Lewis Barrett
My name is Susan, and I am Anthee's mother.
I never imagined I would have to ask strangers for help to save my little girl, but today I have no other choice.
Anthee is only 10 years old.
She should be worrying about school, making friends, playing outside, and dreaming about what she wants to be when she grows up. Instead, every single day, she wakes up wondering if people will laugh at her again.
My daughter was born with a rare genetic condition called Crouzon Syndrome, which caused the bones in her skull to fuse much too early. As her brain continued to grow, the pressure forced her eyes outward, changing her appearance and creating serious medical complications.
Watching your child suffer physically is heartbreaking.
Watching her lose her happiness is even worse.
Every day at school, Anthee is bullied because she looks different. Children point at her, whisper, laugh, and call her cruel names. Some refuse to sit next to her. Others stare at her as though she isn't a little girl with feelings.
When we go outside, strangers often stop and stare. Some even reach out and touch her face out of curiosity, without asking, without realizing how deeply it hurts her.
I watch my daughter pretend she's okay...
But when we get home, she cries.
She asks me why she can't look like everyone else.
She asks me why people are so mean.
As a mother, there are no words painful enough to describe those moments.
Over time, the constant bullying has stolen the light from her beautiful smile. The little girl who used to laugh all day has become quiet, withdrawn, and afraid of the world around her.
Today, Anthee is also battling depression. She often begs me not to send her to school because she's terrified of being laughed at again. No ten-year-old child should have to carry that kind of pain.
Her struggles don't end there.
Because of Crouzon Syndrome, she has difficulty breathing, suffers from frequent infections, and cannot fully close her eyes while she sleeps.
Every single night, before I put my daughter to bed, I gently tape her eyelids shut to protect her eyes from drying out and being permanently damaged.
Every night, I kiss her forehead and silently pray that one day she won't have to live like this anymore.
Despite everything, Anthee is still the sweetest little girl. She still dreams of having friends. She still dreams of going to school without fear. She still believes that kindness exists.
There is hope.
A life-changing orbital decompression surgery, costing $20,000, could relieve the pressure around her eyes, protect her vision, improve her breathing, and give her the chance to live a safer, healthier, and more normal life.
Sadly, our family cannot afford this surgery on our own.
That is why I am humbly asking for your help.
Every donation, no matter the amount, brings my daughter one step closer to the life every child deserves—a life without constant pain, without fear, and without being judged simply because she was born different.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you for taking the time to read our story.
Thank you for believing in my little girl.
With love,
Susan
