…”cut and rearrange your words so a judge hears a dangerous mother instead of a woman getting better.”
The other voice belonged to Kevin Marsh, the custody evaluator who had been assigned to our family two weeks earlier. His job was to give the court a neutral report on what was best for my children. On the recording, he and my husband, Todd, were sitting in our living room while I was at the pediatrician with the kids. Kevin was explaining which of my sentences would “sound worst out of context.” Todd laughed and said, “Whatever it costs.”
I felt dizzy. I had told my therapist about the darkest moments after my son was born, and how much better I was feeling now. Those words had been sliced up into something unrecognizable.
My lawyer, Maria, acted immediately. Recording someone’s private therapy sessions without consent was illegal in our state. Conspiring with a court official to fabricate evidence was even worse. She filed an emergency motion and gave the original recording to the judge.
The judge removed Kevin from the case that afternoon and reported him to the licensing board and the district attorney. It turned out Todd had paid him eight thousand dollars through a “consulting fee.”
Todd was charged with illegal wiretapping and bribery. His attorney withdrew from the case.
A new, independent evaluator spent six weeks with our family. She interviewed my therapist with my permission, talked to my children’s teachers and watched me with my kids. Her report described a mother who had faced postpartum depression, sought help early and was doing well. The judge granted me primary custody.
What I want people to know is this: asking for help didn’t make me a bad mother. It made me a better one. My husband tried to turn my therapy into a weapon. The court saw it for what it was.
My children are five and two now. We live in a small house with a big backyard. I still see my therapist every other week, in an office with the door closed and nobody listening. My kids think “therapy day” is when Mom comes home with ice cream. That’s half true.
