Unfit by Design — When the System Labels Good Parents as Dangerous

It’s one of the most devastating outcomes of a broken family court system: a parent who has done everything right—loved, protected, advocated—is labeled as “unfit.” Not because of abuse. Not because of neglect. But because they spoke too loudly, challenged the system too often, or refused to stay silent when their child was in distress.

Protective parents, especially mothers, often find themselves under attack not by their co-parent—but by the very system meant to protect their family. When they bring forward allegations of abuse or try to shield their child from unsafe situations, they are met with suspicion. Their advocacy is reframed as instability. Their persistence becomes “obsession.” Their emotional distress becomes a reason to question their credibility.

Court evaluators may describe them as “overinvolved.” Judges may warn that they are “projecting their own anxiety” onto the child. And slowly, the narrative begins to shift. The abuser becomes the calm, reasonable parent. The protector becomes the problem.

This process doesn’t happen overnight. It is the result of systemic bias that punishes emotional expression, especially in women. It is sustained by outdated beliefs that both parents are always equally fit, and that any deviation from a 50/50 dynamic must be the fault of the parent who resists. It is fueled by professionals who fail to recognize trauma responses—mistaking fear and urgency for manipulation or paranoia.

Once the label of “unfit” or “alienating” is applied, it becomes nearly impossible to shake. Protective parents find themselves monitored, micromanaged, and sometimes stripped of custody altogether. Their children are forced into therapy not to heal, but to reunify with someone they fear. The real threat is ignored, and the person who tried to stop it is punished.

This is not justice. It is gaslighting at a systemic level.

To fix this, family court must learn to distinguish between fear and fabrication. It must stop equating calmness with safety and emotion with guilt. Judges and evaluators must look beyond surface behaviors and ask what drives them. And above all, courts must learn to trust the people who risk everything to protect their children.

No parent should lose custody for trying to keep their child safe. And no child should be forced to watch the one person who believed them be labeled dangerous.

The Dehumanization of Children in Custody Battles: From Child to Exhibit

In family court, a child’s name is mentioned dozens of times. Their schedules are debated, their preferences speculated on, their mental health records picked apart by adults who have never once spoken to them directly. They become the center of every filing—and yet somehow, the least visible person in the courtroom.

Too often, children in custody disputes are not treated as people. They are treated as exhibits. Their experiences are translated into clinical language by therapists or attorneys. Their fears are reworded in court summaries. Their emotional meltdowns are reframed as symptoms of “alienation” or “instability.” And when it’s time for decisions to be made, the child isn’t in the room. Their words—if they are heard at all—are filtered through so many adult interpretations that they lose their original meaning.

This process is not only dehumanizing—it’s dangerous. When a child becomes a case file, their identity is flattened into what is convenient, legible, and strategic. Their emotional truths are weighed not for depth, but for how they fit into an argument. Court-appointed professionals may refer to children as “the minor,” reducing them to a legal category rather than a living person. Judges may assign parenting time based on calendars and convenience, not the child’s psychological needs.

In this environment, a child’s trauma can be completely overlooked. They may be returned to homes where they feel unsafe. They may be forced into therapy with a parent they fear. They may have their emotional responses dismissed as immaturity or manipulation. It becomes possible for everyone in the courtroom to claim they are acting “in the best interest of the child” while never once acknowledging the child as a full human being.

This isn’t how justice should function. Children have thoughts, memories, fears, attachments, and boundaries. They form relationships and carry trauma in ways that deserve attention and respect. They are not assets to be divided. They are not burdens to be managed. They are not “collateral damage” in a battle between adults.

To change this, courts need a complete shift in approach. Child-inclusive processes should be standard, not rare exceptions. Judges should receive training in developmental psychology. Mental health professionals should be required to meet with children more than once before making recommendations. And most importantly, children should be allowed to speak—to someone—without the fear that their words will be twisted or used against the parent they trust.

When children are treated as silent evidence instead of people, the outcome is never truly just. Family court must move beyond paperwork and procedure and start seeing children for what they are: whole, complex, and worthy of being heard.

Judges Behind Closed Doors: The Danger of Secret Custody Rulings

In a democracy, the judicial system is meant to operate in the light. Courtrooms are open to the public. Judges issue rulings with written opinions. And litigants are entitled to understand how and why decisions about their lives are made. But in family court, that transparency often disappears behind closed doors. Custody decisions—the most life-altering rulings for a child—are frequently made in private, sealed from scrutiny, and delivered without explanation.

In many jurisdictions, judges hold “in chambers” meetings where major custody arrangements are discussed outside the public eye. These meetings may include attorneys, court-appointed professionals, or amicus attorneys—but often, the parents themselves are not present. Decisions are handed down based on summaries, impressions, or private reports. The official record may offer only the outcome—who gets primary custody, who gets supervised visits—without any documentation of the reasoning behind it.

This lack of transparency makes it nearly impossible to challenge unjust decisions. Appeals are limited when there’s no written opinion. Patterns of bias go unnoticed because rulings are not reviewed. And parents are left in the dark, trying to explain to their children why a judge decided something that no one understands.

The damage of closed-door rulings goes beyond confusion. It fosters distrust in the legal process and reinforces the sense that outcomes depend more on personalities and politics than on facts or justice. In cases involving abuse or high-conflict dynamics, protective parents may feel gaslighted not just by their ex—but by the system itself. When expert recommendations are ignored, or when courts rule against the weight of evidence with no explanation, it sends a message: truth is optional here.

And yet, it continues.

Part of the problem lies in how overwhelmed the courts are. Judges are managing massive caseloads. Written opinions take time. In an effort to streamline decisions, they default to informal rulings or rubber-stamp recommendations from court-appointed professionals—regardless of whether those professionals actually interviewed the children or understood the family dynamics. Expedience replaces accountability.

But children’s lives aren’t paperwork. The stakes are too high for decisions to be made without transparency. When courts don’t explain themselves, they are free to repeat mistakes—without ever being held to account.

Reform begins with shining a light on the process. Custody decisions should come with findings of fact and conclusions of law. Court-appointed professionals should be required to submit complete, reviewable reports. Litigants should have access to all documents used to shape their case. And appeals should be meaningful, not procedural dead ends.

Children deserve a system where life-changing decisions are made openly and thoughtfully—not in secrecy. Because justice behind closed doors isn’t justice at all.