The Silent Side of Justice

We’ve been sitting in court since before 9 a.m.—watching case after case, one life after another being called before the judge.

And what’s breaking me the most? The silence beside them.

People facing life… 20 years… 30 years. And no one shows up. No mother. No brother. No friend. Just empty benches and heavy chains.

Some are shaking. Some are numb. Some try to hold onto dignity while their entire future gets decided in minutes. And they do it alone.

This is another kind of isolation. Another kind of abandonment. And it's another thing Breaking Barrs was built to stand in the gap for.

We talk about peer support during recovery, but we forget how many people need support before they’re ever given the chance. Before they’re sentenced. Before they even make it to a program. They need someone sitting in that courtroom, not to argue their innocence—but to remind them they still matter. That somebody sees them. That they’re not forgotten.

Because support isn’t just what we give in recovery—it’s what we give in crisis.

Courtrooms don’t scare me. What scares me is the silence. The way these men and women walk in alone and leave even more broken than they came.

We aren’t here to excuse actions. We’re here to advocate for humanity. For dignity. For second chances. And sometimes, for first chances—because some never got one.

Today reminded me: Court support isn’t just a nice gesture. It’s a ministry. A mission. A presence.

And it’s something we’re going to cover at Breaking Barrs.

Whether it’s just sitting in the room, praying silently, offering a nod of encouragement—or being the only one in the courtroom that isn’t there to judge them—we will show up.

Because no one should face their hardest day alone.

Want to help us be that presence? Court support volunteers coming soon.

Together, we rise.

Together, we heal.

Together, we break the Barrs.