At some point you just have to decide that you’re done suffering.
I’m done grieving for children who are still alive.
At some point you just have to decide that you’re done suffering.
I’m done grieving for children who are still alive.
Seth and Aiden, I hope one day you stumble upon this and read it, and realize that what you have gone through is not your fault. You were always both good kids, and you are both growing into strong and intelligent young men with good hearts, and I am very proud of you. My door and my heart will always be open to both of you. I am also sorry for the mistakes I have made along the way, and I hope you can find peace and healing from the hurts I have caused by failing you.
Remember to be kind and forgiving to each other, and always encourage each other. You are brothers, and you are both my sons, no matter what. I love you both – yesterday, today, and always.
With love from your father
This is the family that is patiently waiting to be back in your life again. You already know most of them. They are:
(Top row) Me, Uncle Willey, cousin Ernestine, your Uncle Scott, Julie, cousin Barbara, your sister Haley, and Grandpa John
(Bottom row) Grandma Jane, cousin Thomas, Panda (the dog), your Aunt Amanda (who will soon be giving birth to another cousin), and Aunt Trice.
The following article was written by Peg Streep and posted here:
We think about familial bonds between and among parents and their children as being forged by caring, love, support, and shared experiences: frolicking in the snow or going to the beach, roasting marshmallows, holidays and celebrations, etc. And, yes, there are families whose old photo albums and newer Instagram accounts look just like that — potential subjects for a contemporary Norman Rockwell and the stuff that television commercials are made of. In dysfunctional families, though, bonds are formed differently and a lot less prettily. This is especially true when a narcissistic, combative, or controlling mother is at the helm of the family ship. That brings us to the scapegoated child.
Scapegoating: the glue that holds a family together
In ancient tribal societies, a goat — yes, that’s where the term comes from — was chosen to represent the group’s collective sins to appease an angry deity. By casting the animal out, the tribe symbolically guaranteed itself a clean slate going forward. Scapegoating appears in most, if not all, groups — from entire nations to towns to organizations to families — in times of turmoil. Naming a scapegoat and blaming him/her/them for the crisis at hand facilitates not just a sense of unity (us versus them), but also in authoritarian societies provides a go-to explanation for societal problems.
This process happens in families as well, and it can be driven by both conscious and unconscious motives. Becoming the scapegoat can be a temporary role (and family members may rotate in and out of it) or a permanent one. Let’s look at the temporary role first and its effects on family interactions.
Taking turns being the fall guy
The rotating scapegoat role can become institutionalized in a family with a controlling mother. This mother leaves little to chance; she’s a perfectionist who believes that there’s a “right” and a “wrong” way of doing things, and she wants everything “just so.” When things don’t go as planned or as she imagined them taking place, she both needs a reason for what she considers a disaster and a person to blame it on, other than herself. Controlling mothers rarely concede that it’s their mistake that prompted whatever it is she’s calling a disaster. So when the dog gets out and digs up the neighbor’s garden, it’s going to be Aidan or Leann who takes the fall for not latching the door, and that will prompt either or both children to tattle on each other. Controlling people want there to be a reason bad things happen and someone to pin it on. Let’s say the family car gets vandalized in the driveway. A reasonably well-adjusted person is irritated, but figures this was the work of random thugs. Not so the controller, who discovers that when Nancy came home, she didn’t leave the porch light on. Voila! She’s an instant scapegoat as the parent focuses on the cover of darkness without which the thugs wouldn’t have acted. Yes, the vandalism becomes Nancy’s “fault” in this particular household.
Knowing that someone is going to have to bear the blame, regardless of the circumstances, sets siblings against each other, working hard to stay in Mom’s good graces. As part of their strategy to duck and cover, they participate in the blame game.
“My whole childhood was like navigating a minefield, making sure that I didn’t get on her wrong side. Mornings were torture, because if we were late getting to school, there had to be a fall guy. My brother made sure that he never took the heat and always was quick to make sure either I was responsible or my sister. It’s no different as an adult. Same deal. It’s her way or the highway. I have no relationship to either of my siblings to speak of.”
A combative mother, too, often relies on the revolving scapegoat not just to maintain control over the children, but also to reassure herself that she’s doing a great job. She doesn’t see herself as a bully, but as someone with authority and agency, who’s determined that her kids toe the line she’s drawn.
The pattern is much more scarring to individual development when being the scapegoat is permanent. That is often the hallmark of the mother high in narcissistic traits who loves playing games and favorites to keep herself at the center of attention.
