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What if a simple “I love you” could steady someone on their hardest day? We open our hearts and our home to talk about building safety from the ground up—personally funding 480 academy scholarships, writing a child’s-eye-view book for noisy and unsafe homes, and speaking plainly about the harm that thrives when institutions deny, delay, or deflect accountability. The conversation moves from raw statistics to real stories, then lands on the everyday work of repair: quiet rituals, clear boundaries, and love spoken out loud.

We take you inside the new Stucco Squad book, When Home Is Too Loud, where Tyler learns he’s not to blame and practices safe, concrete choices. It’s trauma-aware, shame-free, and designed for kids to read with caregivers—complete with activities and coloring pages that help slow down, name feelings, and plan ahead. The numbers behind domestic abuse are staggering, and we unpack why reported cases understate reality and how culture and power can frustrate the path to justice. We support good officers and service members; we refuse silence around cover-ups and coercion. That balance matters.

Between the heavy pages, we protect space for joy: old-school gestures like opening doors and handwritten notes, putting phones away at dinner, and raising a daughter to be confident without being conceited. Our dogs show up as healers, too—sensing spasms before they hit, anchoring the room with quiet presence. We talk country dreams, a drama-free home, and the grace of telling people you love them now, not later. If you care about survivor support, children’s mental health, domestic violence awareness, and practical family resilience, this conversation is for you.

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A mountain drive for “just one puppy” turns into two sleepy golden retrievers, a tour of a master blacksmith’s forge, and a sobering question we can’t ignore: why are survivors still punished for staying alive? We move from warm, funny moments in a whelping box to the hard edge of a case where a woman with documented abuse went to prison for self-defense. The contrast is intentional—joy reminds us what a safe home feels like, and why the fight for safety matters.

We unpack the gaps that keep people unsafe: low conviction rates for sexual assault, cultural reflexes that ask “Why didn’t you leave?” instead of “Where can we walk with you?”, and the way children absorb every raised voice even when hands don’t land. From our years in law enforcement, we speak candidly about domestic calls, lazy shortcuts that erase victims, and what good policing looks like when minutes matter. We honor the officers and soldiers doing it right while naming the cost when they don’t.

Then we offer tools. Our children’s series helps ages four to eight practice bravery with simple choices and gentle stories, while our trauma-lived academy gives survivors, parents, caregivers, and veterans practical courses they can take privately, often for five dollars or free when needed. Stucco the service dog even teaches math through cookie capers, because learning can be a bright place again. We also share updates on upcoming books, awards, and why community support keeps the lights on for families who can’t wait for help.

If this conversation moves you, subscribe, share it with someone who needs strength today, and leave a review so more people can find real-world tools and a voice that won’t look away. And if you’re able, buy us a coffee to help keep the academy open for anyone who needs a safe start.

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What if the loudest part of your healing is the quiet choice to keep going? We start with playful chaos—forgotten rolls, pajama days, and TV heroes—then step straight into the fire: how survivors bank strength in secret, how evidence dismantles gaslighting, and how family love can turn scars into story. Along the way, we celebrate the unexpected: a message from a Chicago PD favorite, a new book rolling out, and the steady belief that protection and loyalty aren’t just TV tropes—they’re skills we can learn and live.

We dig into the craft of telling hard truths. Chapters written at midnight become anchors when critics hide behind masks. Receipts matter, so we talk about photos, texts, and emails that hold the line against revisionist spin. We also make space for the body’s narrative: a stairway-of-keys tattoo honoring grandparents who taught grit and grace, and a daughter’s phoenix with wounded wings that still rise. These aren’t decorations; they’re declarations. And the candid talk continues into body dysphoria, triggers that fade with patience, and why self-protection is both mindset and method.

There’s a sobering detour through a serial killer exhibit—forty rooms of artifacts and evidence—reminding us what violence looks like when charm fades. Then we come home to old-school love: saved letters, opened doors, and the kind of everyday devotion that screens can’t replace. We end with a challenge that’s equal parts bold and careful: an open invitation for an abuser to speak on record, calmly, without theatrics. Not to platform harm, but to confront it with boundaries and truth. If you’ve ever tucked an earbud behind your hair just to feel less alone, this conversation is for you.

If this resonated, tap follow, share it with someone who needs the reminder that today is not forever, and leave a review to help more survivors find us. Your words help carry the next person to safer ground.

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