lameredith

Committing to Less to Enjoy More/My 2019 Resolution

Happy New Year.

It’s that time of year where we make promises of transformation that are too easily abandoned by the middle of the month.

I typically make a small list in a few categories, but this year I’m making different commitments.

Last year, I ran my legs off. If someone asked for a volunteer, I raised my hand. If a friend wanted to go to a dreadful performance of this or that, I said yes. Between too much work with the summer job and my fulltime job, over-volunteering and writing (and getting a number of essays published in various blogs and magazines and making bits of new book progress) I was left cranky and tired. And bewildered as to how I got so busy (and so cranky and tired.).

I knew I was in rough shape when my eye doctor hinted at giving me a referral to a psychiatrist.

So I’m ready for a new chapter.

I have a goal list still, but in addition to looking like a To Do List, it includes a To Don’t List.

I’m letting go of a few things, even good things and fun things. I’ve adopted author Marie Kondo’s way of thinking about clutter as a way to think about activities. If the extra activity or invitation doesn’t bring me joy, I’m saying no to it.

For example, I volunteered in a civic group filled with delightful women. I wanted out pretty early on, but kept talking myself in to continuing. I left last week. It was like taking off a girdle and breathing deeply. Then I cut my cable television. Finally. After talking about it for years. No more reality television or news channels or even Twilight Zone on the SciFi network. Just podcasts or audiobooks or the radio now. I’m saying no to invitations to social gatherings that don’t thrill me.

I like my home. I love being at home with my cats and my thoughts and my laptop after a very long work day. Leaving home is a sacrifice that I need to want to make. And as much as I enjoyed the camaraderie of working in tourism last summer, I won’t do it again while working full-time at my day job. I don’t have the energy.

But I’ve found some fun new resolutions, or To Do’s this year.

I enrolled in a Spanish class which has gone pretty poorly thus far. I took a salt water aerobics class right by my work for the first time, and loved it. I have an appointment to meet with a virtual personal trainer this weekend (who happens to be a cousin!). And I’ll be a grants administrator for the local writer’s guild, a very short-term commitment.

I was inspired by Zenhabits blog about The Rule of the Edge. I want to keep pushing myself toward growth, but for me, that means getting comfortable doing and being less. Leaving myself open for other surprises.

I also loved the Write-Minded podcast habout selfishness as it relates to writing and prioritizing completion of essays or books in order that there will be works of writing to share.

Sometimes what we don’t do is as important as what we commit to.  I’m looking forward to less commitments and more room for fun and writing and even sleep this year.

What about you?

Solo Travel to South America/Uruguay and Argentina

I was firm in my decision to delay a solo travel adventure since I’d financed long-awaited kitchen renovations. Yet solo travel, outside of bringing me joy and growth, is the subject of future writing projects. But I told myself that it was too time consuming, too expensive, too much work to squeeze in to 2018. I could do it the next year.

But losing a few close friends this year was a terrific reminder that the future is never certain. It inspired me to unclench my tight fists and spend over $1,500 on a round trip ticket to South America. Uruguay and Argentina, to be more specific. I’d start in Uruguay. A week or more after arriving there, I would take the ferry over to Buenos Aires, Argentina and enjoy the sites, and then wander back to Uruguay before returning home. In all, I’d be away from Alaska for three weeks. A long break from snow and work reorganization and routines and and all things familiar. Just me and my hostel(s).

The highlights?

People. Always the people. Plus walking often ten miles a day, thanking God that although I may be lost, I still had the capacity to move without pain, and found generous people who helped point me in the right direction.

Uruguay is a small and more affluent country. I felt safer walking the streets there than I do at home. Three million people, twelve million cows, according to our walking tour guide. From the beautiful museums in Montevideo to the beaches of LaPaloma and Punta del Este and Colonia del Sacramento, I saw more of it than I had originally hoped, hopping busses, wondering if I could understand Spanish well enough to know when to exit, and intermittently staying with a wonderful friend I’d met on an author Facebook group years before who let me use her casita as a home base. I appreciated that from the first day, our conversations were effortless and authentic, and I made a mental to list of things she’d suggested that I wanted to pursue.

Argentina was a little more challenging. Since I stayed in Buenos Aires exclusively, my love of the sights and the history was tempered with the noise and the crowds. And witnessing an attempted kidnapping. But I’ll write more of that in a later essay for publication.

