We didn’t handle everything perfectly. There is no perfect roadmap for this kind of crisis.
But we acted.
Most importantly, we believed her.
We told her—over and over—that what was happening was not her fault.
That she was not weak.
That she was not broken.
That she was not alone.
And slowly, painfully, she began to believe us.
The Long Road Back
Healing isn’t linear.
Some days Emma laughs again. Some days she doesn’t want to get out of bed.
Some days she talks openly. Some days she shuts down.
Not because the world suddenly became kinder—but because she finally has support strong enough to counter the cruelty.
And because we learned to stop dismissing pain we don’t immediately understand.
What I Want Other Adults to Know
If you take anything from this, let it be this:
A “phase” should never include fear, isolation, or self-loathing.
If a child changes dramatically, pay attention.
If they withdraw, ask why.
If they guard their phone like it’s dangerous, it might be.
Don’t assume silence means safety.
Don’t assume strength means invincibility.
Don’t assume kids will “grow out of” pain that is being actively inflicted on them.
The Messages I’ll Never Forget
I still think about those messages.
About how easily words can become weapons.
About how anonymous cruelty feels consequence-free.
About how close we came to tragedy because we were afraid of overreacting.
Emma is still here.
But many children aren’t.
And too often, the adults in their lives said the same thing I did:
“It’s just a phase.”
It wasn’t.
It was a warning.
And I will never ignore one again.
