When my son Haven was born, I didn’t have a place to live.  No one I'd ever known, not a one of my family members, knew that I'd been pregnant or that I had a new child -

not even my 18 year-old, Frankie, who had been disappeared until the end of my pregnancy and their actual 18th birthday. While experiencing their elementary school years, Frankie had fantasized about having a little brother, and even asked me to get her a baby brother for Christmas.

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Haven's paternal grandparents learned of Haven's existence due to emergent necessity and my repeated insistence to Haven's father, Max, that he tell his parents about our son and the immediately threatening circumstances surrounding his new life that had been created by the hospital.  At first, Max invited his parents to the hospital to meet Haven, but didn't tell them why and that we needed their help in order to make sure Haven was able to be raised with and around family.  After they left the hospital post-visit, Max told me he hadn't mentioned anything about the CPS hold placed on Haven at the Kirkland, WA hospital he'd been borned at. 
 

There was a hold placed on Haven's life - Haven's life was being ruled by self-proclaimed authorities who had declared his life theirs and had informed Max and I that our son was not allowed to leave the hospital.  This happened after I presented to the emergency room early in the a.m., hysterical after at least 16 hours in labor and on my feet, as I spent a notable amount of those hours on my own and wandering the city of Kirkland because I didn't have a place to live.  I had been in denial during the entire term of my pregnancy - completely because of Max's response to my telling him I was pregnant and, within days, pleading with him to help me contact a clinic so that I could terminate the pregnancy.   Max barely responded to my desperate, insistent requests for his help - I didn't have anyone else in my life, not a single other soul that I communicated with in any form.  Max asked me what I wanted him to do because he didn't know how to help me (even though I'd been clearly telling him), then he told me he didn't know who to call or what to say.  I told him that all he needed to do was dial the number for me and hold his phone up to my ear and I could talk.  I for some reason couldn't go trough the actions of looking up a clinic - I was sure any clinic would be able to at least give us a good number for a location that could assist me - and then physically calling that number.  I also didn't have a cell service provider and so the times I would have been able to do something like that on the Wifi accessible phone I used, while Max was able to use his phone for anything whenever he wanted.  There were two times I distinctly remember getting in Max's face with the urgency of my situation and my insistence that we not allow a child to be brought into our world - we were living in a car, and I was deeply disturbed and unable to function normally due to mourning lost lives of those closest to me and dependent on me, and definitely still in shock after losing a battle for our home and then having it taken.  I was probably also having difficulty coming to terms with my months wandering the street with my best friend who spent the vast majority of our time paired up in a hysterical rage at me for             of every  single aspect of the life I'd had materially and otherwise when living alongside my family member dependents,   Max had told the CPS employee, Felix, who came to the hospital to interview us, that he didn't have a place to live, either, even though he had at least two places to live: his parent's house and his drug dealer commonlaw marriage wife status girlfriend pig beast's place of abode.   In his 40's, Max had lived with his parents a

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 insisted that Haven and I, along with their son/Haven's father, Max, come to stay in their home, a uniquely shaped structure originally built as a boarding house located across the street from Lake Washington in Seattle. 

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In Max's parent's home,

I devoted my life to Haven.

I took care of him day and night. 

When he wasn't sleeping or trying to eat,

he usually cried - loudly - his little face twisted in pain. 

During and after every feeding, he spit up large amounts of what he'd taken in.

I worried he wasn't getting enough sustenance. 

I later learned his issues were formula-related (something I strongly suspected for obvious reasons - it was the only thing he was ingesting) and disappeared

as soon as he was able to switch to whole milk and soft foods. 

 

I sang to Haven often throughout the day, usually a song I made up just for him.  I did my best to empathize with him and his experience as a newly alive creature, and tried to keep him as comfortable in his helpless infant body as possible.​

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While I stayed at Max's parents house, I was Haven's caretaker nearly 24/7. Without exaggeration, I can say that I did not leave their home for the first 30 days after arrival. I never once complained about the situation and was very happy to be with my son in a home where

we were told we were welcome.  

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I tolerated physically violent attacks, as well as other intolerable behaviors, from Max pretty much the entire time

I stayed at his parent's home. 

Making more than my initial report of

Max's over-aggressive behavior,

which I did begrudgingly after

insistent prodding  during a direct confrontation from his stepdad,

seemed like it would jeopardize

my charity-bestowed, temporary place to live next to my newborn son. 

And so, aside from the aforementioned, I didn't tell anyone about how I was being treated, and I didn't know how to stop it.  

 

I wanted to be with my son; I knew that no one in that house, or anywhere on this planet, would make the efforts I did to establish and maintain Haven's comfort, safety, and happiness every day. 

If I didn't have a stable place to live, I wouldn't be able to provide the care for Haven that he deserved.  I knew that Haven's needs weren't prioritized by anyone but me - a person who'd had minimal motivation to live until Haven was born. ​

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CPS was still somewhat in the picture, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before I was directly under their sniper-target sight laser, their weapon made of truth-twisted accusations and other annoying, but quite deadly and serious wound-capable, undesireables.  With much insistence and pressure from Haven's grandparents, who I was living with, I decided to be proactive and do what I could to please the blood-hungry and unreasonable demons and their minions at CPS. 

