Another article to add to my arsenal of awareness– and a great starting place to acquire additional facets of research to expose how and why so many family law cases are not ruling in favor of the child(en) involved.


Posted: March 09, 1999
1:00 am Eastern

By Judith A.  Reisman, Ph.D.
© 2011 WND

On June 25, 1996, noting that “criminals have more rights than victims,” Bill Clinton called for a “Victim’s Right’s Amendment” to the U.S.  Constitution. Fifteen years prior, Ronald Reagan prefaced the 1981 California  DoJ Crime Victims Handbook saying, “For most of the past thirty years …  justice has been unreasonably tilted in favor of criminals and against their  innocent victims … a tragic era … when victims were forgotten and crimes  were ignored.”This “tragic era” of U.S. justice was working overtime March 1, at 8 p.m., at  the Texas Senate, where Bill 208 was on the fast track for passage. The bill,  purported as a tool to further protect battered women and children, would  actually permit criminal abusers — yes, violent offenders and incest abusers — to receive sole legal custody of the children they…

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This an excellent article providing general detail about the reality of proceedings in family law cases–and no it is not what you expect it would be.


The Crisis in Family Law Courts

Also See The

There is a national crisis for women and their children in the family law courts of this country. Affirmed by experts and leaders in the women’s movement,
the existence of this crisis is verified by women in every state who report injustice in their family law cases, especially battered mothers trying to
protect their children from abusive fathers who aggressively litigate against them, using family court to stalk, harass, punish, and impoverish their former
partners and children. NOW recognizes this crisis for women and their children and seeks to address discrimination against women in family courts.

The information presented here has been compiled by the National NOW Family Law Advisory Ad Hoc Committee. Created in April 2004, this all-volunteer committee is comprised
of parents, grandparents, activists, paralegals, organizers, attorneys, and advocates from across the nation devoting their collective experience…

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As I attempt to preserve the well-being of my children within the confines of Family Court and a society in denial about the prevalence of sexual abuse, I am very thankful for bloggers like the one whose post is above. Parents need to be aware that the fate of their family is most often determined before they ever set foot in the courtroom. Too often parents (most often the mother) are blindsided by the rulings passed down in custodial disputes. Prior to my involvement with Family Court, I assumed custody rulings where one  parent demonstrated abusive behavior would typically rule in the favor of the protective parent. However, a simple Google search of custody rulings and abuse will be a real eye-opener.

Let's Get Honest! Absolutely Uncommon Analysis of Family & Conciliation Courts' Operations, Practices, & History

(Originally published 2/5/2013) A key issue in the courts includes sexual assault and violence towards women and children. This has also been a key issue with psychoanalysis. 

Below the introduction, most of the post is about the Stunning Validation, but I keep it current and relevant –because it is! — to the subject matter of this blog.  

Post title: A Stunning Validation by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson: The Assault on Truth, The Origins of Psychoanalysis (w/ case-sensitive shortlink ending “-1k8” …about 10,000 words long)

The key, or leading edge, feature OF these courts includes therapeutic jurisprudence, attempting to resolve conflict through addition of behavioral health professionals, the fields in which Dr. Nicholas J. Cummings has dedicated much of his life to preserving the business and economic well-being of, to the point that a Wall Street Journal article reported, not too many years ago, that — doctors and hardcore professionals aside, among the…

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Wanna go for a ride???

At some point in our life’s journey, we get so off course in that the only road ahead looks like a dead-end. But if you remember to look behind, the road is still going on far into the distance.

Well, directly in front of me, that metaphorical “dead-end” is staring me down. Instead of giving in to its intimidating glare by turning off the ignition and sheepishly handing over my keys, I rev the engine up and turn the car around.

A substantial amount of backtracking lies ahead– and I take it on without resentment. In fact, with this turn-around, I’m going to take in  the scenery I previously missed and avoid all roads I know to be signed with “Dangerous Curves Ahead”.

And I am inviting you to be my passenger as I navigate these back roads towards my intended destination.

To check in on my progress please visit the Navigation Narration page of this blog.

