“Consistent, nonjudgmental love transcends cultures.
And when it does,
something extraordinary can happen.
We begin to see the child
not only as a survivor,
but as someone rising,
someone remembering who she is,
not who she was told to be.”
Susan Ernst — Called to Serve, Standing with Survivors and Protecting Children Still at Risk.
What I Have Witnessed
Working with the children, one of the most surprising—and beautiful—things I witnessed was the profound healing that emerged through pure, simple joy. It wasn’t formal therapy or anything official. It was children laughing, running, being silly, and making up games. It was the small, ordinary moments when play took over, and worry loosened its grip, even if only for a little while.
When we played together, you could see the change happening in real time. Faces lit up. Bodies softened. The heaviness lifted. It was as if their hearts remembered something essential—that they were still children, capable of happiness, still whole within themselves.
I came to understand that play wasn’t merely a distraction.
It was a form of medicine.
Real medicine.
When the children drew goofy pictures, raced one another, wrestled with adult volunteers, or sang at the top of their lungs, something deeper was happening beneath the laughter. They were letting go—bit by bit—of fear and tension they carried in their bodies. They were remembering what it felt like to trust, even tentatively. They were reconnecting with their natural creativity and silliness—the parts of themselves untouched by trauma.
In those moments, they were also building new memories: memories of being safe, free, and loved.
Often, the most healing moments were the messiest, noisiest, most ridiculous ones. Joy created space—wide, breathing space—for healing to take root in ways I never could have planned or predicted.
I honestly believe that play is one of the purest forms of hope we have.
And more recently, as I’ve had the privilege of getting to know and serve alongside survivors who have dedicated their lives to the fight against child abuse and trafficking, I’ve witnessed another kind of healing strength. A depth of resilience and grit that is hard to fathom, given what they have endured. These are not stories defined solely by harm, but by courage, resolve, and the fierce decision to protect others.
These are the stories I want to share with you.
What You’ll Find Here
I’ll share personal stories and reflections drawn from my experiences working with children, survivors, and advocates committed to protection, healing, and hope. Some stories may be tender. Others may be difficult. When needed, I will include a disclaimer to let readers know that what follows may be uncomfortable to read. All stories are shared with the intention of fostering awareness rather than fear.
You’ll also find reflections meant for parents, grandparents, educators, counselors, and anyone who cares about the well-being of children. I intend to offer perspective, insight, and encouragement—an invitation to notice, to listen, and to stay present to what children may be telling us, often without words.
This space is grounded in truth-telling, compassion, and thoughtful dialogue. I believe that when we are willing to see clearly and respond with love, meaningful change becomes possible.
Above all, this blog is an invitation to learn, to reflect, and to stand with children and survivors in ways that feel honest, human, and doable.
An Invitation
Perhaps something in these words stirred recognition, concern, or quiet resolve. Maybe you are carrying questions of your own—about children you love, stories you’ve heard, or moments you couldn’t quite make sense of at the time. You are welcome here.
I offer reflection, witness, and a willingness to stay with what matters. This space is meant to be one you can return to—whenever you feel called.
If you’d like to continue the conversation, you’re invited to subscribe and receive future reflections as they’re shared. There is no expectation and no obligation—only an open door.
Thank you for being here. For caring. For choosing not to look away.
For the sake of the children.
For the Sake of Children 