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I voluntarily submitted myself for assessment at Therapeutic Health Services at the Capitol Hill location in Seattle.  I uncomfortably waited a while after filling out a questionnaire about my substance use and other abuse potentials.  The actual in-person assessment went well, i thought.  It ran a bit long, but that was probably completely my doing, as I hadn't told many people much of anything that I had experienced, and I told the assessor the truth about a lot of the important things.  I mean, I told her the truth about everything, but I still didn't tell her everything everything, because that would have been inefficient for both of us. 

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Turns out, the assessment did go well.  My public defender said it was the best assessment she or any of her colleagues had ever come across and called me her star client.  Woot.  Those assessment results can be found at the click on this sentence, and it's just more of the same from the last two sentences that were lined to this assessment result PDF document.

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After I talked to my attorney about the results of the assessment, I was very excited.  Good news had been so rare in my life for quite too long, and this news seemed fantastic.  I told Max's parents about the formal assessment results and my conversation with my attorney, and his stepdad seemed angry and his mother seemed annoyed - she made a big show of groaning and rolling her eyes, which I found very odd.  Didn't they want me, their only grandchild's mother, to do well and be well?  Why were they acting like my good news dismayed them?

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Over time, it's been confirmed over and again by Max himself that he wanted me gone from his parent's home, and as punishment, from our son's life, because I denied his [Max's} direct demands for sex and sex-related activities.  He told me then, and continued to hold strong to his conviction that if I don't allow him access to me sexually, he won't help me.  Max's "help" consists of less harassment and sabotaging actions toward and treatment of me - it rarely means he actually takes any positive action on my behalf.  When Max said he wouldn't help me, I took it to mean he was going to do everything he can to destroy me and the stable living and monetary situation I have been trying to rebuild for my children and I, which is close enough to the truth of the results of his actions.

 

At Max's parent's home, I never presented as intoxicated by any substance.  I voluntarily completed a drug and alcohol assessment with exceptional findings by the administering counselor, and even regularly, voluntarily participated in group therapy for parents. In their home, I was, without question, Haven's primary caretaker without any concern, problem, or complaint voiced by anyone.

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At the end of June, I had a rental application approved for an apartment less than 1.5 miles from Max's parent's home.  I planned to utilize funds reported as available by Urban League of Metropolitan Seattle, Coordinated Entry for All, and other organizations/programs, for first and last month's rent, and deposit.  Within a few weeks of my lease approval, I had contacted people individually for information about such assistance, then completed and submitted applications for it.  However, I wasn't able to get a W-9 from the landlord, a tax document that is required from any organization offering financial assistance for move-in costs.  I was unable to obtain the assistance money for first and last month rent, plus deposit, that I had previously considered guaranteed.

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​Unfortunately, Max and his parents acted extremely abusive with their "power" over the lives of Haven and I.  They told me I wasn't welcome to continue living in their home, though they refused to assist me in moving into a residence I was approved to lease.  At the time they told me to leave, it had only been a few days since my request for move-in help had been rejected, and I hadn't yet been able to be approved for a second place to live.  

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I left, but had nowhere to live.

Haven's grandparents began to act nonsensical and even belligerent in our
communications, as if I were a threat. They began to restrict my previously unrestricted time with Haven, until I wasn't able to provide allowed to even see him at all.

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Being forced from the home while I attempted to maintain the income I had been generating, as well as 

look for other ways to earn money without a social security card or birth certificate (required documents for legal, tax-claimed employment), and

save as much money as I possibly could in anticipation of being approved for another apartment rental brings problems that sound miniscule, but are in truth mountainous obstacles.  Without a place to live, I can't take for granted the things that a normal, modern-day human with a home has effortlessly accessible to them, like a place to sit where there is no fear of being told to leave, access to a working and available wall outlet available for phone/electronics battery charging,  as-needed access to a bathroom, stress-free access to a clean shower, and a private, somewhat safe and mostly clean location to get rest every single day.

 

The necessity of those things in order for me to be able to accomplish any of the things necessary in order for me to begin to try to have a normal life again kept me on a constant search for ways to more easily obtain those things.  I found that to be very stressful and so I also battled physical fatigue and mental/emotional depletion/exhaustion, plus other emotional challenges that I can't even. 

 

My life focus once again was very self-centered, even though the ultimate cause and motivation for my existence was essentially selfless: where will I go for _____, how homeless will I look if I _____ (discrimination against homeless is heavy in Seattle and I made sure to never use the word - I reported I was "presently without a lease" when questioned), what do I do now, how will I prove to my kids that I spent all day today trying to find a place to charge my phone and issues like this are why it's taking me so long to get a home for us, and so on. 

Weeks later, I was angry enough to feel justified in asking Haven's dad to give me money for a hotel.

When I saw him later that day,

he told me that he was paying someone

to babysit
our infant son instead of having me - Haven's mom -

who had been literally sick and dying of worry and broken heart, and begging to see & spend time with my son -

care for him during the day,

as I had been pleading to do (for free)
for nearly a month.

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I was uncontrollably upset by the unexpected confession and I began yelling at him.  He told me more or less to get out of his car so he could leave, and I refused to.  I wanted to discuss our son's life.  He wanted to avoid discussion.  I insisted that he stay and discuss with me, and refused to exit his vehicle until he did so on some level.

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SPD stopped the fight when they arrested him. They saw him take my purse from me and throw it, then try to
physically force me from the vehicle. My son's father was released from jail on the condition he have no contact with me.
The no-contact order more solidly kept me from my son.
Max broke the order many times, but refused me any amount of time with Haven unless I agreed to pay him for

time with my son with adult relations.