The journey starts effective of this post’s publication…

A precious artifact discovered strolling down memory lane…

While performing some archaeological digging into my online publication presence I uncovered this precious little gem. This particular poem holds a great deal of personal meaning for myself– admittedly, it is not written in the style or tone I typically write. In fact, it is full of overdone cliches and metaphors. Despite its flaws, it ranks as one of my favorites. Unknown to me while I was writing this I was in fact pregnant with my 1st child. My son was an unexpected miracle– from his conception to birth. However, while writing this my mind only knew that conceiving a child without medical intervention was not going to happen– but my soul somehow recognized the life growing inside me and gave birth to the poem below.

Written October 10, 2004

Harvesting Autumn in a Word Basket

Only in Autumn do leaves fade into Brilliance-
Each leaf unique, devoid of being purely green.

It is in Autumn a bountiful harvest is celebrated—
Hand-woven baskets overflow with tree-ripened apples,
Indian corn ready to have its colorful kernels popped,
and a variety of gourds that amuse in both their shapes and names.

The Day of the Dead is acknowledged by pumpkins carved
with faces, both light-heartedly mocking and menacing,
displayed in warm soft-lit neighborhood windows.
As the lights from these shallow-shelled lanterns glow-
passerbys ponder what constitutes the soul.
Couples are seen walking, along maple and oak tree-lined streets-
snuggly bound in coordinating woolen sweaters, knit hats, and flannel-lined pants,

still seeking out warmth by holding hands.

A crisp breeze tickles and burns only their cheeks,
Because the tips of their noses are already numb.
Their nostrils still functioning, inhale the Essence of Fall,
an arid elixir of decaying leaves and clear star-nighted brightness.
It instantly intertwines with their innermost membranes,
carried through their nasal passageways, down through the throat, finally settling a flaming chill deep within their chests.
Together the walkers’ shuffling feet and dried leaves meet into a rhythmic rustle.
Throughout Autumn—
Leaves continue to fall off of branches, seeming so high they touch the clear-blue in the sky, dancing with the wind even after they settle to their places on the ground.

The amber-hued Earth is undressing herself during this time of withering fruitfulness— Preparing for the penetration of life still two seasons away.

Poetic Ponderings Fall 2012

October 1, 2012


Drowning in the restraints of detachment

Suffocating in the reliance of faulty equipment

A respirator cannot circulate the air due to a tubing error…

when you choke on the forced artificiality down your throat

wake up to awareness that inside your chest are functioning lungs—

The ability to breathe on your own was never lost—

But the attachment to this failing constructed machine feeds the oxygen deprivation

And the sparks of currents flowing through the mind grow dim and slow.

Embrace the discomfort, let instinct take over, choke on the hardness shoved inside and rip it out—

Rip it out, cough up the debris and feel your first real breath—air striking the raw lining of your throat.

Jolting shocks, increased currents all disconcerting, all temporary and momentary.

Too soon this newness will pass, and purposeful action transforms into automation

Another ability taken for granted if not wise, so keep that plastic piece your lips once encased

A souvenir of what was and is not.

November 9, 2012


Despite what may on the surface show,

Underneath, is a heart–

firmly ensnared  on barbs of grief and sorrow.

I am a lie.

Optimistic aloofness, detached candor—all just parts and lines

of a script on a stage where I out in the open hide.

Beneath this resilient facade is a fatal wound—

penetrating and deep.

Inflammatory response brought a flood of white hot rage filling in the gaping hole,

Then encapsulated the afflicted area with Kevlar intent—

no salvage required, only preventive isolation.

Though shielded in hi-tech, hard-core protective gear; on occasion a symptom appears—

A valve loosens

under constant pressure, a serous byproduct of the interaction between rage and injury,  leaks…

But no fear—my responders are most vigilant–

Unwavering in their adherence to protocol, fully carrying out the ordered procedure.

Quarantine efforts have not been breached.

— at present.

(Though rumors fly– an impending pandemic event has an inevitable nature.)

The 32 year old teenager…

Even the recent birth of my second child has not convinced me I am officially an adult. I am a victim of a my apathetic generation– one of those who somehow did not get their feet firmly planted while they entered in adulthood. Still, I remain clueless as to what I want to be when I grown up–  my mind has not grasped the idea that am an adult, at the age where I am expected to have it together– haha. At least, I know I am not the only one of my generation afflicted by this condition. In fact, I know of many older adults, my mom for example, that find themselves in a professional limbo.

