Where the Silence Lives

I’m not just intrigued by the crime. I’m drawn to the why. Why do people choose destruction over healing? Why do they betray the ones they claimed to love?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about getting into true crime. Not just as a viewer, but as a storyteller. Maybe even launching a podcast with my sister or cousin. Because some of these stories don’t just shock you. They sit on your spirit. They haunt your thoughts. They make you reflect on what it means to be human, broken, loved, or betrayed.

Two cases have stayed with me lately. One involved a woman, Uloma Walker, who orchestrated her husband’s murder for money and dragged her own teenage daughter into it. And when the pressure hit, she tried to let that child take the fall. I still can't wrap my head around that level of betrayal. That wasn’t just a crime. It was a betrayal of motherhood.

Then there’s the case of Tyrone, a young Army sergeant. Serving his country, loving his family. And still, his wife conspired with her side dude to end his life. All of it planned. All of it calculated. It made me ask, do people not believe in just leaving anymore? Why murder? Why manipulation? For what—money? Control?

Half a million dollars isn’t peace. If you’re broken on the inside, money won’t fix that. What people need isn’t a payout. It’s wholeness. Healing. Peace of mind.

That’s what draws me to true crime. Not the gore, but the gaps. The soul gaps. The emotional and spiritual wounds that go unhealed until they spill out as tragedy.

And it’s not just the big headlines. Sometimes it’s the local names you never forget. I remember my old neighbor, Zachary Bernhardt. A missing boy from Clearwater, Florida. He’s been on my mind a lot lately. It’s been 23 years. He vanished from his apartment in the middle of the night and was never found. His case became one of the longest actively running Amber Alerts in the country. And still, no answers. No closure. Just silence where a child should’ve grown up.

That’s what this work is about for me. The stories that don’t leave you. The lives that never got a chance to keep living. The families still holding on to hope. These aren’t just stories. These are real people, real pain, real unanswered prayers.

And it’s not just true crime. I’m also feeling called toward paranormal storytelling and investigation. Growing up, I heard stories about my grandmother. She was Black Creek, a Native American woman who people said could see. A root worker. A spiritual guide in her own way. Her family too. They believed in spirits, energy, things that lived beyond this world.

So maybe this is my beginning. A podcast. A blog. A space for the seen and unseen. For the crimes we read about and the spirits we feel but never name. For healing through truth and storytelling. For talking about betrayal, grief, brokenness, and also intuition, lineage, and the supernatural things that connect us.

Because none of this is just entertainment. These stories, both criminal and paranormal, are warnings. Messages. Mirrors. And if telling them helps someone choose healing over harm or peace over power, then I want to speak.