The designated scapegoat
In an interesting article, Gary Gemmill points out that assigning a child the role of the scapegoat allows all the other members of the family to think of themselves as emotionally healthier and more stable than they actually are, since they’re not required to take responsibility for their behaviors or actions. The one thorn in the family’s side (so the mother maintains) is the presence of the scapegoat, and if he or she could be “fixed” or “made to act better,” then life would be perfect.
The permanent scapegoat permits the narcissistic mother to make sense of family dynamics and the things that displease her without ever blemishing her own role as a “perfect” mother, or feeling the need for any introspection or action. She has a ready-made explanation for fractiousness or any other deviation from what she expects her family to look like. Similarly, the attention of the other children in the family is directed away from how the mother acts and, instead, is focused on the one person who’s “messing it all up.”
While the underlying motivation for scapegoating may not be consciously perceived by the mother who’s instigating it — she doesn’t recognize it as a tactic for maintaining the image of a perfect façade and keeping dysfunction masked — bullying and targeting the scapegoat is consciously maintained. With a narcissistic mother, it often becomes a team sport with the other children following her lead. In this way, the scapegoat becomes a part of the family’s mythology — the stories the members tell about how the family works, both in childhood and in adulthood — which is firmly established as “truth.” Like a Hollywood Western, there are white hats and black hats, good kids and a bad one or two, and the family scripts are utterly predictable.
The presence of a designated scapegoat effectively prevents any kind of open dialogue about the mother’s behavior or how the family interacts. The scapegoat facilitates the mother’s vision and, so, keeps her above reproach.
While it seems counter-intuitive, it’s not just the scapegoat who’s affected by the dynamic.
How the scapegoat is affected
How detrimental the scapegoat role is to a daughter’s development depends, in part, on her personality and how aware she is of the dynamic, either at a young age or as she matures. One daughter confided that she understood what was going on by the age of seven or eight: “My mother made no effort at being at all even-handed; she favored my older sister who could do no wrong, and she blamed me constantly for not being good enough. The unfairness of it all rankled me, and I actively looked for outside positive feedback to offset what was going on at home. My father also didn’t join in on the bullying, so that helped.” But another daughter, now 46, describes how she went down for the count: “I honestly believed every word my mother and siblings said about me until I went into therapy at a friend’s suggestion when I was 30. I blamed myself for everything and couldn’t take credit or feel pride in anything. When something good happened, I thought it was a fluke. When someone liked me, I doubted it. When something went wrong, I knew I’d made it happen because I was flawed and deficient.”
Almost all scapegoated children develop a thick hide emotionally and are prone to self-armoring, even when they’re conscious of how they’re being bullied and mistreated and how unfair it is. Being robbed of a sense of belonging in their family of origin leaves a real mark, and may dog them into adulthood. They can become high achievers, on the one hand, actively working to disprove their mothers’ vision of them, or they may have so internalized the negative messages about themselves that they set their sights low, avoid failure at all costs, and have problems both setting and accomplishing their own goals. There’s no question that significant emotional and psychological wounds are sustained.
Yet, in all of this, there is indeed a silver lining. Of all the children growing up with a narcissistic mother, it is the scapegoated child who’s more likely to come to terms with and recognize the toxic patterns of this relationship — those displayed by her mother and other family members. She’s more likely to seek help healing from these patterns and their effects than her siblings, who have bought into the family story, lock, stock, and barrel. She is often the only child in the family who has a shot at being able to have healthy and sustaining relationships once she’s sought help for herself.
The effect of scapegoating on the other child or children
Children of mothers high in narcissistic traits remain planets in orbit, circling the mother sun; even with one child scapegoated, the mother still plays favorites among the others, doling out what passes for love depending on how well the individual child reflects on her. Because the narcissistic mother sees her children as extensions of herself (except for the rejected scapegoat), the status of each child may change at various points in time. There’s usually a “trophy” child, also referred to as “golden,” who fulfills the mother’s expectations perfectly, and is often just like her and is high in narcissistic traits. It’s a world governed by external achievements, how good you look to other people (including your mother), and not at all about your character, empathy, or inner self.
The trophy child knows nothing about introspection and less about his true self. He sees love as transactional (“You do well for me, and you have earned my love”) and is well aware that it’s conditional. He’s likely to carry that mental model into all of his adult relationships, since he’s disinclined to look past what the family mythologies tell him. He’s utterly clueless about how he’s been affected by his narcissistic mother and has deficits in empathy and emotional regulation because he’s learned to go along to get along. It’s not a formula for happiness.