Lack of Inspiration…

Life in general has been feeling fairly uninspired lately. As someone who considers herself to be an aspiring writer-not having an interesting topic I feel absolutely driven to compose a discourse about is about as big of an obstacle I can imagine and one I am currently directly facing.

A screaming toddler, grumpy husband, tolerated through the lenses of PMS moodiness, of course, do not help the cause. However, despite these snags, they can be used for some benefit—every time we encounter a snag in our life, we discover just a little bit more about the fabric we are made of. So when you consider all of the snags I’ve encountered, using the my previous logic, I should be more than aware of what fabric I am. Thus, if I know the fabric I am made of, then I should have pretty good idea about what purpose my “fabric” should serve. Well, I can tell you one thing for certain on that point— I’m not quite sure of the “exact” purpose of this fabric, but I know what it will NOT be a part of.

I sincerely apologize to those of you who have stuck with this wordy whine—and I must admit, I have barely even started. Hopefully, at the end of this entry I will come to some epiphany like conclusion and feel closer to having that Ah-hah moment where clarity and revelation are suddenly revealed for the my life course. However, I must warn you that the chance of that occurring is very unlikely and you, my reader & myself, are likely to just be more confused.

Actually, I’m really looking forward to not having to write these pondering entries of self-discovery and frustration with how little I seem to know about myself. Ever since I was nine years-old, I used my journal to battle out my uncertain emotions in—usually I was able to find some consolation in my written and often tear-run pages.

As an adult, I find less time to turn to my journal, in fact, I find less time to even try to process my emotions. Maybe that is why I am so darned tired. I am constantly carrying these feelings all day—with no place to put them. Then to top it off—I consider myself to be an empath—someone sensitive to feeling the emotions felt by others—and I seriously feel overwhelmed by feeling most days.

And now instead of reserving my emotional battles to a notebook—now I am trying this blog format. Leaving all my humanity out there for the world to judge. But hey, I’m a writer and I better get a tougher skin. Besides, none of my “readers” will be able to consider me a coward—or afraid to express the good, bad, and grotesque. In addition to blog entries regarding my thoughts on “my life”, (I know how utterly boring and egotistical to think anyone would even read them) I will also soon be publishing poetry—hoping one day to receive the validation every poet aspires to receive, to become published and paid.

I long for the days when I would get lost in words. When I used to be involved in a writing project—all of my focus was devoted to the searching for the perfect combination of words. That passion that consumed me while I was in a process of creation—was the what was I truly pursuing. It is being so actively involved in the process that there is no other moment existing in time, except for that moment of now. The product, of course was always enjoyable, but now I see that my joy in poetry never came from the poem itself—but rather the poem’s creation. After, giving birth to my son and seeing the miracle of truly creating a another life, I see why my poetry writing was so vital for my soul’s contentment.

October 17, 2004, was the last day I seriously spent devoted to the creation of a poem I was completely invested in. Three days later, I found out that Jonathan was already in place to be the next creative project I would be devoted to perfecting. And now, three and half years later, I have had little time or energy to return to the tunnel-vision focus to create a poem or writing I would consider to be a quality piece of writing.

Perhaps, just perhaps, a quality piece of writing will eek its way out while I compose entries for this blog— we shall see or read…

Just another verbally verbose whine…

I feel like I’m battling myself– these darned up and down emotions and feelings of dissatisfaction.  Maybe some feelings are meant to be kept inside– I hate the fact by writing about my own unhappiness that I could possibly pass on that burden to others in my life… not exactly what I want–

And honestly, my complaints with my life are truly my own– and my own doing or in need of my un-doing. I think I put too much on certain life successes to bring me a certain level of happiness. Of course, life has shown me over and over that happiness comes from the self– within– not from what happens to us or from what we have. Though, sometimes, it just plain hard to accept that little nugget of wisdom.

