When They Steal Your Children

They took your child.

Not in the way most people think. There was no dramatic kidnapping, no amber alert, no frantic media coverage. No — your child was taken with a gavel. With the silent nod of a judge. With the signature of a bureaucrat who didn’t care to hear your side. And just like that, you became the ghost of a parent. A name on a piece of paper. An afterthought.

If you’re reading this, you may be living it. Family court chewed you up and spit you out. Your ex — bitter, vindictive, manipulative — weaponized lies and painted you as the villain. And the system? It welcomed the narrative. Maybe you're a father labeled “dangerous” without a shred of evidence. Maybe you're a mother marked “unstable” for standing your ground. Either way, the result is the same: you're erased.

But here’s the truth no court order can erase: You are still a parent.

And no system, no smear campaign, no false narrative can take that away.

Here’s how to remember that — and hold onto it — even when it feels like the world is trying to make you forget.

1. Write to Your Child — Even If You Can't Send It

Every parent has thoughts they never got to say. Write them. Every day, if you have to. Write letters, notes, poems, journals. Tell your child about your day. Tell them about the first time you held them. Tell them about the song that made you think of them at 3 a.m.

Because one day, they might read those words.

And even if they never do — you’ll know you never stopped speaking to them. You never let the silence define your love.

2. Keep a Box of Love

Create a time capsule.

Photos, trinkets, artwork, ticket stubs, books — anything that reflects your love for them, your life, and your memories. Label everything. Add notes. Create a legacy, a trail. You are building the evidence of your love.

You’re not just saving memories. You’re preserving proof: I was there. I am your parent.

3. Say Their Name — Out Loud and Often

Don’t let silence bury them. Say their name. Talk to them in your car. Pray for them. Dedicate moments to them. Buy their favorite cereal on their birthday. Light a candle. Carry a photo.

They are still your child. You are still their parent.

No matter how much paper they throw between you.

4. Refuse to Let the Lies Define You

They might have painted you as unstable. Unfit. Dangerous.

But you know who you are.

Work on yourself not because the court demands it — but because your child deserves the best version of you, and so do you.

Therapy, support groups, exercise, prayer, faith, activism — whatever makes you feel stronger, do it.

Not to prove anything.

But to live your truth — even when the system refuses to see it.

5. Build a Record — Document Everything

Keep logs. Emails. Messages. Missed calls. Denied visits. Everything.

Not just for court (though it matters there), but because it reminds you that you're not imagining this. You’re not crazy. You’re not overreacting.

You are surviving a form of legal abuse. And every record you keep is a brick in the wall of your truth.

6. Join the Underground of Erased Parents

You are not alone. Not even close.

There are thousands — no, millions — of parents living this quiet nightmare. And some are speaking up.

Join support groups. Follow accounts. Read their stories. Share yours when you’re ready. Because community is where you remember: this isn’t your fault. This is bigger than you. But together, you are not powerless.

7. Be the Parent You Want Your Child to Find Someday

If your child ever breaks free from the lies — who will they find?

Be the person who never stopped loving them. Who stood tall. Who fought.

Even if you’re bleeding and tired and unseen — keep going.

Because one day, that door might crack open.

And when it does, let them find the warrior who never gave up on them.

8. Turn Your Grief Into Purpose

Some parents create foundations. Others write books. Some volunteer with youth. Some fight to change the laws.

Do something — anything — that channels the pain into meaning.

Your story may save another parent. Your fire may light a path through someone else’s darkness.

And when you create something out of your brokenness, you tell the world: I’m still here. I’m still a parent. And I’m not done yet.

This is the unthinkable. But you are still thinking of them.

You’re not broken. You’re not erased.

You’re a parent — without the rights, without the time, maybe without the name — but still a parent.

And no system, no ex, no corrupt court can take that from you.

Hold that truth. And never let it go.