I first dabbled in writing a number of years ago. There was a story in me aching to be told. It was the story of how I survived motherhood.
Motherhood is never easy. I didn’t expect it to be. But neither did I expect the particular challenges I faced. My memoir opens in 1994, when my older son Matthew, who was eight, started to become, well, not Matthew.
It took three years to figure out what was going wrong, during which time myriad misleading diagnoses, clueless doctors, and baffling behavior changes in my son nearly caused me to self-destruct.
But I didn’t self-destruct.
Not only did I survive, but I grew stronger. And I finished writing my story, now an 83,000-word manuscript waiting to be published. If you subscribe to this website with your email, you’ll be one of the first ones to know when that day comes. Don’t wait. I have a feeling it won’t be long.