Hey Dana Jane

Category: Abuse

  • Maybe God Had Other Plans

    I have been thinking a lot about Christa Pike.

    Not because I believe she is innocent. Not because I think what she did to Colleen Slemmer can be explained away, excused, or forgotten. And certainly not because I expect Colleen’s mother to forgive the woman who took her daughter’s life.

    What happened to Colleen was horrific. There is no softer word for it.

    I have read about what happened, and as a mother, I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child in such a violent and senseless way. I understand why Colleen’s mother has spent decades carrying anger, grief, and a desire for justice. I don’t presume to tell her how she should feel or whether she should ever forgive.

    But I also believe something very strongly:

    I do not believe that human beings have the right to take another person’s life as punishment.

    I am conservative. I am Catholic. And I know that some people may find those beliefs contradictory when it comes to the death penalty.

    They aren’t contradictory to me.

    My opposition to capital punishment isn’t rooted in sympathy for criminals or a belief that horrific crimes shouldn’t have severe consequences. I believe people should be held accountable for the things they do. I believe victims deserve justice. I believe society has a responsibility to protect innocent people from dangerous individuals.

    But I don’t believe that means we have been given the authority to play God.

    And then came what happened to Christa Pike.

    She was strapped to a table. The state of Tennessee attempted to execute her by lethal injection. Two doses of the execution drugs were administered, and the execution could not be completed.

    She survived.

    I don’t pretend to know what that means.

    I don’t know why it happened. I don’t know what God intends for Christa Pike. I don’t know whether this was simply a catastrophic failure of an execution procedure or something more.

    But as a person of faith, I cannot help but wonder.

    Maybe God had other plans.

    I know how that sounds.

    Some people will read that and think, How could you possibly say that about someone who did what she did to Colleen?

    Because believing that God may have spared someone’s life is not the same thing as saying that person doesn’t deserve accountability.

    Maybe the rest of Christa Pike’s life is supposed to be lived behind bars, facing the reality of what she did every single day.

    Maybe there are things she still needs to learn.

    Maybe there is repentance that has not yet happened.

    Maybe there are people she needs to help through her testimony.

    Maybe there is a possibility of redemption that none of us can see.

    Or maybe there is some purpose known only to God.

    That’s the thing about faith. We don’t always get to know the why.

    And I think that’s where my Catholic faith matters most.

    I believe in the sanctity of human life even when that life has been terribly misused. I believe that God created us, and that ultimately, our lives belong to Him.

    That doesn’t mean consequences disappear.

    It doesn’t mean forgiveness is owed.

    It doesn’t mean Colleen’s mother has to embrace Christa Pike or pretend that the murder of her daughter didn’t destroy a part of her life.

    It doesn’t mean we forget Colleen.

    Quite the opposite.

    Colleen deserves to be remembered.

    Her life should never become merely the footnote to the story of the woman who killed her.

    And perhaps that is another reason I struggle with the death penalty. When we execute someone, we don’t bring the victim back. We don’t erase the crime. We don’t restore the family that was shattered.

    We simply take another life.

    I know there are people who disagree with me. I understand why some believe that certain crimes are so terrible that death is the only appropriate punishment. I understand the desire for justice, especially when the victim’s life was taken so brutally.

    But I don’t believe justice requires me to believe that the government should have the power to decide when another human being’s life ends.

    I believe in justice.

    I also believe in mercy.

    And I believe that ultimately, God is better equipped than any of us to judge a human soul.

    So when I think about what happened to Christa Pike, I don’t think, She got lucky.

    I think about the fact that she was supposed to die, and she didn’t.

    And I can’t help but wonder if there is a reason.

    Maybe God spared her.

    Maybe He didn’t.

    I don’t know.

    But I know this: I am not going to presume to know God’s plans.

    I can condemn what Christa Pike did to Colleen Slemmer while still believing that Christa Pike’s life has value.

    I can grieve for Colleen and her family while believing that another death will not undo theirs.

    I can understand why a mother cannot forgive the person who murdered her child while still believing that forgiveness, repentance, and redemption ultimately belong in God’s hands.

    And I can believe that some people deserve to spend the rest of their lives behind bars without believing that any human being has the right to decide that another human being’s life is over.

    Because I don’t believe we are God.

    And maybe, just maybe, last night’s events were a reminder of that.

  • When Mom Chooses the Man: The Children Who Learn They Come Second

    There is a particular kind of heartbreak that doesn’t look like abandonment at first.

