So I can’t imagine how it is for them. ANY kind of abuse IS NOT OK! But abusive judgement and comments is not ok either. This world needs to learn to be kind. You can mete out punishment in kindness too y’know. It doesn’t have to be bloody.
Noone will ever know the truth of what happened, because a, there is no such thing as truth, everyone has their own perspective of how things appear to them, and b, YOU CAN NEVER KNOW WHAT A PERSON IS THINKING WHEN SAID PERSON IS TALKING!
please be kind. TO EVERYONE. THE WORLD IS NOT ONE COLLECTIVE. THE POLITICAL PARTIES DON’T ALL HAVE ONE OPINION. WHAT KIND OF DUMB THINKING IS THAT? People have different thoughts about everything, doesn’t mean you can’t still be kind. I’m begging you, there is enough hate in the world, please be kind.


the hidden news stories

Level of abuse and evil.
Chartbreaking. Ye, that word isn’t a typo. This level of emotional abuse is off the charts.
My ex hitched himself to a new piece, and thus, has moved out of the apartment we once shared. Logic would think, he would not only be ok with me taking back my place and living peacefully there, but actually help facilitate the transition, and thus making it easier on our child, to not have to travel an hour back and forth each and every goddamn day between “school” and home.
But no.
Instead of giving me the keys to the unit, he bitchingly gave it back to management.
And because he told them that I had “moved” out more than two years ago, they are refusing for me to go back in.
I was able to go there once this week. Thank you friends who came with me to support me.
Aside from leaving the place in shambles, he stole whatever he wanted. Furniture, silver, tablecloths, clothes, pictures in frames. Appliances. Half of which he did not pay for even. You do realize that when you’re in court you need to have your “assets” divided. Well apparently not him.
Not only that, I found pictures of me and my child stuffed into a drawer, my clothes all bagged and “hidden” besides my armoire. My armoire that once held my clothes stuffed with my books and CDs and some other stuff. My crafts supplies are gone. I cannot begin to tell you what searing pain it is to see your very essence torn apart.
I had had plans to go back there this evening with my kid, and ease back into that place, when I found the number lock (that my parents had installed,) torn out and locked with a different lock by management. Tonight my child and I are sharing a twin bed. In a tiny room. When we would have been able to each have our own room. This is the face of evil. Not only my ex, but his attorney, may he rot, our judge, may ill find her, and our child’s lawyer , who’s job is to report what the child wants, but refuses to hear what my kid isn’t saying, out of fear of dads retaliation.
This is a horrible horrible case of abuse, but nowhere will you find it in the news. No campaigns are being made, no petitions being drafted. Not a single person is stepping forward to help us, in any way. And that hurts most of all.

What justice?

I’m sitting in a courtroom in the Brooklyn Supreme Court building.

I’m here because I’m coming in support of a friend.

This scene is not new to me. I’ve been here before. Almost two years ago.

Before entering the building, I prepare to feel the same dread I used to feel upon entering. But interestingly, I don’t. The guard actually waves to me all the way from his post at the security arch to the entrance of the building where I’m just entering. It’s about 20 feet distance. I’m bewildered. I’m wondering if my demeanor makes the difference in how I’m perceived at this moment. I’m not holding my breath, nor do I have deep anxious furrows between my brows. I feel faceless and nameless but in a neutral way.

While waiting for the elevator, the familiar feeling of dread and hate, appear. Finally, my familiar friends. I look at the signs hung on the walls. Promising help. Promising support. Promising a speedy and painless process. And I laugh silently. What lies. None of these promises are true. Not when it comes to vindictive people, actively seeking to destroy others.

I watch my friend. Her body contorted. Her face showing so much fear. I guess this is what I look like when I’m in her place. And I’ll be there next week. And she’ll possibly be there for me. As she has at least twice before.

I look around the god forsaken room. In a place where not only is justice not served, it is not only withheld, but pain is administered.

This whole court/custody process is fucked up. Drawn out. Instead of helping people, it’s destroying people. And the children suffer the most.

This is a place where you go to die. Where right becomes wrong and wrong becomes right and the powers that be refuse to see the harm they are doing.

Just the opposite, they revel in it.