This is what freedom feels like

On the eve of her 13th birthday, my daughter was assaulted.

Dragged out of a vehicle on the side of the road and beaten.

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“I remember seeing people... wishing they would look over, but they didn’t,” she recounted.

Except—they did.
They saw her.
And that evening, her voice—silenced for years—was finally heard.

Multiple passersby called the police.
People she’d never met took action. They said something.
They didn’t look away.

Her assaulter was removed.
And for the first time in her life, she was free.

It’s going to take a while for it to sink in.
It’s going to take time to retrain the nervous system that became used to fear.

To not flinch when people raise their voices.
To feel safe in her own body.
To trust again.

We’ll walk that journey together.

Many of you have followed our story—an ongoing battle for my daughter’s safety and, truthfully, for my own sanity through it all.
I am so grateful—so grateful—that she is finally safe.

It took a few days for me to realize…

NOW she can start honoring her body and intuition, every day.
NOW she can choose her education.
NOW she gets to call the shots in her life, with guidance and support.

And this morning, I finally noticed something else.

NOW I can focus on my health.
NOW I can focus on sharing the work I’ve been entrusted with.
NOW I can finish writing the book that’s been waiting to be born.
NOW I can breathe.

Because I didn’t even realize… I was holding my breath this whole time.

Try as I might to move forward, life kept pulling me back to a still point.
Which, in hindsight, was perfect.

The stillness was needed.
The still point taught me to wait. To listen.
To breathe through discomfort instead of bypassing it.

Still a work in progress.
But I am breathing now. And for this, my gratitude is immeasurable.

The last 7 years taught me how to be still.
And now, we get to rewrite our story.
Together.

THIS is what freedom feels like.

We didn’t get here alone.

That night, people I don’t know—complete strangers—took action to protect my child.
They didn’t hesitate. They cared.
They remembered something many often forget: we are one.

What happens to one of our children, happens to all of our children.
What happens to others, happens to us.

To the ones who called the police, who looked up and didn’t look away—
May you be blessed tenfold.
May your home be full of the same protection you extended to my daughter.

Lesson:
If you see something, say something.
You can’t always know the impact of your voice,
but I promise you—it matters.

And before that night… so many of you were already holding us.
So many prayers went up for that little girl.
So many hours of listening, as I unraveled and regrouped and unraveled again.
So many kind words, offered at just the right time.
So many reminders:

You are not alone.
You are part of the whole that connects us all.
You always belong.

Ask me what’s next?
Honestly, I don’t know much… except for this:

God is always our number one companion.
The Hearer of Prayer.
The Rock. Our refuge.

And we will always have good humans walking with us.
Some for just a moment—like those passersby.
Others, for a lifetime.

We will never be alone on this journey.
We are part of it all. We are never separate.

My deepest wish?
To be for others what others have been for me:

A guidepost of sanity in a fractured world.
A warm, bright light on an obscure path.
A voice for those whose voices have been silenced.
A presence that reminds us that so much more is possible.

Will you walk with me?
If you’ve been part of our story, in any way—thank you.
And if you’re just now arriving: welcome.
There’s space for you here.

#refugia #community #sanity #safety #celebration #gratitude #therealdeboraha