There was before. There was after.
And one night fell in between.
My memoir lifts that night into day. And it was heavy lifting because even the best parts got weighed down by the bitter end. That was where all the blame got buried. Digging it up meant facing what happened between me and him. Aside from a tombstone in a small country town, he was gone. My book brought him back.
From the beginning the book took control. With little help from me, what disappeared long ago reappeared across pages. What went down rose up in startling detail and cut through decades of denial. Raw and reeling, I saw what I had been carrying. And I saw how far it carried me from who I was meant to be.
That was the take away. That was how the book turned me around and convinced me to fight my way back.
It took all my inner strength to clear what blocked me from feeling for so long.
Like it Never Happened is a work of years in the making. It is a journey reduced to 85,000 words. But rising above fear took more than words. It took intention and action. Through it all, the book was my guiding light. The words were my lifeline into a new life. They led me to recover what I didn’t know I lost.