Fuck You!

Hey folks, it’s Meghann, dropping some real talk here on this heavy Sunday evening, August 17, 2025, as the dusk settles over our little northern Minnesota town. “Bella Vita”—it means beautiful life, and damn, this summer kicked off with that vibe. Cousins were all over, laughing their hearts out, from sunrise to sundown, building memories with my four amazing kids that felt like pure gold. The air was filled with joy—barbecues sizzling, games echoing through the yard, and a sense of unity that warmed my soul as I balanced running my home health care agency by day and reveling in the togetherness by night. But then, July 13 hit like a sucker punch, and what was love turned into a vile pit—kids pitted against kids, all because of adult dysfunction. The other day, my children went to the fair, and their cousins turned their backs and walked away as if they were unknown strangers. And here’s the kicker: I’m supposed to just swallow it, not get upset or angry or fucking pissed, to hold my cool and be the bigger person. But what the hell happened to “we don’t hurt kids”? I get to say fuck you! I get to say we never hurt kids! Only small minds destroy versus love.

It started so bright—a summer of connection that felt like a gift after years of navigating my own challenges. My kids were thriving, their laughter a soundtrack to those long, golden days. Then came July 13, and the air shifted into something toxic. It all spiraled from one person—someone who fueled a situation with drama, weaving lies and unfounded accusations that tore through the family like wildfire. This individual didn’t just stir the pot; they gaslit everyone, convincing the entire family that their behavior was healthy, that they were protecting their loved ones by creating this chaos. It was a twisted narrative—turning truth upside down, painting themselves as the victim while the rest of us scrambled to make sense of the hurt. Kids, innocent and caught off guard, became the casualties, their bonds frayed by adult venom they couldn’t comprehend. And the other day at the fair, that venom showed its face again—my kids, full of hope, were met with cold shoulders, their cousins’ rejection a knife to their spirits. I watched their confusion, their hurt, and it broke something in me.

Yet, I’m told to stay calm, to rise above, to not let it show. But why? When kids are hurt, when the very thing we’re supposed to protect gets trampled, anger is human—it’s righteous! This wasn’t a simple misunderstanding; it was a deliberate unraveling, orchestrated by someone who should have known better. The gaslighting added insult to injury, making me question my own reactions, my right to feel this rage. But I refuse to just nod and smile. This isn’t about being petty; it’s about standing up for what’s right. My faith, tells me to seek peace, but it also demands justice—especially for the little ones. I’ve seen how dysfunction can mask itself as protection, how lies can fracture trust, and I won’t let my kids grow up thinking that’s normal. The sight of their cousins walking away, treating them like strangers, fuels my fury—only small minds destroy versus love, and I won’t let that define us.

The “Bella Vita” summer took a dark turn, but I’ll fight to reclaim its beauty—for my kids, for all kids. This anger drives me to break that cycle, to teach them that love doesn’t hurt, that adults should shield, not wound. The person who spiraled this may have gaslit a family into believing their actions were noble, but I see through the facade. It’s a betrayal of the worst kind, and I won’t stay silent. I get to be fucking angry, and I’ll channel that into protecting the innocence that was lost—starting with calling out the cruelty my kids faced the other day at the fair.

Thanks for wading through this with me. More raw thoughts to come.

With fire and resolve,

Meghann