To the people who don’t understand why I signed my parental rights away: That’s okay. You don’t have to understand. But I hope my story opens your eyes.
I didn’t walk away from my children. I wasn’t careless. I wasn’t cold. I was a mom fighting a battle most people never see—inside my own mind, and inside a system that was never built to support someone like me.
The truth? The system says it’s about family reunification. But when you’re struggling with mental illness… when you don’t have thousands of dollars for a lawyer… when you’re in and out of psych wards trying just to survive—you don’t get the same chance. You barely get a voice.
I’ll never forget sitting in the chambers of an old-school judge, stone-faced and set in his ways. He looked at me and said, “Being an addict, you would have a better chance of getting your kids back than having a mental illness.”
That moment broke something in me. Not just because of what he said, but because of how real it was. My lawyer consoled me after we left. She cried. She held space for my pain in a way the system never did. And in that moment, I knew the battle wasn’t mine to fight anymore—not if it meant dragging my kids through more heartbreak.
So I made the hardest decision of my life. I signed my rights away—not because I didn’t love them, but because I did. Because I chose their peace over my pride. Because I wanted them to have a chance at a stable life, even if it meant they couldn’t have it with me.
I haven’t seen or spoken to them in years. I’ve respected their wish for a “normal” life. And I’m truly grateful for the family who’s raising them. But I carry them with me every single day. They are and always will be my why.
Mental illness does not make someone unfit to be a parent. Lack of money does not mean lack of love. But when both exist in a system built to work against you. Sometimes love looks like letting go.
I lean hard on God now. He’s the one who has held me through this pain, this silence, this waiting. He’s the reason I can write these words with hope and not bitterness.
One day, I believe my children will have questions. And when that day comes, I’ll be here—with open arms, truth in my heart, and love that never left.
Every day, I carry a little brokenness and an emptiness inside without my kiddos.
A part of me is missing—and that’s the hardest part of all this. But I am not ashamed of my story. This pain has purpose. And I plan to keep up the good fight every single moment of every single day. Because my story isn’t over. And neither is theirs.
To the ones who had to walk away…
To the mothers the system failed…
To those who carry silent grief and invisible strength—
You are not a failure.
You are not forgotten.
And you are not alone.
Reflection:
Have you ever had to make a choice that no one clapped for—but you knew deep down it was the most loving thing you could do?
Invitation:
If this touched something in you, I’d love to hear your story. You can comment, message me, or simply share this with someone who needs to know they’re not alone. Our stories matter—and they were never meant to be carried in silence.
Wellness From Within with Richelle 