The year was 2007.  I was 14 years sober, living in the Pacific Palisades. I had enjoyed a relatively stable sobriety, life, and routine. I had two children, with my youngest in 7th grade.  My marriage of 17 years was in trouble -  after really growing apart, we had finally decided to separate.  

For the first time in my sobriety I was going to night-time AA meetings, which were much more social than I’d been used to.  At one of these meetings, I met HIM.  Ten years younger than me, in his first year of sobriety, he was handsome and rugged-looking. 

It started out lovely - I was stunned that he liked me, though I kept telling him we should just be friends.  For quite a few months, we’d meet up at meetings and go to fellowship after, always in a group of people. Then one day, I invited him over to my place to swim in the community pool.  After that, it was pretty much on - we were dating.

My little boy loved him.  He had two little ones of his own, and though he said he didn't want any more children, it was really fun to all hang out together.  He was always flattering me - acted soft and kind. We were super attached to each other. I was caught up in the fantasy of the "blended" family and started to feel like we might really work out. Our age difference didn’t seem to be an issue at all.

Then one day, I heard him on the phone with his mother (he was adopted).  His temper was horrible - name calling, threatening, swearing. He apologized after they got off the phone, saying they had a bad history.  I jokingly said to him, "How long before you're talking to me that way?"  He answered, "Never!"

I think it was the next month when his temper began to surface with me.  It started with strangely intense reactions to little things I said. He would ask me what I meant, demanding explanations I didn’t have. It became very uncomfortable. He would have huge temper outbursts in front of his children. Each time it happened, I would jump in to calm him down to try and keep them safe. He started controlling me, keeping track of me - if I was at a girlfriend’s or driving home from a meeting, he’d go off: why didn't I get in touch with him right away? What was I up to?!? 

We broke up multiple times because I couldn't do it anymore - but it just went on and on and on because I had so much trouble staying away from him. The fights got worse and worse. He would show up at my door, raging.  He would keep us both up for hours ruminating over some perceived injury or betrayal, usually ending up furious with me because I couldn't come up with a solution or because he decided I was belittling him.  

He threatened my life on many occasions.  Told me he could have me murdered. He lifted weights and would punch my pillow, raining down blows on either side of my head, just to watch me flinch.

He chased me to the garage as I ran to my car, then, as I drove past, kicked such a huge dent into my car that fluid started to leak out of it. It cost me $5000 to get it fixed

On the way to Thanksgiving with his family, he became so enraged that he kicked me and my son out on a dark, deserted stretch of Topanga Rd with no cell service.  We stood there for about 30 minutes before he came screeching back. He drove us home, told us to get out, saying he never wanted to see me again.  I had no idea what to say to my son. 

I had started catering. One day, he destroyed 200 mini-cupcakes I had just baked, smashing them all over my home because I wasn't giving him enough attention.  

Then one day, he became so unhinged with rage while driving with me that he dropped his five-year-old son on a random sidewalk and drove 120 miles per hour down Sunset, screaming that he was going to drive us right into the ocean. I was screaming so loud that he finally turned around to pick up his son. When he did, I jumped out of the car, tried to get away from him. He was so freaked out that he might lose his son for abandonment that he drove right beside me as I walked, asking if I was going to tell anyone. He said, “If you do, I’ll murder your son.”  

It was at that moment I realized I was in serious trouble. I had no idea what to do about this - about him - but I went to a meeting the following day and told a good friend.  She said, “I don’t know you’re going to drink or kill yourself.” I didn’t either.  I was at an all time low.

Another friend thought I was going to kill myself or be killed.  She arranged an intervention.  At 17 years sober and after three years in an abusive relationship, I went to treatment for depression and severe PTSD.  I spent thirty days at The Meadows and had a strict outpatient/relapse prevention plan upon leaving.  

The abuse had a lasting effect on my nervous system, confidence and my fears. I’ve learned from it, learned to live with it - even thrive with it - but it never sits easy, never completely goes away. That experience was a long time ago, but it’s stayed with me, become a part of me.

I was in an abusive relationship when I was 21. The abuse was physical, emotional, verbal, and psychological. With four children and no belief in myself left, I was too scared to leave. 

