Skip to main content

Judged, Ridiculed, and Happier Than Ever


People love to pass judgment. It’s almost second nature to them—to look at a situation from the outside and assume they know the full story. I’ve been judged more in the past year than in my entire life combined. I’ve been ridiculed, abandoned, labeled, and written off as someone I am not, all because of the choices I’ve made—choices that, in the eyes of others, were wrong. But in my heart, I know they were right.

I left a marriage that no longer served either of us. We grew apart, and I refused to stay in something that was empty. And then I fell in love—with a man who has been to hell and back, a man society looks at and instantly dismisses because of his past. My husband is a recovering addict. He relapsed, he got arrested, and because I was in the car with him that night, I got arrested too. A guilty-by-association situation that changed the course of my life, but not in the way people think.

For the past year, I have lived alone, feeling the sting of judgment in every aspect of my life. I have seen friends walk away, family members shake their heads, and people assume I am a bad person simply because I love someone they don’t approve of. It would be easy to break under the weight of it all, to let the world convince me that their version of my life is the truth.

But here’s the reality: I am the happiest I have ever been.

Loving my husband, despite his screw-ups, despite his past, despite the whispers and the disapproving stares, has given me something I never had before—peace. He is my soulmate. He is not perfect, but neither am I. The world can try to define me by my lowest moment, but I refuse to be confined by it.

This past year, I have not only learned the depths of human judgment but also the power of self-acceptance. I have found me in all the chaos. I have learned that people will always have something to say, but their words do not define my life. Only I do.

So, to anyone reading this who feels judged, who feels abandoned for the choices they’ve made, who feels like the world is against them for loving someone others deem unworthy—stand strong. No one else has to live your life. No one else has to walk your path. And if you have found love, real love, then you have found something most people spend their entire lives searching for.

Let them judge. Let them whisper. At the end of the day, happiness is not found in their approval—it’s found in living your truth.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Exposing the Deadly Reality at La Palma Correctional Facility: How Many More Have to Die?

For years, La Palma Correctional Facility in Eloy, Arizona, has been a hotspot for controversy, yet little has been done to address the rampant corruption, officer misconduct, and systemic failures that have turned it into a living hell for those incarcerated within its walls. Most recently, another inmate has died—one of many whose deaths could have been prevented if those in charge had taken real action instead of covering up their negligence. On January 2, 2025, I fought to have my husband moved out of La Palma due to the sheer volume of drugs flooding the yard, which were being brought in by correctional officers. I reported specific names to the Special Security Unit (SSU), thinking that doing the right thing would bring change. Instead, my concerns fell on deaf ears. Now, here we are, with more inmates losing their lives—many of these deaths are suspected overdoses, yet little to no investigation ever seems to result in actual change. A History of Negligence and Deaths This lates...

Two Years for Corruption. Seven Years for Addiction.

  There’s something I can’t shake today. And honestly… it makes me sick. I just read about a correctional officer at the same prison my husband is sitting in right now —Lewis Prison Complex—who was caught smuggling heroin, fentanyl, and cell phones into the facility. Not using. Not struggling. Not trying to survive addiction. Smuggling. Trafficking. Profiting. Investigators didn’t just catch him once either. This wasn’t some “bad decision” moment. This was a full investigation—months long—with surveillance, evidence, and tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs tied to it. Let me say that again… A man with a badge, authority, and access was bringing poison into a prison —into a place already filled with men fighting addiction, trauma, and survival every single day. Now here’s the part that I cannot wrap my head around… My husband is serving seven years for doing drugs. Seven years. For addiction. For a battle that started when he was a child—before he even had ...

Four days.

That is what is left. Four days until I walk through prison gates; not as the correctional officer I once was, not as the prison wife who has spent years fighting this system from the outside, not as the advocate who knows policies, procedures, inmate numbers, classifications, grievances, disciplinary reports, and all the bureaucratic bullshit that comes with incarceration. In four days, I walk through those gates as an inmate. And I am fucking terrified. There. I said it. I am terrified. Six days ago, I wrote a blog called This Isn't Goodbye. It's the Chapter Before I Come Home. I wrote about faith. I wrote about trusting God. I wrote about believing that He would go with me. I wrote about trusting the Author even though I couldn't skip ahead and read the ending. Today? Today I cursed at that Author. Today I told God I fucking hate Him. Those exact words. Not a cleaned-up Christian version of anger. Not, “Lord, I'm struggling to understand Your plan.” Not, “Father, ple...