The truth is, today, right now, I am not happy with my life. I want my time to be better spent and I want to find more enjoyment in the time I’m spending. The sad thing is that I just don’t know exactly what it is that I want to do– or what exactly is missing from it causing this relentless restless striking me from time to time.

One thing missing from my life are moments of inspiration– moments that cause me to pause and create. I haven’t had enough of those lately.  Maybe the easiest way to get more of those back in my path is to return to the path that brought them to my way. Poetry– oh even the word itself instantly brings about a sudden life spark– sharp, bright, and stinging– a reminder I’m alive. I don’t know what it is about wrting poetry that does that to me— there is something extraordinary in creating experience– an experience of words–

When will starting over ever end?

(this is reposted from a blog I started on Myspace)
I’m not sure how many incomplete blogs I’ve created out there in cyberspace with an entry, maybe two. And it doesn’t really matter either, because I’m here now starting another one.

Maybe I’m just stubborn, some would look over several failed attempts to commit the writing of a continuous series of blog entries and say forget it— but not me, I don’t know how to not keep starting over, whether I’m blogging or participating in any other everyday activity. In the not so recent past, there were several attempts to launch from that point in the life cycle where we make the transition into living as adults responsible for the well-being of other human beings, that were not so successful.

Today, it seems we (we-referring to my little family of self, husband, and 3 year old son) have gained a fair amount of distance between ourselves and the land below since our last launch– yet, turbulence still tends to be the ever-present foe threatening the progress we’ve thus managed.

I am compelled to write about these recent experiences, because while I was living those worst of times I unintentionally placed myself into isolation. I do not know if it was out of shame, or stubbornness, or perhaps an innate knowledge possessed by some American Indian tribes who send their youth who are coming of age on a quest with nothing but the clothes on their back– that I allowed this aloneness to happen. For 2 years, I lived in darkness groping for something solid and familiar feeling to determine the way back to light.

I finally have emerged from that place of blackness– and my senses have returned— though are still adjusting. I still catch myself every now and then squinting when I am in the presence of the most subdued light.

I know I am not alone in this aloneness I triumphed over— and I think we are all given a time in our life where we choose or are forced to take a sabbatical from the momentum of our life’s progress– after talking and meeting all kinds of people throughout these past three years I have heard story after story of similar circumstances. The person who talks about this experience seems in no way connected to the person they describe who had underwent this terrible ordeal or had made these horrific mistakes.

The thing is that we never expect to go through an experience in life where we will emerge as someone very much changed— and we somehow become completely detached from the person and circumstances that we had identified with. So, in some ways I am a little bitter about the isolation I created, because I did miss out on the good and bad things that happened to many people who I care deeply about. And I have to acknowledge that some of the distance that grew between the friends & family I withdrew from may never be as close as it was prior.

But regardless of the damage that may be unable to be repaired, there is a whole future for me to continue trying to repair past damages and to create new relationships– there is still much ahead. Being in a place where I can count on the next several years passing in a predictable manner probably isn’t going to happen. I only know where I will work for the next year— and even that I may have to add on to– but as far as where my career job is going to be and what it even is, remains to be seen. At least now I am at a place where I can be okay with, and even enjoy, figuring It out. The person who loved to plan out every phase of her life— I cannot tell you how many 10-year plans I created, revised, rejected, and recreated since I was 14…. in these plans included details on how I was going to live life as a marine biologist, pediatrician, science or English teacher, massage therapist and even an actress. And even though none of those career paths played out, I do feel that I have had the opportunity to experience situations where I have performed the duties of the above occupations.

So with all things considered– I think after surviving mental breakdowns, the consequences of illegal activity, parents and in-laws, and life and death of the people you love most— and
still possessing a somewhat positive perspective on life and a healthy and mostly happy family, I deserve to feel good about what I have achieved— I survived. In 2 months time our family has gained a foundation to stand on. No more living with parents or waiting on someone else to do something so we can move forward. Both my husband and I have positions where we can support our family while providing support to the community– and we finally felt confident enough in our position and future to finance a vehicle (a used one of course)— all the circumstances and living situations of the not so recent past already seem so far removed from the existence of what is now our daily life– though we may not have 6 figures, a new house, or 2009 Family car of the year— we have ourselves, we a Start!