The amazing Mafalda.

What I adored about shared housing was never knowing who I’d be in a room with. One morning-we were delegates from Israel, China, New Zealand, and America, sitting up in our beds, comparing and contrasting lives in our home countries as though we were representatives from the United Nations. Respectful yet real conversations that inspired more reading, more thinking, future travels.

Next continent- Antarctica. If you know of a way I can do it on budget, please let me know!

I find solo travel to be scary, lonely, and unsure. And character building, resilience increasing, and a stress reducer, at least once I return home.

Happy New Year to you. I hope you give yourself permission to do something you’ve always wanted to do.


Afterthoughts About the Earthquake of 2018

My return from South America was promptly eclipsed by the massive November 30th earthquake here in Alaska.

I’d landed in Los Angeles from a brief layover in Peru when I turned on my phone to find a flood of texts. The first was from my youngest daughter, giving me a heads up that something “big” had happened. Many others were check-ins from family and friends.

While I felt a little guilty for not being in Alaska when it happened, and a splash jealous for missing the experience, it’s been a fascinating event to witness through the eyes of others.

 I’d never been through a natural disaster, so returning home from a 3 week-long trip just hours afterward was memorable. While we Alaskans are accustomed to our fair share of earthquakes and aftershocks, this one was a doozy at 7.0.

Supermarkets ran low on food and water. Electricity was out in much of the city when I returned. So was cell phone service. Some roads and schools were destroyed. Yet no one died, a great tribute to careful city planning and building codes in Anchorage. There weren’t reports of opportunistic thefts. 

A few things stuck with me.

Each person’s reaction to the same event was unique.

 This reminded me of the birth order conversation I often had during my book tour.

 If a family of four was home together in the same room during the quake, their reactions varied widely, from getting under a table, crying and shaking, or running outside. Their ability to deal with the trauma long afterward was as varied as their responses, often due to their age and role in the family, past experiences, genetic makeup, and other traits and quirks.

Pets were/are and are as impacted by the earthquake as their humans.

Many dogs and cats ran away from home shortly after the big shake. They lost control of their bowels, and some continue to have problems. A doggy daycare staff member told me more dogs have to wear anxiety jackets, and have a compromised immune system from the stress, developing kennel cough at a higher rate. And a friend’s 15 year-old bird died soon after the quake, not due to injury, but due to strain.

Only the worst images were replayed by the media and were then shared in social media, though many people experienced no damage to their belongings or homes.

Don’t get me wrong; there was a lot of damage done. Most everyone I know sustained loss of belongings due to the earthquake. 

Yet it reminds me how scared we become after watching news images, whether it’s on television or the social media shares. Perhaps it’s about an American tourist who died overseas. Or an image of violence, played and shared, over and over.  We become fearful and wary.

We might forget to mention who all emerged safely from this earthquake, who all helped one another, and how grateful we are that no one died as a direct result of such a seismic quake.

After I called my daughter from Los Angeles, and she told me that she and her sister were fine, as were my pets, I wondered about my newly renovated kitchen. Twenty-three years of ugly had been replaced by beauty just before I left on my trip, and I had been over the moon about it. But I knew what a complete jerk I’d be for asking about it long distance.

My plane landed in Anchorage several hours after the shake, and I hailed a taxi. My driver was an African immigrant, small yet loud, and hidden under his oversized red wool hat with a pompom on top.  On the way home, he told me about how it was for him, a relatively new citizen, to be jarred awake from a deep sleep. How he ran outside and fell to the ground, and how he calmed himself, realizing there was nothing he could do to control the outcome.

“We can replace things,” he told me,” We cannot replace peoples.”

It was just the message I needed to hear.

 I opened the door to my place, and looked at each room, saving my new kitchen for last. And though it appeared someone held a raucous party on the second floor and left the mess afterward, my kitchen, my long-awaited kitchen, was undisturbed.

I am truly thankful. 

I’ve heard a number of people say they wanted to leave state after this earthquake. It came without warning. The aftershocks still continue. It was too much to deal with. 

But for me, showing up just after to witness the inspiring recovery efforts, Alaska still feels like a soft place to land.

Thank you for visiting.  

 


Author Interview with Susan Joyce on Screenwriting and Redefining Her Next Chapter

Author Susan Joyce in 2103Meeting author Susan Joyce in person was a highlight of my trip to South America.

