Everything they said about me was built on a grain of something real, and that grain is what made it impossible to fight.

I was tired — because I was doing most of the night wakings alone.

I was watchful — because I had a newborn and a house that did not feel safe.

I did call the doctor more than most mothers, because my gut kept telling me something was wrong, and it turned out my gut was right.

But they took each of those real, reasonable things and inflated it into a defect, and then pointed to the defect every time I tried to raise the alarm, so that the alarm itself became more proof.

It is a closed loop.