Submission was forced upon me as a child. I had no free will. When a spirit is broken, it becomes programmable and easily manipulated. I have often wondered if many people view children as objects rather than individuals with rights. What protections do they truly have in our country? I know I felt like a possession when I was young.

When I was nine, a police officer came to our home. My abuser was in a violent rage, stabbing a long knife into the kitchen walls and even between the cabinets. He had punched a hole in the wall and struck our mother. I remember my little brother watching from the hallway, wide-eyed with terror. It was a terrifying scene for a house full of five young children.

The officer spoke with him briefly and then left. My abuser faced no consequences, and we children received no protection. Why?

Was it because we lived in a small town? Did the officer see no immediate danger to five small children? I know this cannot be how things are supposed to work. As an adult, I still struggle with how little accountability is placed on those who abuse—and on those who allow it to continue.

So many people choose not to get involved because they fear an uncertain outcome. I have heard others say, “They might just get abused worse in another home.” I cannot rationalize it that way. Yes, there is a risk that a child could face new hardships, but viewing the situation through that lens often serves more to protect our own comfort than to safeguard the child. We should never feel guilty for trying to protect a child. Right is right.

The choice should be clear and moral: If you know abuse is occurring, speak up. We are not responsible for every possible outcome, but we are responsible for turning a blind eye. Who will fight for that child if we do not?

From birth, children are essentially owned by their parents—whether those parents are abusers, addicts, narcissists, or worse. They remain in their care until someone intervenes. Even then, the system may return them. But knowing that someone tried can be a powerful light in a very dark tunnel for that child.

The police officer who came that day chose not to get involved. He left, and as far as I know, he is still a police officer today. As an adult, it makes no sense to me. A knife-wielding man in a violent rage around small children—nothing to see here. Except, perhaps, the silent tears of the innocent and the dozens of holes left in the walls.