    Mom is still there.

    She still has a phone. She still posts pictures. She still says she loves her children. She may even insist that everything she does is for them.

    But somehow, there is always a man.

    And somehow, the children keep coming second.

    I have a hard time understanding the woman who can look at her child—the little person who depends on her for security, consistency and unconditional love—and repeatedly choose the attention, approval or companionship of a romantic partner instead.

    Not once.

    Not during a difficult season.

    But as a pattern.

    The boyfriend gets the late-night phone calls.
    The boyfriend gets the weekends.
    The boyfriend gets the emotional energy.
    The boyfriend gets defended when the children have legitimate complaints.
    The boyfriend gets priority.

    And the children learn, sometimes without anyone ever saying the words:

    Mom chooses him. Not me.

    That lesson can be devastating.

    Psychology has long recognized that children need reliable, responsive caregiving to develop healthy relationships and emotional security. And research suggests that the quality of adults’ romantic relationships can spill over into their parenting. A longitudinal study following multiple generations found that romantic relationship functioning was associated with later parenting quality, while another study found that warmth and positive communication from a romantic partner could actually protect against harsh parenting. (PubMed)

    So this isn’t simply about a woman “having a boyfriend.”

    Of course mothers are allowed to fall in love.
    Of course mothers deserve companionship.
    Of course parents are allowed to have lives outside their children.

    That’s not the issue.

    The issue is when the relationship begins consuming the space that belongs to the parent-child relationship.

    And sometimes, the behavior starts looking disturbingly self-centered.

    Everything revolves around what she wants.

    She wants to feel loved.
    She wants to feel desired.
    She wants someone to tell her she’s beautiful.
    She wants someone to rescue her.
    She wants the excitement.
    She wants the validation.

    And if the children complain?

    They’re “jealous.”

    If they feel neglected?

    They’re “ungrateful.”

    If they don’t like the boyfriend?

    They’re “trying to ruin her happiness.”

    Suddenly, the children aren’t children anymore.

    They’re obstacles.

    That is where I think the word narcissistic enters the conversation—not necessarily as a clinical diagnosis, but as a description of a pattern of behavior in which the adult’s emotional wants consistently eclipse the needs and feelings of everyone around her.

    And there is another person in this equation that we don’t talk about enough:

    The man.

    Because if a man knowingly dates a woman who is neglecting her children to be with him, what exactly is he doing?

    A decent man doesn’t need to compete with children.

    He doesn’t need to be the center of her universe.

    He doesn’t need her to cancel plans with her kids so she can spend the weekend with him.

    He doesn’t need to be prioritized over a child’s birthday, school event, emotional crisis or basic needs.

    And if he notices that she’s neglecting her children for him, the healthy response isn’t:

    “Great. More time for me.”

    It should be:

    “You need to be with your kids.”

    That’s why I struggle with the idea that these men are simply “lucky” to have found a woman who is so devoted to them.

    Maybe sometimes they’re not lucky.

    Maybe they’re weak.

    Not because they are men.

    Not because they have relationships with single mothers.

    But because accepting a position of importance that comes at the expense of children requires a certain willingness to look away.

    A strong man doesn’t need to win a competition against a woman’s children.

    He doesn’t want to.

    He understands that children aren’t rivals.

    He understands that being a good partner sometimes means saying, “Go be Mom. I’ll be here.”

    And there is actually evidence that romantic partners can play a constructive role in parenting. Research has found that supportive romantic partners can help interrupt patterns of harsh or abusive parenting. (PubMed Central (PMC))

    That’s the part that gets lost.

    A romantic partner doesn’t have to be the problem.

    He can be part of the solution.

    He can encourage her to show up for her children.

    He can respect their place in her life.

    He can refuse to participate in manipulation or parental alienation.

    He can understand that dating someone with children means entering a family system—not replacing the children inside it.

    Because children notice.

    They notice who gets Mom’s attention.

    They notice who gets defended.

    They notice who gets her patience.

    They notice who she drops everything for.

    And eventually, they stop asking.

    That’s perhaps the saddest part.

    A neglected child doesn’t always become louder.

    Sometimes they become quieter.

    They stop expecting Mom to come.

    They stop telling her things.

    They stop asking for help.

    They stop believing they’re important.

    And eventually, they may grow into adults who understand exactly what happened but struggle to put words to it:

    “My mother loved having a man more than she loved being my mother.”

    That’s a brutal sentence.

