2020

• I moved into the unit while pregnant during the height of the pandemic. Being older and high-risk made the pregnancy difficult enough, but the conditions in the apartment made everything worse.

• My middle son, who is disabled, lost his service animal due to the air quality. This dog was not just a pet—it was his lifeline. He’d struggled with suicidal thoughts before, and that animal gave him emotional support that no one else could.

• Our HVAC system leaked sewage into the apartment. My baby had just started crawling and walking that year. I spent every day deep-cleaning floors, clothes, toys, and surfaces out of fear my children would get sick from the environment we were living in.

• I suffered from severe postpartum depression. The combination of physical stress, financial burden, and mental anguish nearly broke me.

2021

• Tenants were already complaining about the mold and poor air quality. Our pets were getting sick, too.

• I remember a rabbit and a cat dying across the hall from me from the same symptoms that took my own cat. None of us realized what was happening. That building was literally killing us.

2022

• I was still trying to get help and keep my family safe. I ended up paying over $2,000 for a toxicology test for my mom because I had never seen her health decline like this. I was panicking, and nobody had answers.

2023

• I started calling the newspaper, the radio, and anyone who would listen. I did interviews, even had the media come out to the property so they could see the conditions firsthand.

• I organized community meetings to help residents speak up. I helped others report their maintenance issues, even if they were scared.

• I held my rent in escrow and spent months filing paperwork, fighting to prove that my home was unlivable. The roaches, electrical failures, and constant issues were destroying my peace and my income.

• I had no lawyer, no help. I lost work hours trying to fight this while also dealing with a toxic home and toxic job. Even with documentation, my job didn’t care when I missed work.

2024

• I  reached out to Code Enforcement, housing authorities, and government officials over the years—sometimes repeatedly. But when the help never came, I had to deal with the mess myself—financially and physically.

• By the end of 2024, I knew I had to do more. I began writing my story down, day by day—sharing it with the community, speaking about it whenever I could, and making sure people knew what was happening behind closed doors.

• I did it not just for myself, but for others still silently suffering in these same conditions, too afraid or too exhausted to speak out. I wanted them to know they weren’t alone—and that someone was finally telling the truth.

2025

• I was forced to quit my job at IHOP after years of discrimination, retaliation, and emotional abuse. I was the only American server who lasted, constantly targeted and isolated by management—even after giving that place everything I had. My mother had just passed away, and I was still being mistreated. No empathy. No support.

• I lost my main source of income during one of the hardest years of my life. But I didn’t give up.

• I continued fighting the landlord who kept pretending to help—sending unlicensed workers and covering toxic black mold with spray paint. Nothing was fixed. Conditions only got worse.

• I was living in a home with rats, mold, roaches, ants, gas leaks, HVAC failures, and fake inspections. Nothing was safe.

• I have two disabled children. I’ve had to watch them live under a roof where the air alone could damage them permanently. That’s not a fear—it’s a fact. I also have two dogs that we got after my middle son lost his service animal to mold exposure. That dog was everything to him.

• To watch the people you love—and your pets—get sick every single day, and know there’s no solution you can afford or access… it’s a defeating feeling. One that leaves you with lifelong consequences.

• I continued pushing. I worked with lawyers, spoke out in the media, shared my story with local leaders, and began building a case with proof—photos, toxicology results, mold tests, medical records, statements, and more.

• I also began connecting the dots publicly, not just for myself—but for all the families in Frederick going through this, especially low-income households and those on Section 8 who are being silenced or pushed out.

• Despite it all, I’ve kept going—even when it meant staying in hotels just to give our bodies a break from throwing up, headaches, and fatigue. I’ve had to pay out-of-pocket just to keep my family alive while the people responsible continue to collect rent and state funding.