In 1990 I was standing in a bookstore called Southern Sisters. It was in Durham, North Carolina near the old Durham Bulls baseball stadium. Holly Near was playing in the background and there were a couple of women talking and drinking tea in the kitchen.

I was standing in front of a shelf looking for a book that would help me understand my life, one that would tell my story in a way that made sense. One that would help me understand how to heal. Also one that wouldn’t trigger me into feeling like I needed to drink, drug, or hurt myself after I read it. I didn’t find my story, my whole story on any of those shelves.That is one reason I wrote this book.

The other reason is to pay homage to the people who did things, sometimes what one might call small things, that helped save me and enable me to survive and ultimately heal. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a letter, returning a phone call for example.

I want also for people to understand that even if you can’t get a child out of a bad situation, your acts of kindness and love might be enough to sustain them through the years until they can get out. And those acts might also keep them having enough faith that there are good people in the world who can be trusted. Ultimately that faith might allow them to accept help from and connect to people who can help them heal.