These events are not imagined; they come from the pages of my real life.

I’ve chosen to share it now because I’ve lived through so much—endured, lost, and learned.

None of it holds meaning if it can’t, in some way, help others.

The truths I’ve carried for so long can no longer stay buried; the weight has grown too heavy for one heart to hold alone.

My words may not always be polished, and I may stumble to express my feelings fully. However, what I offer here is honest, unfiltered, and deeply human. I am simply a woman with a story that demands to be told. And in releasing it, finally, I hope to find a measure of freedom.

I hope that my story offers you strength as you read this series. Perhaps you’ll recognize parts of your journey within these words, especially the pieces that have felt too heavy to face alone. If anything I share helps you take that first step toward healing, to loosen the grip of whatever has held you captive, then this telling will have served its purpose.

May you learn the profound freedom that can arise from release—and the following peace.

As I write these blog posts, I know I’ll uncover more profound truths about myself and continue the journey of healing, resilience, and growth.

A truth slowly settling into my heart is this: I need the warmth of compassion and the strength of connection to carry me forward.

Having people willing to engage with my life and who can be present is essential to my healing and survival. I long for compassionate witnesses who can listen without judgment, without rushing to fix, and hold space for the words circling in my mind, waiting to be spoken.

There is profound healing in that kind of exchange, whether it’s a trusted friend, a fellow traveler who has known similar pain, or a kind-hearted soul who can sit with me in my story; their presence matters.

I don’t have a family to turn to; however, I know I still need people, just a few, who can truly listen.

Sadly, I worry that authentic listening has become a lost art.

As human beings, we struggle to witness the pain of others, especially those we love.

Our instinct is to rush in, fix what’s broken, and package it neatly so we won’t have to endure the discomfort.

But that’s not how real listening works.

Healing begins when we can speak and receive our truth with care, not solutions. Like me, others need a safe space to express their pain and be met with genuine understanding.

What the world needs now isn’t more people wanting to fix us—it needs more people willing to listen.

We need steady, compassionate souls who can sit beside us in the mess and in-between, saying nothing more than, “I’m here.”

We’re not broken—we’re just human and need to be heard, not repaired.

I need a compassionate witness—someone willing to walk beside me for a while on this journey.

I’ve held that space for others before; now, it’s my turn to be held.

Sitting with another soul is profoundly healing, simply being present with their pain.

No solutions, no fixing—just the gentle acknowledgment: “I see you. I’ve been there too.”

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it holds the power to transform. That presence is nothing short of revolutionary in a world so quick to turn away from suffering.

Healing doesn’t follow a straight path, and there’s no one-size-fits-all solution.

What works for one person may not work for another. For me, healing often feels like being stuck in the messy middle.

It’s like finding yourself on a long mountain road in the dead of a cold, rainy morning—tires spinning helplessly in deepening mud, flinging sludge across the windshield until you can’t see a thing ahead.

You’re shivering, alone, frustrated, and ready to give up. The harder you try to power through, the deeper you sink.

And then you’re faced with a choice: stay stuck and freeze, or ask for help.

I lived through moments like these in the Santa Cruz mountains. The road to my house was dirt, turning to thick mud when it rained. I drove an old gray station wagon called the Great Gray Whale. It wasn’t elegant, but it got me where I needed to go with some help. Thank goodness for AAA.

Healing is anything but tidy.

It’s unpredictable, non-linear, and often deeply personal.

There’s no single way to move through it—no roadmap or checklist. Each journey is unique.

Still, I can assure you that every ounce of effort, every second, and hard-won breath is worth it.

As you read this series about my mother, I hope it stirs a deep gratitude for those who have walked beside you, past, present, and those yet to come. May you recognize the beauty of their presence, the strength of their love, and the lasting imprint they’ve left on your heart. Ultimately, what truly matters are the connections we’ve made and the love we’ve given and allowed ourselves to receive.