We had originally connected through the Facebook group, We Love Memoirs two years earlier.

Susan has written two memoirs, and authored and edited numerous children’s books with her husband, author Doug DuBosque.

In addition to writing award-winning books, Susan has lived in several countries and ran a thriving publishing business with her husband for more than two decades. After all that, plenty of writers would have been content to retire. Yet when Susan spoke to me about her latest writing passion–screenwriting–her radiant energy was infectious.

I´m pleased to have Susan as my guest this week.

What led you to screenwriting?   

My heart led me to screenwriting. I´ve always enjoyed the theatre and films; even turned two of my books for children into stage plays with original music; songs I had written and by collaborating with an elementary school music teacher. Great fun! A thrill to see the productions performed on stages in schools and at a community college in Oregon.

Describe how the screenwriting process differs from writing books.

 Screenwriting is a different art form using different set formats. It´s a challenge and exciting to learn new ways to express my imagination with words in a community which encourages writers to think outside the book box; to SHOW and not TELL.

I receive advice, again and again, to write more books. The more the merrier for fans and followers. When I dreaded “making time” to write, I knew I needed something different to stay excited about creative writing. Script writing is fun, feels as if I am playing with words as I imagine the scenes they fit into.

A book or a film originate in the writer’s imagination first. Once the writer writes her version on paper, the script begins a new life when others involved in the production process; the editor, the director, the producer, the cameraman, etc share how they imagine it.

Like magic, the final creation becomes a dance shaped by the keen observation of others from different angles.

How do you engage with a writing community from your home office in Uruguay?

In today’s internet world, it’s easy. I belong to several online screenwriting groups and attend online workshops where I can share ideas and pitch my projects.

What takeaway do you have for other writers who face burnout?

Ask yourself what makes you tick, what makes you happy and move forward to a new adventure.

What are you working on now?

Many projects.

At the moment, I’m turning my book Good Morning Diego Garcia into a screen script and into a mini-series for television. Hopefully BBC. I will do the same with my first memoir, The Lullaby Illusion. I’m also writing a TV series set in a jazz club in Germany where expats gathered to make new friends in their new homeland.

Stay tuned.

 

For more information, you can find Susan at Susan Joyce Journeys.

Or click here to connect on Facebook.

Here her books can be found.

 

The Storm before the Calm/Readying for South America, Solo

 The reasons I get so nervous are many. 

I’m about to leave for South America in a few days. By myself. It will be continent 6/7 for me, and I’m nearing my goal of finishing the research for a travel memoir and companion guide book for older, non-wealthy women who want to get out of their comfort zone and see the world on their terms.

I’m frightened of flying. I won’t know the language, despite my efforts to learn. And I’ll be on a clenched budget, especially since I just got my kitchen renovated.

But there is something truly humbling about leaving for a new adventure.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as I fasten my seatbelt, I nearly always start to cry. Partly because I’m exhausted from my work and because I’m excited and scared, I’m flooded with thoughts of friends and loved ones who’d wanted to travel more but didn’t get the chance. Early deaths or bad circumstances. And yet, here I go. And I take none of it for granted.

Traveling alone away seems to bring out my best.

 I’ve worked really hard to engineer a future for myself, one that looked unlikely early on. In my struggle to attempt control over my environment, I’ve become an over-anxious control freak. 

Nothing crushes the false sense of control like travel. And traveling to someone else’s country, playing in their playground without officially having been invited, it’s clear that I have little influence or control. Feeling small and powerless can be exhilarating.

 So away I go. Far from responsibility of house and home, away from the security  friends and family, away from social media and television. I hope to meet new friends see some animals and sights. I hope I get lots of exercise and sleep. And on Thanksgiving, I will see with a new lens how grateful I am for all that I have waiting for me right here at home.

 Have a wonderful day. Thank you for stopping by.

 

 

 

 

 And thank you to Charlene at Soul Sciences podcast for the talk about writing.

    

 

     

 

 

Author Interview with Linda M. Kurth/When Abuse and Faith Intersect

 

There are many reasons an abused partner may choose to remain in their relationship. Faith and ties to their faith community factor in for many.

Author Linda M. Kurth

I’m honored to have author Linda M. Kurth sharing from her experience and upcoming memoir.

