It was difficult to write Resilient Ruin: a memoir of hopes dashed and reclaimed, and, since it was launched a few days before the 2016 presidential election (such bad timing, a mistake I won’t repeat) it has been even more difficult to promote the book. It covers painful territory.
I was confused, awkward, missing my deceased father, contending with an abusive stepmother who was unraveling emotionally and physically, not the least bit interested in schoolwork, and somehow under the impression that if I had the right boyfriend everything would be just fine. This quest for a boyfriend backfired hugely, and I slid downhill fast, blaming myself the whole time.
The value in writing a memoir like this is when others see pieces of themselves in the book and, as a result, feel less alone and more able to love who they are.