It took me 14 years to get out

My then-husband - and the father of my children - weaponized my past experience with trauma and PTSD from my relationship with him to exploit a loophole and get a restraining order against me citing mental illness. My "deer in the headlights" look was a classic freeze response to threat, but to my abuser - the one threatening me -  it was "evidence" that I was mentally unstable and an unfit mother.

My kids were taken away from me. I had no access to finances. I was sleeping on a cot at my friend's house, an hour and a half from where I lived. I was filled with fear, unable to sleep or eat. I begged God on my knees for help:  “God, please help me! I have no money, no children, no house - I need your help NOW!” My prayer was a deep cry of the soul.

The very next day, my sponsor/friend from recovery, Natasha - also a DV survivor - left me a voice note. These are her exact words: “God told me to help you. I am going to help you fight for your kids. I don’t care if it’s 3k, 5k, 10k, I am going to help you with your legal fees for your children.”

A miracle happened in my darkest hour.

My prayer had been answered.

God had heard me.

An hour later, another miracle. Melina, a woman from my community (and another survivor) messaged me to ask if she could set up a private GoFundMe for my legal fees.

When I was too worn down to reach out and ask for help, my prayers were miraculously answered.

That’s how the Megan Anne Foundation was born: a miraculously answered prayer.

As domestic violence survivors, we are never alone.  

Even if you’ve lost all belief in yourself… We believe in you.

Freedom from abuse is possible.

Peace and healing are possible.

Support is available. 

My wish is for this foundation to be a miraculously answered prayer for survivors and their children - just as it was for me.

The Megan Anne Foundation has re-routed my children's entire lives toward safety. Recently, we got the first positive turn in a court order in 20 months. The new judge of the complex court – which I can absolutely ONLY afford because of the Foundation – recognized the issues of power, control, and inconsistency and granted me 70% residential custody and sole decision-making.

This NEVER would have happened without the Megan Anne Foundation. My gratitude is eternal.

My daughter – hair the color of cornsilk – once told me that being with me felt like a warm blanket. I shared this feeling, but knew it by a different name: safety.

We were six months into a custody battle I was losing. I was a stay-at-home mom with a cut-off credit card and three kids under the age of six. By then, we had been through a Child Protective Services abuse investigation, a forensic interview, and two police welfare checks. Under an ex parte order, the court awarded me sole custody – until my ex-husband, with his expensive and highly credentialed lawyer, claimed he was falsely accused. At his appeal, the court ordered 50-50 custody for my kids - kids who had never been away from me for more than three days at a time.

That custody order amputated part of my spirit.

"Who will sing me songs at night?" my daughter wailed, mouth gaped open. Tears fell from her chin. "Isn't there something we can do?"

I didn't know.

I had no money or access to marital assets. A mediocre lawyer. A broken and disillusioned heart.

And no way forward.

I walked into the woods, howled, and prayed for a miracle. Ten years of sobriety had taught me to trust in God, but the institutional betrayal awakened something else in me – a fierce determination to protect my children and restore the safety and stability I'd built in their early years.

I needed two resources I didn't have: an experienced attorney and the funds to secure one. I wrote appeal letters asking for "big money," knowing that was the reality of what justice would require. I asked private trusts, donors in my town, family friends, and the Megan Anne Foundation.

I emailed a dozen high-conflict litigators. They all said no. "Who will pay your legal fees?"

I still didn't know.

Finally, the fourteenth attorney agreed to take our case. "Bring a check."

But I didn't have a check. All I had was my story.

Three hours later, the Megan Anne Foundation called and offered the exact amount of the retainer I needed. It was the first of several miracles.

Over the last year, we've fought a complicated case in a system designed for simple solutions. Every step of the way, the Megan Anne Foundation has supported us – checking in, believing deeply in justice, covering our legal fees. Just this month, the court awarded me primary custody and sole decision-making. This outcome is undoubtedly due to the Foundation.

This gift is infinitely more than the ink on the checks: it is HOPE. The belief is that truth and goodness can prevail when resources are available. 

It is the implicit statement: YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN MATTER.

Because of the Megan Anne Foundation, my children and I are not only able to tell our story of devastation and resilience, but to be heard in a system that too often silences women and children without means.