By RMHC Mom Rita
I’ve always admired the Ronald McDonald House Charities (RMHC). Like many, I donated when I could, volunteered when possible, and supported their mission from afar. But I never imagined there would come a day when I would need their services—until life handed me a reality I wasn’t prepared for.
My 13-year-old daughter, Ambriana—AJ, as we call her—is everything I aspire to be. She’s brilliant, witty, kind, and resilient. Her empathy for others is boundless, her humor infectious, and her faith in people unshakable. She’s the kind of person who walks into a room and instantly makes it brighter. She tests her limits, uplifts everyone around her, and faces challenges with a determination I deeply admire.
But here’s the thing about people like AJ: sometimes, the brightest lights carry the heaviest shadows. They say, “Check on your happy friends.” Because sometimes, the ones who smile the most are fighting battles no one sees.
For months, AJ endured relentless bullying—not just from peers, but even from some of the very adults meant to protect her. She insisted she was fine. She begged me not to pull her from school, clinging to the few teachers and friends who showed her kindness. Against my instincts, I let her stay, not wanting to take away the little good she had left.
But everyone has a breaking point. And one day, my strong, radiant girl reached hers. Without delving into painful details, I’ll simply say: my child was no longer visibly okay.
We spent an agonizing week in the Crisis Unit at Nationwide Children’s Hospital—a week of therapy, tears, and, ultimately, the beginning of AJ’s healing. It was exhausting, emotionally draining, but yet… necessary. In the midst of that storm, I found an unexpected sanctuary: the Ronald McDonald House Family Room.
Walking into that space, I was struck by its warmth. It didn’t feel like a sterile hospital waiting area—it felt like a home. The staff greeted me with compassion, offering not just amenities but genuine comfort. Though I was too emotionally spent to eat or use the showers, I looked around in awe.
- Washers and dryers for parents staying long-term.
- Snacks for parents who need some fuel to keep on pushing.
- Quiet spaces to breathe, work, or just be.
It was clear: RMHC wasn’t just helping kids. They were easing the burden of parents like me—parents drowning in fear, guilt, and exhaustion.
To RMHC: THANK YOU. Thank you for being there when families are at their most vulnerable. Thank you for the small comforts that make unbearable days a little softer.
And to everyone reading this: Be kind. Teach your children kindness. Bullying doesn’t just leave bruises—it can shatter souls. Mental health is real, and it’s just as critical as physical health.
AJ is healing. She’s still her radiant self, but now she’s learning to protect her light as fiercely as she shares it. And thanks to RMHC, I had a safe place to gather my strength so I could be there for her.
If you can, support RMHC. You never know when you—or someone you love—might need them too.