Your Honor,
I stand before you not as a case file, not as a dismissed allegation, but as a professional who works directly with children whose lives depend on decisions made in rooms like this.
In my lifetime—and through the lives of the children I serve—I have witnessed what it feels like for a child to experience safety… to feel joy… to trust the world around them. And I have also witnessed, far too often, the moment that world is shattered by the very person who was supposed to protect them.
These are not abstract stories. These are real children.
Children who have had their innocence stolen.
Children whose trust has been broken.
Children whose sense of safety has been ripped away by a parent or caregiver.
And still—like every child is taught to do—they speak up.
Even while being threatened, manipulated, and silenced, they find the courage to tell. I have sat with them in those moments—when they feel dirty, confused, ashamed. When they have already been told it was their fault. And despite all of that, they still believe that someone—you—will step in and protect them.
They believe the courtroom will be a place of safety.
They believe you will hold the person who hurt them accountable.
They believe you will choose them.
But too often—you don’t.
Too often, the system “leaves the room.”
Too often, responsibility is set aside.
Too often, the very principle meant to guide every decision—the best interest of the child—is overshadowed by bias, assumption, or convenience.
So I ask you:
Why?
How does a judge hear the voice of a child and hesitate?
How does someone entrusted with justice minimize abuse?
How does a protector become complicit through inaction?
Because when nothing is done, a message is sent.
A message to the child that their voice does not matter.
A message to the abuser that there are no consequences.
A message to the system that this is acceptable.
Do you understand what that means for these children?
It means living with trauma that does not simply disappear.
It means years of emotional struggle, confusion, and wounds that resurface again and again.
It means sitting across from professionals like me, trying to rebuild a sense of safety that should have never been taken in the first place.
These are not just legal decisions.
They are life-altering human decisions.
There are always options. There are always opportunities to protect. To set boundaries. To ensure accountability. Yet too often, those opportunities are missed in favor of a dangerous and outdated belief—that every child must have a parent in their life, regardless of the harm that parent causes.
Let me be clear:
Children do not need every parent.
Children need safe parents.
And it is your duty to ensure that safety.
When that duty is not upheld, the system itself becomes part of the harm these children carry.
I stand here not just for one child—but for many. For the voices that tremble. For the stories that are hard to tell. For the truth that is often overlooked.
Because I see the outcome of these decisions every single day.
I see the depression.
I see the anxiety.
I see the loss of trust.
I see the lifelong impact of a moment when a child needed protection—and did not receive it.
This is not justice. This is systemic failure.
And yet—you have the power to change that.
You have the authority to listen.
To believe.
To act with courage.
To protect the most vulnerable, even when it is uncomfortable, even when it is complicated.
Because while you cannot undo the harm that has already been done, you can absolutely prevent it from continuing.
Be the judge you swore to be.
Listen to children.
Believe them.
Protect them.
Because one moment of inaction in this courtroom can echo across an entire lifetime for a child.
I will continue to do my part—advocating, supporting, and protecting every child I am entrusted with.
I ask you to do yours.
That is what honor looks like.
It’s time we ensure every child who enters this courtroom experiences it.