Coming Out on Why I'm Writing My Book!

I went to a toe reading this weekend. I know, odd. After learning she is not a psychic, I became especially appreciative of her abilities. (Note: if you are interested in internal and external relationship healing and want to learn more about Martha, who performed the reading, go here: Mind and Body Wellness Practitioner, Insights for Life -- Creating new beginnings. Really, so appropriate for this post!) Not only was she extremely helpful in opening up my eyes on some deep-seeded issues, but, I got to meet some new lady friends too, all off-the-charts sweet and friendly.

For the first time since I began writing my memoir, I spoke out amongst strangers and revealed my hidden secret (that I'm writing about being a ward of the state). I also expressed my desire to have them share with me my scribbling journey (by viewing this blog) as well as the final publication upon completion (I don't know what came over me). Cheers to all my readers who do the same.

Once I explained the crux of the book, one woman asked me why it was embarrassing to be in foster homes. I had never been asked this question. I always thought it was obvious. I guess being stunned with the question brought about brain-freeze (either that or it was the perimenopause). I didn’t answer her properly. This answer is much better:

When I was growing up, young people becoming teenagers entered into a world that revolved around “self," and both nurture and nature stole their innocence and molded them into who they would become, forever. I believe even after 25 years, this is still a common denominator amongst children. It’s all about the way they look, who they hang out with, how talented they are, how intelligent they are, and how much money their parents make. When I entered the 9th grade, I was about to lose all of these things, the latter being the most detrimental to my existence.

There’s something to be said for family. It’s the glue that sticks people together. It’s what makes the band-aid heal the hurt. Without the love of a parent, or even a love of a sibling, a life can be nothing but flesh and blood wandering around on the earth, dazed and confused.

Me and my sisters were abandoned. The courts called it neglect, thus we were passed along to others who were said to be more capable of raising us than our own mother. This, in and of itself, was not just embarrassing, but humiliating and scary too. We went from one home, back home w/ mom, to another home, then to our dad’s, etc., back and forth, pulled like taffy until the age of 18. In the midst of it all, we lost each other.

Tough? Yes. Whine? Never. Instead, I'd rather share my experience, share what I learned -- how to recover from repression, depression, fear and other disorders that tend to leach on and never let go. There are other young adults who can empathize or who need to realize how good they have it. Either way, I know that teens struggle. I want them to know it will be o.k. That growing up doesn’t have to mean the end, because it truly is just the beginning.

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