When we reflect on the road we’ve traveled, we won’t cling to our accomplishments or struggles—it will be the relationships we cherished.

That is the legacy we carry forward. That is what remains.

It has taken me a long time to reach this point, and even longer to trust myself enough to believe I can face whatever truths I uncover. I lived in uncertainty for years, sharing little of what I knew or had been told. At my Aunt Dorothy’s request (a story you’ll come to understand), I waited to write anything until after her passing in December 2014. And before my brother George died in 2022, he made me promise that I would tell this story as soon as I felt ready.

For a long time, I wondered if I would ever find the courage to revisit this chapter of my life, in all its complexity—the pain and the beauty alike—and put it into words for others to read.

But now, I am ready. The truths I know, the memories I carry, the questions that remain unanswered, and the ones that may never be answered have echoed in my mind for over fifty years. It’s time to let them speak.

This story holds deep wounds—heartache, sorrow, and layers of unresolved trauma still needing tending.

The human experience is complex and often marked by pain and struggle. None of us escapes life’s hardships; mine have sometimes felt nearly unbearable.

Yet alongside the suffering, there have been extraordinary joy, hard-won triumphs, meaningful success, and moments of unconditional love.

This series will be vast.

As I uncover more, there will be pain—but there will also be purpose.

Every sentence and word is part of a larger tapestry—a story of healing, hope, and redemption.

Along this journey, I will seek out hope.

I won’t linger solely in the sorrow—instead, I’ll remain open to the moments of light that can emerge from even the darkest places.

I will let joy in, wherever it dares to show up.

When I arrive at the final chapter of this series—the closing of this story—I will take a moment to reflect on it all: the journey I’ve shared and the life I’ve lived.

My most profound hope is that you, too, will take a moment to contemplate the fragility of life and the pain woven into the human experience.

And more than that, I hope you will remember the incredible strength of the human spirit—its power to love, rise, endure, and overcome even the most unthinkable of trials.

Believe me—I am living proof.

More than anything, I hope we each recognize our inherent worth and immeasurable value.

No matter what we’ve been through—or what lies ahead—the pain we’ve survived, the struggles we’re facing, or the challenges yet to come, I hope you awaken to the extraordinary strength and resilience within you.

May you see your unique gifts clearly and embrace the truth that only you can tell your story.

And that story—your story—is always worth telling.

I invite you to step into this series, a chapter of my life that tells its own story.

These words, even the imperfect and tangled ones—especially those—need to be spoken.

Truth matters. Healing matters. And the world needs more truth-tellers, more seekers of wholeness.

One life at a time—examined, mended, and made whole. I believe that’s how real change begins. That’s how we heal the world.

I hope my life and words will help you fully understand your own story. As I sit with all that I’ve endured and all that I continue to overcome, I see how every moment shapes who we are becoming.

So write it down—your truth, your journey—it might lead you to your liberation.

Speaking my pain out loud has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done… and also one of the most transformative.

There is real healing waiting on the other side of pain. I promise you that.

I’ve walked through so much—more than most will ever know—and yet, through it all, I’ve also known a love without limits and joy that lifted me to unimaginable heights.

A few cherished souls have truly seen me, supported me, and believed in me, and I hope I’ve been that light for others, too. I stand here strong, capable, and wholly myself.

I honor every part of my story—what I’ve endured and survived—and now, I open myself to the wisdom still waiting to unfold.

Life can be cruel, even merciless at times… and yet, it holds breathtaking beauty.

Sometimes, we must be swallowed by the night before we can truly grasp the brilliance of the light.

Thank you for walking beside me on this path, holding space and witnessing my story with compassion. Your presence, willingness to listen, and even a small piece of what I’ve held mean more than words can say. I am deeply grateful to you.

Above all, I carry hope—enduring, infinite hope.

From left to right – Dorothy Brown, Frances Cascinai, Connie Suydam. The three sisters.