UNFIT Parent… or just too POOR to hire an attorney?!?

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Back in 2006, I wasn’t “unfit.”

I was outspent, out resourced, and blindsided in a court system

where truth doesn’t always matter

as much as paperwork and legal representation.

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I feel like I got duped by my own mother in that situation. We fought often over her decisions. But she had a lifetime of trauma and illness behind her—starting as far back as childhood (1960s). Addiction, instability, and pain changed the direction of her life. She’s gone now, so she can’t speak for herself, but the older we got, we eventually came back together.

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At one point, my mother had me labeled “unfit” so she could relocate to Florida with her husband. The only reason I was even back in Anderson was because she had told me it was the “right move.” It turned into a chain reaction of misfortune. (Horrible advice)

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I chose to join the United States Army instead of the alternative.

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And here’s the part that still sits heavy with me:

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If I was fit enough to serve my country and deploy to a war zone,

then I was fit enough to be a mother. I've spent a lot of money on attorneys since then and they are overrated.

 

Justice shouldn't come with a price tag. 

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The real issue isn’t just one family dispute.

It’s that Madison County’s systems have been broken for decades—underfunded, overwhelmed, and too often tilted in favor of whoever h

as the money and the legal advantage.

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Sometimes “unfit” isn’t the truth. 

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Sometimes it’s just the label the system uses

when you can’t afford to fight back.

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If I was a kid under today’s standards,

DCS would’ve removed me from my parents. 

And maybe some people would call that “help.”

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But the truth is—I was fortunate.

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I had good grandparents who stepped in and raised me

with stability, discipline, and love

when the adults around me were struggling.

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Not everyone gets that.

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The lesson I learned —

the moral of this story

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— about being called “unfit” or being too poor to afford justice…

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I didn’t want to become the kind of person who

destroys another person’s soul.

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I wanted to be the one who could turn the other cheek

with the people I loved — even when things were complicated,

even when things were unfair.

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I didn’t fully understand how dysfunctional my situation

really was until I got old enough to comprehend something

most kids never have to admit out loud:

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I didn’t want to live with my parents either.

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It took a VA therapist to say something

to me that hit me straight in the chest:

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“You don’t have to be the parent of your parents anymore.”

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And that hit hard… because in my family, the dynamics were tilted in a way that forced me to grow up fast just to survive. I spent years being “the responsible one,” even when my dad wasn’t around much — or when he was in constant trouble.

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And when it all came down to the end, I still had to make the right choices. My dad was cremated. His ashes were stolen.

And I still had to cover funeral expenses 2018. (Let that sink in)

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The coroner called me in 2019-2020ish out of the blue to come pick his ashes up. I thought it was a joke. I asked him to meet me at City Hall so just in case it was a prank call. lol 

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Then my mom got ripped off by a funeral home —

and we didn’t even find out until much later when it made 

the paper that a funeral director had been preying

on grieving families 2024.

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So, I did the best I could with the life I was handed since birth.

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While some people look at me and call me “trash,” I look at it like the prodigal son / prodigal daughter story.

 

If Yahweh (GOD) is for me then who can be against me, right?!? 

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I could have gone anywhere in the world after I joined the Army.

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Instead, life forced me back home… but I wouldn’t want to grow old anywhere else, because I know this town like the back of my hand.

My service to this nation has blessed my family greatly — even if some people can’t see it.

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I’m still here after everything that’s been thrown at me.

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And when life hands you lemons… you’ve only got a few options:

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You can throw them back.

You can get buried under them.

Or you can make lemonade.