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One year ago marked the beginning of a week that was so intense and frightening that it still feels surreal.&nbsp;&nbsp; I returned home one evening with my daughter to find both the sunroom door and front door wide open. It seemed odd, but I knew my husband had been hanging out with friends earlier that day and I assumed one of them was just careless. I settled down on the couch to feed Mabel and started browsing my phone. My heart stopped when I saw a notification from the baby monitor in her nursery.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Motion was detected at 5:58 p.m., not long before I had returned home. I looked at the six-second clip that was captured, and saw a hand covering the lens of the monitor and pushing the camera down toward the shelf. Muffled footsteps can be heard walking away.&nbsp;<div class="raw-html-embed"><iframe src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?height=314&amp;href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Fmichelle.sokol.7%2Fvideos%2F2262842917251692%2F%3Fidorvanity%3D107679094387&amp;show_text=false&amp;width=560&amp;t=0" width="90%" height="314" style="border:none;overflow:hidden" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="true" allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; picture-in-picture; web-share"></iframe></div>&nbsp;I called 911, and dispatch advised us to evacuate immediately and lock myself in my car. Unmarked police cars surrounded our home within minutes, and I sat in the van and clutched my 1-year-old as my heart pounded, watching the officers search for the intruder.&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; No one was found in the house that evening and nothing was taken – both a relief and a nightmare.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I experienced panic attacks in public over the next few days. My sleep was restless, and I spent most waking moments scanning the security footage our cameras had captured to look for clues.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; At 2:39 a.m. on Dec. 1, I was again watching the footage when I heard a loud crash and knew someone was attempting to break into the back of the house. I called 911 while my husband shouted to let the burglars know we were awake and aware. I opened the security camera feed while I was on the phone with dispatch just in time to see a dark figure run off my property. Police arrived quickly, but found no suspects – only opened car doors around the neighborhood.&nbsp;&nbsp; My husband and I attempted to stay calm to avoid scaring our young children, but neither of us slept again that night. Our 3-year-old son was having trouble sleeping, too, but for a different reason: The flu.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; We encouraged Max to rest and go back to sleep, but each time he tried he would become suddenly freeze with a look of terror on his face, unresponsive and inconsolable. These episodes would last a few minutes each, and then he would fall into a deep sleep for a few hours. We realized he was experiencing focal aware seizures and took him to the emergency room.&nbsp;The exhaustion was overwhelming. I hadn't slept since the burglary, and after spending hours in the emergency department, my need for rest was desperate. My mother-in-law, despite the risk of catching the flu from Max, came to help. I was able to drift off knowing Max and Mabel were safe with “Maw Maw”. I woke soon after to the sound of police outside, interviewing my mother-in-law about her car being broken into while she stood guard over us. It felt like a cruel, unending game – as we installed security at the front, the break-ins continued at the back. My world became a place of fear and paranoia.I couldn't even step outside during daylight without experiencing a panic attack. The world felt threatening, hostile, even as police officers parked their car for hours in the alley next to my house. Our only saving grace was the kindness of our neighbors, who texted with offers to watch our house while we slept or start a parole. One neighbor was walking her dog when she saw someone rummaging through our car in the driveway (we had removed valuables and kept it unlocked intentionally, not wanting to deal with broken glass). She hid behind a tree and called the police for us.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; While that week felt like a lifetime, the fear and panic disappeared in an instant. My husband and I were leaving our house in daylight when we noticed a bike sitting on our lawn. We looked down our driveway and saw someone in our car. My husband instructed me to go back into the house and lock the doors. I texted my neighbor, joking about stealing the bike as payback, but my husband took another approach: he chose compassion.&nbsp;&nbsp; I watched as a young boy – not older than 13 – raced to his bike and took off down the street. My husband called after him: “Hey! Do you need something? Can I help you?” The boy stopped and cautiously returned. Seeing the young boy respond to my husband's offer to help, my fear was replaced by a deep sadness.The revelation that the perpetrator was a young boy with a traumatic past shifted something in me. It wasn't just about our family's experience anymore. Watching my husband talk to him with empathy, I saw the situation through a different lens. The boy’s actions, once so threatening, now seemed like a cry for help.This experience led me to think about restorative justice and its potential to change the trajectory of juvenile offenders. The traditional punitive system often fails to address the underlying issues that lead youths to commit crimes. Instead, a restorative approach can offer a path to rehabilitation, focusing on healing for both the victim and the offender. In the case of this boy, understanding his background and the hardships he faced, it became clear that what he needed was guidance and support, not punishment.Our community's response was heartening. Neighbors sought to understand and help rather than seek retribution. This approach reflects a belief in the possibility of change and the value of addressing root causes over punitive measures.Though the fear and anxiety from that time still visit me, we have not experienced any break-ins or thefts since that conversation. The way this situation unfolded has given me a new perspective on how we handle juvenile crime. The idea that empathy and support can redirect a young person’s life is powerful. I hope that the boy who once caused us so much distress finds a path to a better future, one where his past doesn't dictate his potential.

