How Has The MEND Project Helped You?
I was looking for websites which validate the experiences of parents who have gone through hell via the family court system. I found yours, which offers an opportunity for victims to realize they are not alone. You also offer help for the victims and that is so much appreciated. It is validating to know that I am not crazy—the system is. Many people don't understand what's going on in family courts. Finding others who have gone through the wringer helped me realize that the problem wasn’t me—it was a corrupt, profit-driven system that punishes those who dare to protect their children.
My Journey Through Abuse and Injustice
I once lived a life full of dreams. Raised in the serene landscapes of Switzerland, I had a loving family, a passion for learning, and a deep desire to become a doctor. I traveled the world, explored cultures, and lived a vibrant, meaningful life.
But everything changed when I entered into a relationship that became a long and brutal descent into isolation, control, and abuse. Over the course of two decades, I experienced emotional, physical, mental, and sexual abuse. I lived in a twilight zone of psychological manipulation, where gaslighting, spiritual coercion, and violence became normalized. I lost my sense of self. I was told I was crazy, unstable, ungrateful. I was shamed for standing up, for asking questions, for protecting my children.
And then came the legal abuse.
When I filed for divorce to protect my children, I thought the court would do what it was supposed to do: protect the vulnerable. Instead, it became another battlefield. For 16 years, I was subjected to what I later came to recognize as Legal Abuse Syndrome—a form of psychological torture that punishes those who dare to leave abusers.
Biased evaluators distorted the truth. Judges turned a blind eye. Evidence of abuse was ignored. My children were taken from me, and for two years, we were not allowed to have contact. My pets were rehomed. My career as a naturopathic doctor was destroyed. I lost my home and everything that made life feel safe or familiar.
Then the unthinkable happened.
One day, the US Marshals stormed our home. I was arrested—accused of crimes (kidnapping, child stealing) I didn’t commit. In fact, I wasn’t even in the same state where the incident supposedly occurred. It was the second time my teenagers had escaped. I was 500 miles away when they made that decision. In court, when the judge asked how the children had traveled from point A to point B, the prosecutor simply said, “It’s irrelevant.” No witnesses were called. The heartfelt letters my children had written—explaining their fear and their choice—were ignored by the court, as were affidavits from friends, clients, and colleagues. Truth was not just dismissed; it was actively suppressed. Yet I was transported across state lines, strip-searched, shackled, and jailed in maximum security for six months, alongside women convicted of violent crimes.
Why? Because I had protected my children. Because I was a mother. Because the system didn’t believe me.
What Happened Next
As a result, I now carry a felony conviction that has nothing to do with justice—and everything to do with retaliation. It has affected every part of my life. I lost board certification, my career, the ability to rent housing, and even the chance to travel freely. For trying to protect my children, I was marked as a criminal—and treated as one.
My oldest daughter was also arrested—for protecting her siblings. She was only 23 yet thrown into jail for doing what any compassionate sister would do: try to keep her younger brothers and sisters safe from abuse. Her arrest was brief—four days—but deeply traumatic. It marked her for life, just as it marked me. To this day, I have not heard of another case where a sibling was jailed simply for standing between her brothers and danger.
Even my son, a minor at the time, was court-ordered to undergo a surgery he did not need—solely to spite me, a trained naturopath who had dared to advocate for non-invasive options. That cruel act was never about his health. It was about power.
I survived jail by becoming an observer. I wrote letters. I documented. I watched. And when I was finally released—hungry, cold, sleep-deprived, and traumatized—I was thrust back into a world I didn’t recognize. My home was gone. My life, as I knew it, had been burned to the ground.
For years afterward, I was in a fog. Diagnosed with Complex PTSD, Legal Abuse Syndrome, and anhedonia, I could barely function. There were times I didn't want to go on. I had lost everything—my children, my voice, my liberty. I had been spiritually shattered. And yet…something in me refused to stay broken.
How I Began To Heal
I began a slow climb out of the darkness—not in one dramatic leap, but through thousands of small, daily steps. I walked my dog. I danced Argentine Tango. I listened to music embedded with healing frequencies. I shook—literally, like animals do—to release trauma. I cried. I wrote. I breathed. I tapped. I visualized. I studied the work of people who understand the trauma of being betrayed by the very systems designed to protect. I used Guided Imagery, Hypnosis, Neurolinguistic Programming, and Somatic Therapies to reclaim parts of myself that had been silenced and shamed.
And I realized something life-changing: I did not need to relive the trauma to heal. I only needed to release the energetic charge—the emotional poison—that kept it alive in my body.
Over time, I rebuilt not just my health but my identity. I stopped asking, “Why me?” and started asking, “What now?” I began helping others who had also been silenced, disbelieved, and betrayed.
To this day, I still face limitations because of the felony label unjustly stamped on me. I still live with the grief of lost years. And I still witness, with heartbreaking frequency, other protective mothers being punished for trying to keep their children safe.
But I also live with strength. With clarity. With purpose.
I am not the same woman who entered the system. I am wiser. I am more compassionate. I am fierce in my advocacy for justice and truth. I know that healing is possible, even from the deepest of wounds. Not overnight. Not with just one technique. But slowly, by weaving together tools, support, faith, and the unwavering belief that we were not born to suffer—we were born to rise.
To anyone reading this who feels like they’re drowning in darkness: There is a way out. It may take time. It may take all the courage you have. But you are not alone. And you are not crazy.
You are navigating a system that has failed to recognize the patterns of abuse. And that failure has consequences.
My hope is that by sharing this, someone else will find the strength to hold on one more day—and then another—and then one more after that.
Healing is not linear. But it is possible.
And yes, YOU can recover.