Testimony Tuesday

A mother reached out recently, her voice filled with fear and frustration. “I’m scared to have another baby,” she said. And she is not alone. Across Alabama, more and more mothers are expressing the same concern. Not because they do not want children, but because of what they have witnessed and lived at the hands of a system that claims to protect but often moves to punish.

These are not theoretical fears. These are real, lived experiences. One mother had just delivered her second child when DHR showed up at the hospital. Her first child had already been placed in the custody of the grandmother after a medical condition led to a report. There was no abuse. No neglect. The mother had documentation to support everything, but it was ignored. The label stuck.

When she gave birth again, they came. She had not even had time to rest, to breathe, or to bond with her newborn before the system acted. DHR had already decided she was unfit, not based on her present ability or the circumstances of that birth, but based on the unresolved image they held of her from before.

This time, however, they were forced to follow the law. They had to request a court order to remove the baby. The judge said no. They tried again. The judge denied them a second time.

Twice, a judge rejected their attempt to justify removing a newborn child. That is how far they were willing to go, even after being told to stop.

The mother was left holding more than her baby. She held the fear that it could still happen again. She held the weight of being watched, of being categorized, of knowing that no matter what she did, it might not be enough.

And she is not the only one.

There is a growing pattern across the state. Good mothers are afraid to have more children. Not because they lack love or capacity, but because the system has turned motherhood into a risk. A gamble. A red flag.

It is easy to assume that if DHR shows up at a hospital, something must be wrong. Maybe the baby tested positive. Maybe the mother had a history. Maybe abuse was suspected. But what if that is not the truth?

What if DHR is showing up because a mother was once a victim of domestic violence and got flagged for it? Because a child’s medical condition led to a report, as in the Odom case? Because a parent used discipline in the home and was criminalized for it? Because a family refused to be silent and the system did not like being challenged?

What if the risk the system sees is not danger but defiance?

There are mothers doing everything right. No drugs. No violence. No active threat. And still, they are being targeted. Still, they are being flagged. Still, their babies are being tracked and watched before they ever go home.

There are fathers in these rooms too. Some stand tall and push back, demanding answers and refusing to be erased. Others are blindsided, confused, heartbroken, and unaware that they even had a legal right to fight. Many are never informed of their parental rights at all. They are treated like bystanders to their own blood, dismissed as irrelevant unless their name is already printed on the birth certificate or stamped into a custody agreement. Some walk away in silence, while others are forced into a battle they never saw coming, not to defend themselves as fathers, but to prove they were ever seen as one.

Many mothers share that having children and building a family is not just a milestone. It is a lifelong dream. Yet the system, with its unaccounted-for actions and unchecked authority, is dimming the light on something so sacred, so deeply personal, that it cannot be measured in court orders or case files.

After giving birth, a mother is vulnerable in every way. Her body is raw. Her emotions are wide open. Her spirit is fragile. The thought of someone walking into that sacred space, after nine months of carrying, praying, and preparing, and saying she cannot take her baby home is enough to fracture something that may never fully heal.

This is not protection. It is punishment. This is not care. It is control.

And this must be spoken aloud.

To every mother who has walked into a hospital with hope and walked out with grief, this is for you. To every family questioning whether they can safely grow, knowing the system is waiting, this story is yours too.