Crazymaking: A form of psychological attack on somebody by offering contradictory alternatives and criticizing the person for choosing. -www.yourdictionary.com

“Your husband is a crazymaker,” Susan, my new counselor declared.

Susan was one of several counselors Jim and I had seen during the last half of our twenty-five year marriage. Yet none of it seemed to get to the root of our problem. Jim was a “good Christian.” He was a good provider. He was smart and had a great sense of humor. His hugs were legendary. Yet I was dying inside, and my prayers had not changed our dynamic.

Susan had listened as I told her how Jim promised to change over and over again, and yet hadn’t. “I’m having difficulty believing him anymore,” I said. “He tells me one thing one day, then the opposite the next. When I try calling him on this stuff, he always denies giving me a double message.”

Susan sighed. “I believe Jim’s personality type will try every trick in the book to avoid taking responsibility for sabotaging your marriage. His type is good at keeping the opposing party off guard. I’m not optimistic he’ll own up to his behavior.”

I felt a mixture of relief and what? Resistance? Disbelief? I’m the kind of person who rips a band-aid off, but part of me wanted to cling to hope. Acknowledging that my husband was not going to change meant I’d either have to resign myself to being hurt again and again by his emotionally abusive passive-aggressive behavior. Or, I’d have to leave. I hated both options.

The thought of leaving left a churning in my stomach and a tightening in my chest. I was fifty-five and hadn’t supported myself in years. When I tried to visualize my future alone, the picture was dismal. Besides, as a Christian, I worried that divorcing was not part of God’s plan for me.

During this time, my husband accepted a new job that was near my home town. I agreed to move with him and engage in counseling one last time. Jim found Norma, a conservative Christian counselor, but we made no progress. I saw clearly I had only one choice if I was to survive emotionally.

“I’d like to discuss divorce,” I told Norma, my voice shaking.

“We don’t talk about divorce,” she replied, and then proceeded to talk about it. She quoted the Bible in Matthew 19 verse 9, in which Jesus said, “I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, and marries another woman commits adultery.”

“If you divorce Jim, Satan wins,” Norma explained.

Heat rose in me. I blurted out my truth. “Satan has already won. Jim may not have been physically unfaithful to me but he’s been emotionally unfaithful. He’s unrepentant, and I’ve lost all hope for reconciliation.”

Norma shook her head with sadness. “You’ll be making a huge mistake if you leave the covering and protection of your husband.”

I almost laughed. I certainly had not been feeling my husband’s “protection.”

That night, I threw myself on the Lord’s mercy and discerned his permission to leave.

As I struggled to regain my sense of equilibrium, I was met with a dichotomy of responses from the Christian community. I received a scathing letter from a Christian friend of my husband, condemning me for choosing divorce. For the same reason I was turned away from a church I had considered joining. On the other hand, my former church embraced me when I went back to visit, even providing me with a divorce ceremony. Best of all, I was welcomed by a new church that had a large singles ministry. There, I met many other singles, many of whom became my friends and support during my recovery.

Since that heartbreak time, God has blessed me in many ways. I bought a townhouse in which I felt secure. Eventually, I met a wonderful man while ballroom dancing. We’ve been married for fifteen good years.

I’ve recently completed a memoir, tentatively titled God, the Devil, and Divorce: A Love Story from which I’ve drawn material for this article. (I hope to see the memoir published soon.) I have a blog, “Help and Healing for Divorced Christians,” where I offer what I’ve learned about going through and surviving divorce, and where I encourage churches to welcome divorced people with love and grace. I pray both the book and blog will help people achieve a happier divorce recovery experience.

Linda Kurth is offering advice, “Ten Steps for a More Joyful Life after Divorce,” to subscribers of her blog. Click here for the link to download.

 

Would you like the chance to win a set of compelling memoirs about domestic violence? For the month of October, 2018, enter here to win!

How My Daughters Are Today/The Question I’m Asked Most at Author Events

It’s Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

As I prep for a few book events, including a FaceTime conversation with a Florida book group,

The question I get asked the most is always How are the girls now?

And just after that, Do your daughters mind you writing and talking about them?

They’re fair questions with dynamic answers.

At the moment, both my grown daughters live in the same city as me.  Neither have married. Neither have children. Neither appear interested in getting married or having children.