The ongoing division and dysfunction
Not to mix up our barnyard metaphors, but once they’ve achieved adulthood and left home, scapegoats grow up to be the black sheep of the family. What efforts they make to try to dislodge the family mythologies will be met with vehement denial and reprisal; they move from justifying the family dynamic as scapegoated children to unifying the other family members by challenging their truth as black sheep. What happens usually is a hardening and solidification of the party line (“She was always crazy, even as a child”; “No one could ever deal with her. She was a liar given to fantasy“; “The most ungrateful human being you’ve ever met”; “She never wanted to be part of the family to begin with”). Additionally, the family isn’t likely to go quietly and ignore the threat; they will often mount a smear campaign and use other tactics to discredit the adult black sheep. Often, she’s left with no choice but to go no-contact with all of them.
But, as I’ve learned from my readers, with support and help, these neglected and set-upon children will ultimately bloom, firmly rooted in a life of their own making.
This is an abridged version of an article on Thought Catalog, written by Shahida Arabi and I thought it was a great article. Please click on the link to the full article in order to give the site the traffic it deserves: 50 Questions You Must Ask Yourself If You Think You’re In An Emotionally Abusive Relationship.
Please remember: When we want to be in love, we sometimes see the person through rose-colored glasses, and all the red flags just look like flags.
Emotional abuse is a set of behaviors in which a person manipulates, coerces, controls, belittles and terrorizes another person repeatedly. Chronic emotional abuse takes a toll on victims, causing them to struggle with depression, anxiety, feelings of worthlessness, hopelessness and learned helplessness. In extreme cases, long-term emotional abuse can cause symptoms of PTSD or Complex PTSD.
When one person emotionally abuses another, it can include the following behaviors:
There are also many other underhanded and subtle ways in which a victim can be emotionally abused, such as triangulation (bringing in the presence of a third party to abuse by proxy), smear campaigns (spreading rumors or gossip to ruin the victim’s reputation), and hot and cold behavior (pushing the victim away and emotionally withdrawing, intermittently throwing in periods of affection). Emotionally abusive partners may also lie pathologically and lead double lives, causing their victims to invest in a false partnership that ultimately brings harm and devastation.
Here are fifty “loaded” questions you should ask yourself if you think you’re being emotionally abused in a relationship. These questions take into account the fact that you already suspect you’re being abused. Your answers to these questions can give you insight regarding the emotionally abusive behaviors you might be currently experiencing, can help you to identify the red flags of abuse and assess the level of toxicity in your relationship.
1. Does your partner enjoy humiliating you in public?
2. What is the worst way in which your partner has used your own insecurities against you?
3. Do you find that the way your partner treated you in the beginning of the relationship is unrecognizable from the way your partner treats you now?
4. How often does your partner make you feel sorry for them after mistreating you?
5. Are you persistently made to feel guilty for voicing your concerns in the relationship?
6. Does your partner shame you about qualities or traits you have that they once praised?
7. Does your partner shut down conversations about their behavior before they even have a chance to begin?
8. Is your partner nicer and more respectful to others in public than they are to you behind closed doors?
9. When your partner gives you the silent treatment, do they usually explain themselves or do they continue to ignore you and come back only to pretend like nothing ever happened?
10. Does your partner continuously claim that you’re too sensitive when you express your emotions?
11. Do you find yourself questioning your own reality on a daily basis?
12. Have you been made to doubt things that you know for a fact your partner has said or done?
13. Does your partner call you names when he or she doesn’t get their way?
14. Are you afraid to express your true feelings around your partner because of the way they’ve reacted to you in the past?
15. Do you feel like your accomplishments are belittled, ignored or minimized by your partner?
16. How often are you made to feel insecure and invisible when your partner engages in conversations with people of the opposite sex?
17. Does your partner frequently compare you to others in a demeaning way in terms of appearance, personality, success or any other aspect of yourself they like to criticize?
18. Do you feel like you’re always walking on eggshells around this person, careful what to say or do just to avoid “offending” them?
19. Does the way your partner looks at or talks about other women or men (whoever they are attracted to) make you feel uncomfortable?