    And I don’t think we should casually throw around accusations of narcissism, because narcissistic personality disorder is a clinical diagnosis—not a synonym for “selfish woman.”

    But we also shouldn’t hide behind diagnoses when the behavior itself is obvious.

    If a mother consistently sacrifices her children’s emotional needs for romantic attention, the behavior deserves scrutiny regardless of what diagnosis—if any—might explain it.

    And if a man knowingly accepts that arrangement, he deserves scrutiny too.

    Because love isn’t supposed to require someone else’s abandonment.

    A healthy relationship shouldn’t demand that children disappear so two adults can feel important.

    A good mother doesn’t have to stop being a woman when she becomes a mother.

    And a good man doesn’t need her to stop being a mother in order to be his woman.

    Children shouldn’t have to compete with adults for a place in their parent’s heart.

    And any relationship worth having should be strong enough to understand that.

  • Unlearning the Lie: A Journey Out of Dysfunction

    Disclaimer:
    To my family members who may be reading this—this is not a personal attack. This is a raw and honest account of my experience growing up in a dysfunctional family system. This is the result of years of therapy, painful reflection, and personal growth. If this makes you uncomfortable, I encourage you to sit with that discomfort. These things happened to me. Your discomfort is yours to manage. I won’t be gaslit, dismissed, or silenced.

    For as long as I can remember, I lived in a house where appearances mattered more than authenticity, where silence was safer than speaking up, and where love came with conditions. The air was often thick with unspoken expectations, repressed anger, and inherited trauma, disguised as tradition. There was little room for individuality—only conformity.

    The voice in my head that doubted me, shamed me, told me I was “too much” or “not enough”? It wasn’t mine. It belonged to a chorus—my parents, some aunts and uncles, a grandparent. Their values were imposed on me like scripture: obey, conform, suppress, believe. I was conditioned to accept their version of religion, success, womanhood, and morality without question. I spent decades chasing their ideals, only to end up exhausted and empty.

    It’s taken five years of therapy—deep, soul-level work—for me to realize that voice was never mine. That guilt and shame? Not mine to carry. Those expectations? Not my responsibility. My therapist once told me, “Just because they handed you the script, doesn’t mean you have to keep reading from it.” That was the moment everything began to shift.

    At 46, I’ve never been clearer. I no longer pretend. I no longer force myself to align with values that don’t fit. I don’t exist to be a mirror for someone else’s version of the “right” life. I now extend the compassion to myself that I so freely gave everyone else. That’s the most sacred, powerful gift I’ve ever given myself.

    Yes, my philosophies have shifted. Yes, my goals and beliefs look different. And no, I will no longer contort myself to please people who can’t—or won’t—see me clearly. I’m no longer afraid to stand up for what’s right for me.

    And if this disappoints my parents, siblings, or extended relatives—so be it. That disappointment is theirs to hold. I was never equipped to be the manager of everyone’s emotions, and I’m done trying to be. I have finally stepped out of the shadows of who I was told to be, and into the light of who I actually am.

    This is my truth. And I won’t apologize for it.

  • Book Review: It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover

    I read It Ends With Us in less than three days. I didn’t want to like it, but I did. And that’s the conflict this book leaves you with—how can something so well-written, so compelling, also feel so deeply unsettling?

    Colleen Hoover doesn’t just tell a love story; she unravels one. At first, I wanted to love Ryle. He was charming, ambitious, and passionate. But then I hated him. I wanted to shake Lily, to hug her, to beg her to see what so many women struggle to recognize: that love doesn’t excuse abuse, and that abusers don’t often change.

    This book wrecked me. I haven’t personally experienced domestic violence, but I know women like Lily. I have watched some leave, and I have watched some stay. And that’s what I may never be able to fully understand—the staying. Hoover doesn’t romanticize Ryle’s actions, but the novel does what real life often does: it makes you question, makes you hope, makes you ache for the person who isn’t what you thought they were.

    While It Ends With Us is undeniably powerful, it also toes a line that made me uncomfortable. Is it fair to frame a story of domestic violence within a romance? Does it risk softening the reality of abuse? I don’t know. What I do know is that this book makes you feel everything—love, anger, frustration, devastation—and maybe that’s the point. Hoover gives us a protagonist who has to make an impossible choice, and through her, we are forced to confront the complexities of love, trauma, and survival.

    Would I recommend It Ends With Us? Yes, but with caution. It’s not an easy read, nor should it be. But it’s an important one.