My oldest daughter, recently back in Alaska after a year in Mexico, is presently taking seven classes at the local university to finish her degree in psychology. I don’t know what kind of work she’ll go in to, but I’m so proud that she will have options, thanks to her hard work.

Life has been incredibly challenging for her, not simply because she was a child-witness of domestic violence or because she and her sister spent two years living in hiding in Greece. She manages anxiety and significant mental health problems that threaten her quality of life. This has been compounded by losing a shocking number friends to early deaths.

Still, she persists. She has a long-term relationship, adores her pets, and even at times when she’s shut off from other, she remains in close contact with her sister and me.

My youngest daughter finished college some years ago and works in finance. She too has a long-term relationship. She is athletic and busy, volunteering in the community and on a board of directors. She has a thriving dog-walking, pet-sitting business on the side. While her sister’s emotional wounds were deep from being the oldest child who shouldered adult responsibility early, my youngest has had medical leftover concerns.

 

Still, when I read the Adverse Childhood Experiences Study and compare their scores to the potential outcomes, I’m awestruck at how very well they’re doing.

Some of the resiliency factors after the kidnapping were having stable housing and kind neighbors, good schools, involved family friends, access to community mental health providers, team sports, and knowing they had family-far away-that loved them dearly. And their pets were a healing balm that reduced their stress levels every day.

All things considered, my daughters are doing exceptionally well. Funny and feisty, lovers of hiking and Greek food and good people, and able to incorporate old traumas into their lives while embracing new joys.

 I’m sure at times they mind the invasion of privacy of having a mom who’s a writer, but they’ve not said so. I’ve tried to minimize it by not using their names in essays and in local talks.

More often, they sincerely appreciate that people care to ask about how they are.

So do I.

Thank you for stopping by.

A Missing Girl/ A Found Helper

When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”—Fred Rogers

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you remember me?” came the message from Greece this week from a man I hadn’t heard from in more than 20 years. “…You were here (in Greece) for your daughters.”

And the heaviness of the days before began to gently lift.

***
Two weeks earlier, I’d seen the movie Searching about a kidnapped girl. (Mothers of abducted children would be wise to avoid such movies, but I gravitate toward them.) As I left the theater and turned my phone on, I read that little girl in the neighboring community of Kotzebue, Alaska had disappeared.

Over the next week, the local news reported the growing search. The family’s reaction to their missing girl. And the support that flooded in from all over the state, evidenced by food shipments for the search crew, Facebook shares, and volunteer searchers.

How excruciating it must have been. And yet, through their grief, the family expressed their gratitude daily as in this KTUU article:

“I want to thank them so much for doing the walks, like we’ve been doing here, and them getting us prayers and hope still,” Barr (the father) said. “I can’t imagine anything else, I have a loss of words of how many people around the state, as well as Lower 48, that are 100 percent behind us.”

And on September 14th, when the body of young Ashley Barr was found in a remote area and the man associated with her death arrested, again her family gave thanks to all who helped find her.

Given to KTUU by Scotty Barr

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

In 1995, I made my first trip to Greece from Alaska to bring home my kidnapped daughters. I was crushed when I couldn’t bring the girls home, not realizing that all the wonderful helpers I met in Greece would be critical in our eventual reunification. Like my friend Poppy and her group of young lawyer friends in her theater group.

The following year, I returned to Greece, but was stationed in a different city this time. There would be no easy resolution. Court hearings and private investigators and even police were involved. And at one point, my daughters’ father contacted my lawyers in Greece and promised I could visit the girls. And then cancelled the visit. Then he called and set up a visit last-minute, so long as I could find people to supervise the visit.

Who on earth did I know in Greece who would give up their Sunday to supervise a visit an hour’s drive away? It was sure to be emotional, unpleasant, and potentially unsafe for them.

I called on two of the Greek friends I’d made the year before, who immediately pushed their own weekend plans aside and took a long bus ride with me to a nearby village to give me the chance to see my daughters.

Days after, I was arrested in Athens when leaving with my daughters for Alaska, and these friends offered shelter, support, even legal consultation should I need it.

Eventually, I left Greece with my daughters in a hurry, losing contact with a few of the many heroes who made it possible.

And now it’s September 2018. My daughters are grown. And I get this lovely message from my old friend, who gave up law to become a pianist in Greece.

A second glance at the news showed little Ashley’s father dispensing hugs in a receiving line of friends and strangers who’d gathered at the airport.

