Trigger alert:
This blog shares excerpts of my draft memoir — working title: “I Thrive.” While not graphic, it will discuss aspects of the sexual, physical, and emotional abuse I endured and my journey back to healing…and thriving.
To be the illustration
Memoir expert and author Marion Roach Smith described the genre of memoir this way:
“Memoir is not about you. It’s about something and you are its illustration.”
Another author, Trish Lockard, added that this genre is not just a recounting of things that happened to you because, after all — “Stuff happens to everybody.” Instead, memoir captures one’s reflections about an event when enough time has passed for a change, a transformation, to take place. Those insights gained over time through effort are the gift to the reader—the takeaway.
To only write a list of everything done to you in life without the reflections is like dumping a pile of ingredients on the counter and calling it a cake. It is only a cake when that pile of ingredients has gone through the crucible of a hot oven and been transformed into the real takeaway — dessert. Only then does it have “purpose and meaning.”
I loved how one author, whose name I cannot find, summed it up:
“Don’t just confess. Digest.”
Digestion is change and makes something useful…nutritious. It gives back. And digestion is the unfinished business of my life.
After seven decades of silence, it is time for me to look back, digest the raw material of my life, and obtain the nutrition— the insights that give it meaning. It is not: “Look at what was done to me” so much as the answers to the questions: “Because of what was done, what am I doing with it? What does it mean?” So, my life will be the illustration of that “something” that might have meaning and nutrition for all.
28 years of abuse…and building a “beautiful mosaic”
For the first 28 years of my life, my father sexually and physically assaulted me and inflicted great emotional and mental abuse. That abuse was frequent and intense. Those experiences hampered my growth toward a healthy adulthood. Despite this, I somehow pulled myself together enough to escape that household.
That began a descent into hell and then a journey to start over and rebuild me almost from scratch. I say “almost” because, despite everything he did to me, I still kept a part of me, my spirit, alive, protected deep within. And there were a few people who played pivotal roles in my life and who inspired a vision for what I could become. Those things became the foundation for who I am today: a happily married mom of a grown son, a retired medical researcher and science teacher, and a person thriving despite the scars.
My Soul Mosaic Substack and WordPress blogs have as their subtitle the mantra I wrote for myself: “From all the broken, mismatched, unwanted pieces of life, the soul builds its beautiful mosaic.”
The unfinished business
Trauma has a way of leaving you “unfinished,” longing to understand and have meaning for it all. It shattered my life into fragments, leaving my healing incomplete. I spent my entire adult life rebuilding me and then raising and protecting a new generation to the best of my ability. Only now do I have the time and perspective to look back and finally assemble those pieces into a coherent and healed “whole,” my mosaic. Writing is the vehicle for that.
Writing forces you to think, and my writing forced me to confront sorrow, questions, and shame. But writing also does something much bigger. Not only do you get to rethink that past and change your interpretations, but you change, personally, as you write. And for sure, it changes your future. You have to go back to go forward. So, this book is my journey back to keep moving forward to an even better future.
A “survivor’s obligation”
But this book is not just for me. So many others carry this same pain. Maybe as I speak my story, they can find their own healing and know they are not alone. For so many years, I thought I was the only one abused like this—I thought I was an “aberration of nature.” Little did I know then just how widespread it is.
I am also writing to remember the many who didn’t survive their abuse. In those moments, the thread holding you to life frays and sometimes breaks. I was fortunate to have the gift of a few role models who showed me what a strong, healthy woman was, which started me on my path to healing. However, for others, the outcome may have been different.
Recently, I read a book — Survivor’s Obligation: Navigating an Intentional Life — by Chris Stricklin and Joel Neeb. It was about the obligation of those who survived something to speak out for those who didn’t make it and witness their suffering. So, I share my pain as a way to speak for the pain of those who didn’t live to tell their story. May they not be forgotten.
Breaking the silence, privacy, and the nature of truth
I have kept silent for almost seven decades for the sake of others. However, it is time to reclaim my voice to further my healing. So, I share my life experiences growing up in our family, which consisted not just of my father and me but also of my mother and siblings.
My parents are dead, and I speak openly about them. However, I will not speak about my siblings out of respect for their privacy and ask anyone who knows us to do the same. This book is the story of my life, from harm to healing, and I will not speak for others. Three people can watch the same thing and have three different takeaways from it, and none of them will be wrong. Each just experiences the event “subjectively,” interpreting it in their own way. And no matter how we strive for “objective truth,” it is impossible. So I will only speak from my perspective. Also, for any past acquaintances, I may change names or small details, as needed, to protect their privacy.
Regarding memory — all human memory is fallible. But I have done my best to share my story and emotions as accurately as possible, using decades of photos, journals, and items from my past to help me. The only dialogue used is for phrases repeated so often or a moment so striking they are seared in my brain. But there are no fabricated episodes. Memoirist Mary Karr said it best:
“A memoirist forging false tales…never learns who he is. He’s missing the personal liberation that comes from the examined life.”
Also, I chose to use my own name, not a pen name. I liked what author Ryan Holiday said in his book, *Courage is Calling*:
“If you’re going to speak out: Sign your name.”
To my siblings
To my siblings, perhaps you will understand that I must write. Perhaps you will not. I love you, but I cannot defer to anyone else’s wishes in this. I deserve to finish healing. I feel sorrow because so much of our adult lives were affected by the traumas of that house, and it separated us emotionally. The responsibility for that loss lies solely with our father, not you, not me, not our mother. Him. And it is his fault as the abuser that healing is even required. Nevertheless, I have felt like the outsider—the living, breathing reminder of a past everyone else can choose to forget. I do not have that luxury. And I sense that my current path may only widen the gap between us. That pains me, but to be silent is to be re-traumatized, and I can no longer be silent. It is time to speak openly for myself and others and to continue embracing a fully engaged life. I hope you will understand.
To my husband, son, friends…and myself
I am grateful for where my life is at now and so appreciate the many who have helped me survive and thrive. Deep thanks to my husband, son, and a few special friends. You have saved me. I can never thank you enough. Just know that you mean the world to me, and in saving me, you gave me the chance to pay it forward to others. To the skilled therapists who have guided and taught me and continue to, you have been a true godsend. And finally, to all those younger pieces of me that I despised and shut out for so many years – my deepest thanks and apologies. You got me through those years and out of that house. What courage and determination. Your spirit kept me going and now drives my healing.
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