It is a difficult undertaking — not because I want to relive the past, but because I finally want to stop carrying it alone.
I’m not writing this book to expose anyone or to ask for sympathy.
I’m writing it so that the child I used to be is no longer silenced by the adult I became.
My aim is not to create a tragedy, but a testimony — a record of what happens when a life is shaped by fear, and how a voice can rise from it without hatred.
And yes, I hope it can help others too — anyone who has lived through similar trauma, or is still trying to understand why certain wounds never “just go away.”
If even one person reads it and feels less alone, then the pain I am putting into words will finally have meaning beyond myself.
I wrote a very supportive response which apparently did not go through -- some glitch I suppose: I am not the most adept at navigating this medium, so the fault is probably mine.
Will switch to email later, which is better for our conversation anyway. Best regards.
I didn't start talking about my childhood until my late fourties/early fifties. 🫂❤️
Thank you for sharing that.
It takes a different kind of courage to speak after decades of silence — not less, just quieter, deeper.
I’m learning that there is no “late” when it comes to finally telling the truth about where we came from.
I’m glad you’re here.🫂
👍🏻🫂❤️💯‼️
This must be a very courageous undertaking. I honor you for both your courage and your insight and your integrity.
Thank you, Gary.
It is a difficult undertaking — not because I want to relive the past, but because I finally want to stop carrying it alone.
I’m not writing this book to expose anyone or to ask for sympathy.
I’m writing it so that the child I used to be is no longer silenced by the adult I became.
My aim is not to create a tragedy, but a testimony — a record of what happens when a life is shaped by fear, and how a voice can rise from it without hatred.
And yes, I hope it can help others too — anyone who has lived through similar trauma, or is still trying to understand why certain wounds never “just go away.”
If even one person reads it and feels less alone, then the pain I am putting into words will finally have meaning beyond myself.
I wrote a very supportive response which apparently did not go through -- some glitch I suppose: I am not the most adept at navigating this medium, so the fault is probably mine.
Will switch to email later, which is better for our conversation anyway. Best regards.
No worries at all, Gary — I completely understand.
I’ll look forward to your email whenever it comes through.
And thank you for taking the time to respond, even twice. That already means a lot.