Staying “Out of Politics” Is a Privilege

One Mom’s Battle has been told many times that we should “stay out of politics.” What is often meant by that is not that we should be apolitical, but that we should only speak out when our advocacy aligns with someone else’s political comfort or personal beliefs.

Those same voices frequently applaud our work when we fight for legislation that prioritizes the most vulnerable among us, and when we oppose laws that place children and protective parents at risk. These same voices applaud loudly when we shine a spotlight on elected officials (judicial officers). The support disappears when our advocacy challenges their own assumptions, loyalties, or worldview. That contradiction matters.

Family court is political by design, not by accident. The laws, standards, and assumptions that guide custody decisions are created through policy, not neutrality. These choices determine whose voices are believed, how harm is defined, and whether children and survivors are protected or punished. Family court reflects the values a society is willing to codify into law.

Everything we do is political.

Everything we have ever done has been political.

One Mom’s Battle exists to protect children, support survivors, and challenge systems that cause harm. We raise our voices for those who are silenced. We stand firmly with people in marginalized communities. We speak out against racism, discrimination, and the dehumanization of any group targeted by systems of power. We believe the most vulnerable among us deserve safety, dignity, and a seat at the table where decisions about their lives are made.

At times, that advocacy has included speaking out about political parties, candidates, and leadership when their actions or policies directly impact the safety and wellbeing of children and families. That advocacy has always been guided by values, evidence, and lived experience, not blind allegiance.

I am also in receipt of countless messages telling me to “stay in my lane” and insisting that politics have no place in One Mom’s Battle. Please save those messages. This work has always involved confronting systems of power, policy, and injustice. That is not new, and it is not optional.

What is happening in our country right now extends beyond politics. It is moral and ethical. When government actions create fear, destabilize families, or strip protections from those most at risk, silence is not neutrality. It is a choice.

There is also something I cannot reconcile.

I will never understand how a survivor can watch what is unfolding in our country and justify it, minimize it, or refuse to stand in firm opposition. Survivors know what it means when systems fail. Survivors know what it looks like when power is abused, when harm is normalized, and when people are told their suffering is necessary, exaggerated, or deserved.

Survivorship does not guarantee clarity or courage but lived experience comes with responsibility. When you have seen how systems can silence, abuse, traumatize, and destroy, neutrality in the face of harm is not an option.

As survivors, we recognize these patterns.

We know what it feels like when a story stops working. When the explanations no longer hold. When the version of reality we want to believe can no longer survive what we are witnessing. Survivors understand abusive systems because they mirror abusive relationships. The same slow escalation. The same minimization. The same pressure to tolerate harm in exchange for stability or safety.

A dear friend of mine articulated this moment with extraordinary clarity. I want to end with her words, shared here in full and unchanged.

When the Story Stops Working: Reconciling what you want to believe with what is actually happening

By Annie Kenny

If you’ve survived an abusive relationship, you know this moment. It’s not the beginning. It’s not even the first bad thing. It’s the moment when pretending is no longer possible. When something inside of you shifts and becomes so clear you can’t ignore it anymore. The moment when the explanations stop working. When the apologies stop landing. When the “but he didn’t mean it” or “it was my fault” collapses under the weight of what just happened. Not because the abuse is suddenly worse, but because clarity finally arrives.

Every survivor has their version. Maybe it’s the first time the yelling turns vicious. The first time something in your home is destroyed. The first time the profanity is aimed at your children. The shove that’s supposedly an accident. Or violence that starts coming without an apology at all.

Maybe it’s the moment your child’s body freezes. They cover their ears. Start to cry. Or worse, maybe the violence is directed at them. That’s when it hits. Not always as a panic, but as a knowing. You’re forced to reconcile who the abuser IS with what they are showing you, rather than the version of them you’ve been trying to believe in.

THIS IS WHO THEY ARE. AND THIS IS NOT SAFE.

Survivors don’t always talk about this moment. And when they do, it’s often quietly. Years later. It’s the moment you stop negotiating with reality. The moment you realize you aren’t weighing good against bad, you’re being trained to tolerate harm.

And after that, there is no going back. You can’t unsee it. Unexperience it. Unknow it. You can’t pretend this is a healthy relationship anymore.

And lately, I find myself wondering, when does that moment arrive for a nation? When do we stop making excuses for behavior that would terrify us if it happened inside our own homes? When do we stop asking people to tolerate cruelty for the sake of an imaginary “great” nation? When do we accept that what we’re seeing is not accidental, but a patterned progression of behavior?

Because abusive systems behave exactly like abusive people. They test boundaries. They escalate slowly. They normalize harm. They punish resistance. And afterward, they rewrite the story. Abusive systems, like abusive people, rely on minimization. They rely on convincing us that what we’re witnessing isn’t what it appears to be. That our alarm systems are wrong, that we’re overreacting, and we just need to understand them better. Abuse doesn’t arrive all at once. It accumulates. Normalizes. It trains people to doubt their own instincts.

So what will it take for the United States to reach its clarity moment? Is it when an unarmed woman is shot by a federal agent and denied medical care? When a five year old little boy is detained, despite his family doing everything they were legally told to do? Is it when an ICU nurse is killed in broad daylight after filming and trying to help someone who had been violently shoved to the ground?

What survivors know is that waiting for the worst moment is part of the danger. Abuse doesn’t announce its final escalation. It conditions people to tolerate the unbearable one step at a time. First you’re told you’re overreacting. Then you’re told it’s necessary. That there was no other choice. Sound familiar?

We’ve watched women’s healthcare be stripped away and criminalized. We’ve watched laws and norms meant to protect a society bent to protect and benefit one man and those around him, again and again. We’ve heard demeaning language aimed at entire groups of people spoken openly, repeatedly, without shame. We’ve watched immigration enforcement used in ways that terrorize families and children in public spaces. We’ve seen people detained and held who later turned out to be U.S. citizens. And now we’re watching people who pose no true threat being murdered in front of numerous witnesses, with the perpetrators assured they will face no consequence.

And still, many people insist this is normal. That it’s not that bad. That there’s still “good”. That the people being harmed deserved it.

But what abuse survivors know is that the good doesn’t cancel out the harm. The harm IS the point. And there comes a time when the question is no longer, “Is there still some good?” The question becomes, “How much more are we willing to endure before we admit this is not safe?”

A closing reflection from One Mom’s Battle

This is why One Mom’s Battle exists.

Survivors are not confused about patterns of abuse. We recognize them because we have lived them. We know that harm does not begin with the worst moment, and it does not end because there is still “some good.” Systems, like people, reveal themselves through repeated behavior, not promises.

OMB will continue to speak out against injustice wherever it appears. We will continue to raise our voices for those who are silenced, stand with marginalized communities, and challenge systems that normalize harm.

If this clarity is uncomfortable, that discomfort is not the problem.

Silence is.

One Mom’s Battle exists to protect children, support survivors, and challenge systems that cause harm.

We will not look away.