20. Has your partner reminded you of how lucky you are to have them, usually after an outburst?
21. Does your partner have frequent rage attacks when their ego is threatened?
22. If you call out your partner’s behavior, do they become excessively angry?
23. Are you allowed to ever point out your partner’s mistakes, even in a light-hearted manner?
24. How often does your partner make you feel ashamed about qualities and accomplishments you used to be proud of?
25. Do you find yourself apologizing for things you’re not at fault for in the relationship?
26. Has your partner ever made you feel as if you were in ‘competition’ with other people for their attention and love?
27. Do you find yourself apologizing for the mistakes that your partner made but refuses to own up to?
28. How many times has your partner accused you of having flaws that they themselves possess?
29. In what ways has your partner turned the things you used to enjoy doing into things you dread doing?
30. How does your body react when you’re around your partner?
31. Do you feel overly anxious when you think about how your partner treats you?
32. How many ways have you wasted time trying to please your partner, only to learn that they are never satisfied with anything you do?
33. In what ways do you feel you have to ask permission from your partner before you do something?
34. Have you ever gotten the sense that your partner is envious and hateful when you’re happy and successful?
35. Does your partner seem happy when you’re in pain?
36. Does your partner often comfort you, come to the rescue and ‘play the savior’ for the pain that they themselves caused?
37. Do you find that your partner gives you more negative feedback and criticism about yourself than they do encouragement?
38. Has your partner punished you for making choices independent of their opinion?
39. Have you ever felt limited in your ability to see your loved ones because of your partner?
40. How frequently does your partner call or text you to “check in” when you’re not with them?
41. Has your partner ever coerced you into sexual activities you weren’t comfortable with?
42. Has your partner ever made you feel guilty for not having sex with them?
43. Do you fear leaving your partner, out of the fear that they might harm you or harm themselves?
44. Does your partner discourage you from pursuing dreams or goals that would make you independent of them?
45. How often do you feel like you’re pleading for your partner’s affection or attention?
46. How many times has your partner insulted you and made you feel terrible, all while claiming “it was just a joke”?
47. Have you been told you’re too sensitive when you start setting boundaries with your partner?
48. When your partner is acting kind, does it seem out of place with the way they usually act?
49. Does your partner treat you tenderly and affectionately one second, only to pull back and coldly withdraw?
50. When your partner tells you they love you, do you have a hard time believing them because the way they act is anything but loving?
When emotional abuse takes place in childhood, it wreaks havoc on the mental architecture of the brain, affecting areas such as the amygdala, the hippocampus and the prefrontal cortex. These areas of the brain help with emotional regulation, learning, memory, focus, cognition and planning.
Many survivors of emotional abuse, whether they suffered it in childhood, adulthood or both, struggle with a sense of powerlessness as they are repeatedly put down. As a result of these adverse experiences, they may turn to self-destructive behavior, become trauma-bonded to their abusers and find it difficult to leave the toxic relationship.
The process of alienation is not well understood. This article sheds some light on a difficult subject in a surprisingly insightful way.
I was asked a question recently about how one can recover as an alienated child. Clearly the person asking the question was beginning the process of working through the reasons why they, as a young adult, may think about the world in a different way to other people. In responding to the question, I found myself wandering the backstreets of the world of the alienated child again. A world which is dimly lit at best and at worst, is full of shadows and secrets and lies, to such an extent that reality based thinking is more or less impossible. It got me thinking, how does a child recover from the experience of psychological splitting and what is the psychological journey to full health that must be taken?
The process of psychological splitting, which is the strongest symptom of alienation, drives a child back into an infantile state of mind…
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Sometimes, in the midst of tragedy, good things can happen. I am extremely happy to report that my daughter Haley has been reunited with her biological brother, Charles! I wrote about Charles last year in my post Extended family, how he was in foster care, along with his sister, with my family many years ago. Charles was removed due to some accusations against him by my ex-wife that now, in hindsight, were almost certainly false. Charles was taken out of my home while I was away on Basic Training with the military in 2006 – he was there when I left and gone when I returned. Haley always missed her older brother, and often expressed a desire to reconnect with him.
This weekend, that re-connection happened! I found Charles’ information online, and contacted his adoptive mother, who was thrilled to hear from me. We set up a meeting that morning! After a tearful reunion and a huge lunch, Charles and Haley spent the day together at Seaworld. It had been 11 years since they’d seen each other. So much had happened in over a decade. But to see brother and sister together again was amazing.
I went to a funeral a short time ago. While nearly all funerals are sad, this one was particularly heartbreaking, as the deceased had passed away suddenly, unexpectedly, and at a relatively young age. A mother, still in the prime of middle age, was taken without warning. A large and loving family had gathered from all over the United States to grieve the passing of a woman that they all had fond memories of. Although I didn’t know the woman at all, it was obvious that she would be missed by a great many people.
