04/02/2026
I have SjΓΆgren's disease. It attacks my moisture-producing glands, my joints, and my hands. Last Saturday I went alone and stood for two hours in 37-degree wind holding a sign because I believe in something larger than my own comfort.
I thought about that word: Comfort.
Because comfort is what this community has chosen. Consistently. Quietly. At the expense of my family.
You were comfortable asking me if I was born in this country.
You were comfortable repeating what you heard about us around your dinner tables.
You were comfortable letting your children carry those words into school hallways and act on them.
You were comfortable crying about losing your shipping convenience while my children were losing something that cannot be replaced.
I know what comes next. I know some of you will want to approach me now. To make this easier. For you.
I need you to understand something.
I am not available for your comfort anymore.
Not a conversation. Not a hug. Not a smile to make the air between us feel less heavy.
What I am available for is the truth.
The truth is that a nearby business had employees telling this community that my family were drug dealers. That is not a rumor. That is documented. I have the proof.
The truth is that those words traveled. Into homes. Into schools. Into children. Into my children.
One of my children still tells me they do not think the world wants them here.
I have stood in rooms full of people who call themselves good Christians, good neighbors, and good people. Many of them are hurting too. But hurt is not the same as accountability.
You hide behind your faith like it's a shield. But faith without accountability is just performance.
I am not here to perform anymore.
I am closing this page, and I am leaving you with this:
The woman you called a drug dealer stood alone in the cold, in pain, fighting for a community that never once fought for her family.
Ask yourself why.
And then ask yourself what you're going to do differently.
Not for me. I'm done waiting.
For the next "transplant" family that comes here believing this could be home.