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Posted on July 14, 2025

I never planned to become a memoirist.

For years, I carried my story like a suitcase I couldn’t put down—heavy, unwieldy, filled with things I wasn’t sure anyone else would want to see. Childhood trauma, religious manipulation, custody battles, war zones, the slow work of learning that love doesn’t have to look like captivity.

These felt like private wounds, personal failures, the kind of messy human experiences that polite people don’t discuss over dinner.

But then Luna called.

“Mom, I need to come live with you.”

After fifteen years of loving her from exile, of building sanctuary while she lived in someone else’s tower, my daughter finally chose the life we had built over the dysfunction she had inherited. In that moment, I understood why I had survived everything I’d survived, why I had learned to transform pain into purpose, why my story demanded to be told.

Someone needs to know it’s possible.

Someone needs to hear that you can grow up in a story that isn’t your own and still write your own ending. That towers fall eventually—not through our force, but through their own contradictions. That the patterns that seem unbreakable can be broken by someone brave enough to refuse the inheritance of trauma.

Songs of Silence: Growing up in a story not my own isn’t just my story. It’s the story of anyone who has ever recognized the architecture of control being built around them and chose to become a sanctuary architect instead.

This memoir is for:

  • The daughters questioning their mothers’ definitions of protection
  • The mothers refusing to pass down unhealed wounds
  • The military veterans translating combat strength into emotional resilience
  • Anyone building something new from the rubble of what came before

I’m writing because transformation is possible. Because patterns can be broken. Because love that creates space for growth is more powerful than love that builds walls for control.

What you’ll find here

On this blog, I’ll share excerpts from Songs of Silence, insights from my journey from towers to sanctuary, and the daily work of choosing healing over repeating. You’ll get behind-the-scenes glimpses of the writing process and honest conversations about what it takes to become the ancestor your descendants will thank.

The Keeper taught me that stories belong to whoever tells them loudest. But I’ve learned that some stories belong to whoever needs them most.

If you’re building sanctuary instead of towers, if you’re choosing transformation over survival, if you’re brave enough to love without guarantee of return—this story is for you.

Welcome to the conversation.