While I sat and watched the family pour out their grief during the funeral, and then later the burial, a strange emotion came over me. It was an emotion I would have never expected to feel at a funeral, and it took me some time to identify it. It was envy. I felt envious of the family that had gathered to mourn the loss of someone they loved so much. I felt ashamed of this emotion at first, and I tried to bury it. I was there to support someone who had lost a close family member, this was not the time to be focused on myself. But later on, once I was alone, I began to reflect on what I had felt, and more importantly, why.
I obviously didn’t envy the family for losing a loved one. I have many people in my life whom I love dearly, and I would not want to lose any of them. I have had loved ones die, and I certainly did not want that to happen to again. What I envied was not their grief, but rather that they were able to express it. My sons are gone. Not dead, but just… gone. They are gone from my life, and the lives of my family. When my wife filed false allegations against me, and took my children from me, it was emotionally devastating. It was a horrible feeling, a great loss, and it was very painful, but it didn’t feel like death, with its shock and finality and hopelessness – at least, not at first.
Unlike with death, there were moments of brief hope. For five long years, every event was a chance at getting my sons back into my life. Every time I went to court, I believed the judge would hear my story, and award me time with my children. When I was finally awarded visitation, I believed I would see them again. When my wife hit me with her car, I thought for sure she would be charged, and I would be able to hug my kids. When my wife burned down her house, and the arson report concluded that she had done it, I thought surely something would change. When my daughter was taken from my wife by Child Protective Services, and I spent nearly a year EARNING her back from foster care, I believed that the authorities would force my wife to reunite both of us with the boys. But each and every time I was disappointed. And slowly, creeping up more and more each day, the feeling that they were dead formed like a malignant tumor, growing inside my heart.
Now, it feels like my sons are dead. I know that they are not, but they have been removed from my life as surely as if they were placed in wooden boxes and lowered into the ground. No voices, no pictures, no word of what they doing has come my way. I don’t even know what they look like today. I know from letters that were sent to the judge, and from what my daughter has told me, that they hate me. They believe I am a terrible person, and that they want nothing to do with me. This is all so different from the relationship we had before. I was once their hero, their confidant, their champion – I was their father. The last time I saw Aiden he was sick, but he insisted on spending time with me, even though he felt awful. The last time I saw Seth, I held him while he cried in my arms, as I tried to console his fears about his parents splitting up. Now, in their minds, I am dangerous, a cancer – someone to avoid at all costs. Such has my wife poisoned their minds and hearts against me.
Everything I knew about my sons is gone. Our relationship no longer exists. The children they once were no longer exist. It has been five years now – they are both approaching 15 years of age, well into their teens. To me, they are still nine years old, frozen in my mind at the age I last saw them. But the children I knew have grown up, and every connection I had with them has been severed. Even if we were reunited tomorrow, nothing that we once had has been preserved – we would have to start our relationship from scratch. I have lost my sons.
Throughout history, our society has developed ways of dealing with grief. We have a funeral for the deceased. We tell stories of fond memories with them. We look at photographs of the ones we’ve lost, and we remember the joy they brought to our lives. We pour out our grief, and those around us acknowledge the loss, and they comfort us. Then, as the final gesture, we lower a casket into the ground, or present an urn of ashes to the family. The survivors go through the stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. And often there is a stone at the final resting place, a marker of the one who has been removed from our lives. I will see none of that.
I will not get to hear others laugh telling stories of my sons, or cry over how much they will be missed. I will not be able to gather my family together in mourning, and watch a collage of photographs showing their lives. I will not see a casket lowered into the ground, or hold an urn, as a tangible reminder that my sons are gone. I will never allow myself to fully reach acceptance, because no matter how distant and dim hope becomes, it is always there, taunting me, just out of my reach. Instead of bringing comfort, that hope has become a hand in the graveyard, reaching up from the ground and grasping my ankle, holding me there. There is no plaque in the ground, no marble headstone, nothing to indicate the day my sons were taken from me. My great loss is invisible and unacknowledged.
Seth Romeo Singleton, Aiden James Singleton, Haley Rose Singleton
This article has really helped me to understand what I’ve been going through, and to see that my emotions are normal for my circumstances.
June 23, 2016
“The death of a child is indisputably one of the most incredibly horrible tragedies one can imagine. Whether by sudden accidental circumstance, or by a more lengthy cause as in illness, the loss of a child is undeniably painful to experience. Painful to the parents, parents to the family, and painful to anyone related to the child. Never knowing the laughter of that child again or the tears, the joys and the accomplishments is a pain no parent should ever have to endure, and yet it happens. No one might be to blame. It can just happen”. (Tim Line)
Imagine a similar pain and the same sense of loss, with one exception-the parent is very much aware that the child is alive.