One week of fear and a lifetime of compassion

Michelle Sokol

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When Mabel came home from the hospital, Travis and I would joke that we needed signs on the doors, reminders to ourselves: "DON'T FORGET BABY." As long as her diaper was dry and her belly full, she'd go hours without a sound. Despite her older brother creating the chaos only a toddler can imagine, we never forgot her.As Mabel grew into her personality, her easygoing nature persisted. Her smile was a constant, and strangers often asked if she ever stopped. Only one thing can silence her giggles: doors.No matter what she's doing – pulling baby wipes one-by-one from the pack we forgot to put out of reach or wandering around sending nonsensical texts to random numbers in my contacts – the sound of a door sliding shut sends her into meltdown. A closed door is a personal affront. It's her call to action, her mission to find a way through.I heard a scream one day and raced to find Mabel shoving her head through a crack in the closet door to reach her toys. Another time, she wailed in frustration at a Little People nursery toy, determined to fit through an opening that was just too small. She sobbed as she stood in front of the sliding glass door, which I had quickly closed behind the dogs as they went to the bathroom in subzero temperatures.When I walked into the bathroom this morning, and Mabel started to yell, I groaned and wished for a moment of silence on the toilet. But as much as I dread the tears that come each time I leave a room, I've come to see her contempt for doors as something to celebrate.I wish I could offer her a world with doors always open to opportunity, with chairs pulled up to any table, spaces waiting for her to explore. But it's better to prepare her for reality, where she might find locked doors blocking her path.I have encountered many of those locked doors along my own journey, both in my professional and personal life, and becoming a mother has given me a new sense of determination to break through them.Before starting my current position at <a href="https://www.charterup.com">CharterUP</a>, I formed my own LLC and worked as an independent contractor for dozens of clients across the country. I had recently read <a href="https://www.inc.com/melanie-curtin/a-male-and-female-worker-switched-names-for-a-week-heres-how-clients-treated-the.html">an article in Inc. about how a woman and man switched email signatures for a week and were treated entirely differently by their clients</a>. Since I dreaded sending invoices to collect payment anyway, I decided to test their theory. I created an email alias for “Michael in billing” to send payment reminders, and found that clients paid their balances 27 percent faster and never questioned the line items on the invoice.&nbsp; I tested the same theory when I needed help from tech support for a service like web hosting or domain management. When I entered a male name instead of my own into the chat form, I no longer had to assure the tech support that I had already tried the suggested troubleshooting steps. It saved me a solid 10 or 15 minutes with each request.A few years ago, I hired a CPA to prepare my business and personal tax returns. During a meeting, I shared that I planned to convert a detached structure on my property into an office and asked about any tax incentives I might qualify for. He advised against my plan – not because of financial considerations, but because I would be too far away from my children if my office was not located inside my home. I wrote the CPA a letter terminating his service, and asked him to consider whether he would ever make the same statement to a male business owner.Last year, when I brought my child to the hospital for a sudden fever and severe abdominal pain, the emergency room doctor refused to answer my questions or provide additional information. When I asked a final time for any guidance he could provide, he told me that it was clear I did not understand his medical opinion and that his only option was to repeat the information to my husband who had joined me at the hospital.My experiences are trivial compared to the blatant sexism and discrimination that some women still face, but they still remind me to do everything my power to teach my children kindness, courage and confidence.Although I still need to shut doors in my home and keep baby gates locked – my son already taught me what kind of damage can happen when a toddler has a moment alone in a bathroom – I hope that Mabel never stops putting up a fight.

When One Door Closes: A Celebration Of Mabel's Headstrong Determination

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Max started riding the school bus to an elementary school when he was just 3 years old to attend a preschool for speech and language development.My husband and I joked that the transition to kindergarten wouldn’t phase us, since we’d be veterans at school transitions.But then the kindergarten registration postcard arrived in the mail. And a few weeks later, I received a call from the district’s deaf and hard of hearing coordinator to talk about Max and his accommodations. I avoided her call for a week.I’ve never experienced hearing loss, and my son has never been to kindergarten. How was I supposed to know what kind of accommodations he would need?Hearing loss in children, if not identified at birth through screening programs, can often remain unnoticed until they reach elementary school. The reasons for this are deeply rooted in the nature of early childhood education environments, particularly those of preschool and prekindergarten, and the developmental milestones expected at these stages.Preschool settings are heavily centered around play, a universal language that transcends verbal communication. Activities are designed to be inclusive, fostering social, emotional and cognitive development through interaction with peers and the physical environment. Children can develop non-verbal cues to engage and learn, subtly sidestepping the hurdles of their hearing impairments.However, the leap to kindergarten introduces a different environment, one based on structure and oral instruction. Suddenly, the reliance on listening and verbal communication jumps to the forefront, and the coping mechanisms that once served children well may falter in this new setting.This is why it is so difficult to predict the accommodations that will be necessary following major transitions like the one from preschool to kindergarten: Success in a playful, relaxed setting doesn’t necessarily translate to a structured classroom where listening takes center stage.When I finally returned the call to the deaf and hard of hearing coordinator, she asked me to sign a medical release so she could review his records and speak with his audiologist to anticipate what supports he will need when he starts kindergarten in the fall.I told her I appreciated the proactive approach, but I wanted assurance that there would be reactive components to his IEP, also. The path of advocating for Max through his educational journey looms ahead, yet I’m comforted knowing we have allies within the school district and the broader hearing loss community.But perhaps the most poignant reminder of our greatest ally came unexpectedly from Max himself. &nbsp;I don’t remember the question Max asked or what my answer was, but I do remember that I was responding with my back turned to him while multitasking.“Mommy, I need you to look at me and say it louder.”He said it with such conviction that it startled me. And it made me more proud than any other moment in my life.Navigating this journey with Max, we’re learning together — about the accommodations he needs and the strength of his voice.

Say It Louder: Navigating The Transition To Kindergarten With Hearing Loss

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One week of fear and a lifetime of compassion

When One Door Closes: A Celebration Of Mabel's Headstrong Determination

Say It Louder: Navigating The Transition To Kindergarten With Hearing Loss