Some of my earliest memories of true crime are watching it with my mother, curled up in our living room. Years later, I studied journalism and began paying closer attention not only to the stories making the news, but to the ones that weren’t.

​

I kept seeing women beaten, abused, murdered, or simply gone. Mothers. Pregnant women. Young women graduating, building careers, raising children, and starting over. At the same time, families were fighting to keep their loved ones’ names in the public eye while countless cases received little to no coverage.

​

I couldn’t stop asking myself: Why does this keep happening, and why aren’t we hearing about all of them?

​

That’s why I created Vanished & Voiceless.

​

My journalism background taught me the power of storytelling, but I wanted the freedom to decide which stories deserved continued attention. I didn’t want a news cycle deciding when someone’s story was no longer relevant.

​

What the news won’t cover, I’ll cover.

​

But the more stories I covered, the more I realized that telling you what happened was only the beginning. I wanted to understand what happened before: the possessiveness, manipulation, power dynamics, ignored intuition, and warning signs that often become clearer only after tragedy occurs.

​

That’s where Vanished & Voiceless became about more than true crime. It’s about learning from these stories without living in fear.

​

Awareness is protection