The effects of Parental Alienation, Parental Child Abduction and retention are very similar to the loss of a child in some other way…
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Reading this seemed like an echo of my own life and thoughts. Sometimes I even ask myself, “WHY did you wait nearly 20 YEARS before finally getting out of your abusive marriage??”. This blog posts puts my answers into words that I haven’t been able to find for myself.
I came across someone on Twitter who is doing some research on narcissistic abuse and struggling with understanding why victims of narcissistic abuse stay in the abusive relationships. I reached out and recommended that they read the #whyIstayed hashtag where victims in all types of abusive relationships summarize the reasons why they stayed… and I also recommended that they read this blog. The researcher reached out to me still having a lot of confusion on the topic and asked me outright… why did it take 8 years for you to leave?!?
It’s actually a little surprising to me how complex this question is to answer, and I think that reflects the complexity within an abusive relationship. There are so many layers to why I stayed, and that is because there are so many layers to the manipulation and abuse that I withstood at the hands of The Narcissist.
So, in an…
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Today I’d like to take a moment to recognize one of the heroes. This particular person went above and beyond their regular job (which was already a noble undertaking), and took action to right a wrong and to help a child in need. Today I’d like to thank a true hero, Dawn Scott of the Georgia CASA program.
If you’re not aware of how the CASA program works, it is one of the few things that the judicial system has actually done right. CASA stands for Court Appointed Special Advocate. CASAs are volunteers, often with backgrounds in child development, that are appointed by judges to advocate for children in foster care. Unlike GALs (guardian ad litems), CASAs are not lawyers, and they are not paid, so they are not influenced by the legal system or by money. Their only allegiance is to the child they are appointed to. And they usually work only one or two cases at a time, so they are not overburdened like social workers. While their reports hold no official legal weight, judges often listen to what they say and follow their recommendations. They are true warriors for children, and heroes in my book.
When my daughter was removed from my ex-wife’s custody by Georgia DFCS, she was assigned the standard DFCS case worker and a GAL to oversee her case. She was also blessed in a big way to be assigned Dawn Scott as her CASA. Dawn is a genuinely kind and attentive person, and spent a lot of time with Haley listening to her needs and advocating for her interests, like CASAs are assigned to do. But Dawn also went above and beyond her regular duties.
When Haley was placed in DFCS custody, my ex-wife told everyone stories about her abusive husband in Florida. The responding police officer, the DFCS case workers, the GAL, the court officials, and even the Victim Advocate at Family Menders – everyone she spoke to – either bought the story at face value, or didn’t care enough to get involved. Except for Dawn Scott. Whether Dawn listened to Haley talk about her father, or simply suspected something fishy in Jennifer’s stories, I’ll never know. But she decided to dig deeper. She began to search for information about Haley’s father online. I don’t imagine it was hard to find. My Facebook profile is open with pictures of my children, as well as Google +, Wikipedia, and any sites I could find to put my name out there, carefully crafted to make it easy for my children to find me and see fond memories of the relationship we had.
Dawn found me immediately, and she alerted the court about what she found. Near the beginning of December 2015, I received paperwork from the Catoosa County Court petitioning for custody of Haley. Of course I had no idea what had happened, and the frantic phone calls and emails began. It took me several weeks to finally get in touch with all the right people, and no one wanted to cooperate with me. It took me another month to learn about Dawn, and when I finally emailed her about the situation, she responded immediately. Dawn was able to meet with me before my first meeting with Haley, and she gave me valuable advice on how to reconnect with the daughter I had not seen in three years.
Were it not for Dawn Scott’s efforts going above and beyond her already admirable work as a CASA, the Georgia court system may have never contacted me about Haley’s situation. The time it would have taken me to find out on my own is anyone’s guess. Because of Dawn I was able to begin the journey to win back custody of my daughter and reestablish the relationship that had been stolen from us. Thank you, Dawn Scott. You are unquestionably a true hero.
More information about the CASA program can be found here: CASA for Children
Another thing that makes male victims different from female victims is how they often respond to maternal abuse. While female victims of neglectful, emotionally and mentally abusive mothers often sympathize with, or even ‘defend’, their mothers actions, male victims often display a very UNIQUE set of characteristics that hint to the abusive behavior. Read more here: