Real Raw Hope

On October 1, 2015 an active shooter took the lives of nine people on the campus where I work. Then

he took his own. I buried my feelings about the tragedy. Deeply. Eleven months passed before everything

began to surface.

In November 2016, I opened my mouth to a therapist who patiently let me work through foreign feelings.

Eventually, I felt safe enough to begin sharing a lifetime of secrets. It was excruciating and impossible to

speak about them out loud, so I wrote them instead.

This book is the result of my first five months of therapy. Writing has given a voice to the child who

stopped talking about the truth over fifty years ago ─ from the four year old to the fifty year old ─ too many

secrets. Secrets buried under shame, guilt, great fear, embarrassment, loyalty to family and abusive men. A

list so long, its heavy weight had become too much to bear.