Have you ever had one of those moments where life feels like it zeros in on you like a Jim scene from The Office? That’s exactly how it felt one day while listening to a podcast detail the Seven Stages of Genocide and relate it to the current pandemic and push for mass vaccination.
Dramatic? Maybe. Hopefully! And I get it, take your vaccine if you want it. I respect personal choice, unlike the government.
But the sinking fear in the pit of my stomach solidified a desire to run, get away, build a fortress. Once that happened, there was no going back.
Soon, I had my husband talked into it. Our house went on the marketand sold within two weeks of my grim epiphany. In that month, I also decided to homeschool my daughter because no child should have to sit through school with a mask on.
We’ve come a long way, this little family and me. As I type this, I’m staring at stacks of boxes and taking in every corner of our home since it’s our last night here before the move. It’s a mess—so stressful. But I feel light as air knowing a view of the hills and enough space for a garden and a working farm awaits me.
I think there will be more mothers like me in the future. They’ll be the ones standing up for their children’s rights and screaming from the rooftops when the regime swoops in to stand in the way of their parenting choices, or when public schools decide they know better than the people raising them.
Does that make me an extremist? Because I want to drink milk from my own cow, teach my child without woke indoctrination, or abstain from experimental medical procedures?
But unless you can tell me who Randy Weaver is and what actually happened at Ruby Ridge, I don’t really care about your opinion