I wrote a letter almost four years ago to the day.

When I first wrote it, I never expected it to get the traction it did. Lots of people seemed to want to know where Mila came from and it got shared around, a lot. Since I’ve written it, it still gets a lot of views and will get more some weeks than others. People are nosey or are just discovering my journey of motherhood with Jensen and Mila.

This past weekend has been weird and re-traumatizing for me. I know it’s been worse for others, but I’m allowed to feel too.

In the past three years, I’ve worked a lot on myself. Healing after being in a narcissistic cycle is not easy. It took time, changing my phone number, speaking to authorities, and learning how to trust myself and others again. There was a ton of ups and downs and I’m proud of the person who I am today.

All of the sudden on Friday, it seemed like a whole wave of emotions filled me. I felt horrible for the innocents impacted, I felt happy that Mila was safe. I felt validated in my decisions since the first time every thing happened. I felt sad and protective for my past self who loved and then wanted to do the best thing when those rose-colored glasses were slapped off. It was a whirlwind for me after being uninvolved the past three years.

I gave myself the weekend to tiptoe around the feelings and let myself somewhat try to process. Then this morning after working and doing some self care, I let my toes dip. I’m a letter writer to remember my feelings/emotions or what happened.

In 2020, I wrote another letter that I’ve never published on here because it’s damning and raw and hard and what I had to get out. But it’s… it’s too much for others.

My words from that letter aren’t too much for me. They’re my truth, what I felt. I also had pictures too. Screenshots from text messages, him and I smiling together, and one that made my stomach sick: him playing with toys with Mila.

I’ve felt that pit in my stomach before, a few times in my life — they’ve all stemmed from pictures because they’re proof. Proof of death, guilt, innocence, and the past.

It could’ve been her.

He was right there beside her in that picture. The thought of her being physically/sexually hurt by him kills me. I am so disappointed I ever let her beside him, but I didn’t know until I did. He will never get the chance to hurt her.

But I wanted to share a paragraph and a sentence that I wrote from there that feels even more true now:

I felt the freedom for Mila and myself knowing my life isn’t going to be affected by the storm you’re going to go through. I felt freedom knowing Mila will never, ever be away from me. Freedom from the fears I had before about her being treated badly if she’d ever be there is gone. I felt freedom from every type of abuse she’d have to encounter with him as her dad. Freedom from the years of emotional abuse I’ve been through. I felt freedom to let go of it all.

Everything I felt trapped by is gone now.

I felt freedom three years ago because I walked away from it all. Because I knew the truth and couldn’t stand by it. I couldn’t ever let anything bad happen to Mila and I never will.

I wish I could’ve told myself three years ago that I would feel even more free in the future. That one day everything would come to light. That a picture would help make me feel free instead of that dreadful pit.

A mugshot which symbolizes a person being locked up would become an image of freedom for us.

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I don’t owe anyone this letter or explanation of my feelings. I don’t care that I was villainized for doing what I thought was best. At the end of the day I protected myself and my daughter. I did what was right as a mother.

I hope and wish those girls will be able to heal.

And to the rest of them, to those who never deserved my daughter, I have no words, just a picture.