From KTUU

There are no words to make such an unimaginable tragedy better. No silver lining to make it go away. But I am convinced that this family’s ability to lean in to the community support and find their helpers will propel them on the journey toward healing.

For information on preventing or addressing child kidnapping, contact 1-800-THELOST.

To aid the family of Ashley Johnson-Barr, a GoFundMe has been established.

 

 

 

Photos and fabulosity/ Remembering Vietnam and John McCain

With the passing of Senator John McCain, I was transported back to my first big solo trip at the Hanoi Hotel in 2012, when I began this blog.

Vietnam and Laos were appealing because they were inexpensive and beautiful. Plus, I’d worked with and around many people from Vietnam and Laos here in Alaska for the past 20 plus years. Why wouldn’t I want to see their home? But I made Hanoi home-base because of John McCain. I was drawn to the place where the senator had been held hostage for five long years during the Vietnam war.

It was something I won’t forget. And while I waited in a long and very quiet line to get in to the Hanoi Hilton, an American teen laughed and joked with his friend just ahead. Immediately, the armed guards perched nearby leapt to attention. I don’t know what they said, but I could tell from their expressions and tone that it wasn’t good. And it was something else I won’t forget.

In Vietnam, using Facebook, laughing in a solemn setting, and/or posting negative information online about  their government there can result in a myriad of consequences, including arrest. Which reminded me of how thankful I am to live in a country where we are able to make our own choices regarding media– social and otherwise–can chuckle at inappropriate times, and scrutinize our government without fear. All hard-won battles that many like John McCain fought to ensure.

I loved hearing the story of John McCain. That he was privileged, but found his his voice and his strength while suffering during the war, and then quickly reconnected with his sense of humor upon returning from Vietnam. An imperfect man with a strong sense of decency.

On the trip, I enjoyed time with my friend Jennifer who joined me from Ohio for a leg of the journey, and who insisted we hike the mountains of Sapa. I don’t like hiking and I really don’t like tours.

We had more fun than I could’ve imagined, and made new friends that I looked up in Australia a few years later.

So out of that one trip came a blog post, a deepened respect for freedoms that matter, and some lifelong friends.

Which leads me to today: It’s time to get out of my round-the-clock work rut and prep for new adventures. My daughters have had the audacity of doing fine on their own without me, and I’ve been forced to admit I’m sometimes mad at them for it.

The youngest is beginning a new fancy job next week, and my oldest has begun a new batch of courses at the university. I’m proud of them both.

So I’ve begun vlogging on YouTube and trying hard to learn how with an eye for promoting my writing and other loves.

And my next travel destination? Uruguay, with a quick jaunt to Argentina by ferry. I’ll go this winter and happily miss out on one of the holidays in the states. YAY!

Thank you for stopping by. I love getting your comments, concerns, and love that you chuckle with me and at me sometimes. You make my life richer.

XOXO,

Lizbeth

 

 

 

The Headlines We Can’t Ignore/Everyone Matters When Responding to Domestic Violence

 

 

 

 

The headlines keep coming.  

Buried between Chicago mass shootings and the primary elections and Denise Richards joining the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills cast (is that really news?), there they are.

This is one week. In one country.

Like many of you, I want to tune it out. Who wants to hear about something they can’t change?

Not me. And it’s not Domestic Violence Awareness Month until October anyhow, right?

But it’s impossible to ignore. Not only because of the brutality, but for the truths these stories underscore.

1) Domestic violence is not about a normal person with an anger management problem who takes it out on their intimate partner. It’s the deliberate use of emotional, physical, or sexual violence to gain control of an intimate partner. You only need glimpse the second story to see how carefully orchestrated the plane crash was. The husband was not crazed or out of control. Simply diabolical.

2) Children are not only victimized by witnessing violence, but too often harmed irreparably as they become collateral damage in the effort to hurt the mother.

I detailed my now-grown daughters’ experiences as both child-witnesses and as adult survivors in my memoir. It left scar-tissue that manifest in physical and psychological wounds. But at least they survived. Clearly, not all do.

3) And the third truth is one I stumbled upon quite by accident when setting out to read something cheerier. When researching travel writing opportunities, I came upon a wonderful story written by Ivana Haz titled A Sort of Homecoming.

I read her entire essay story before noticing the writing on the sidebar.

Editor’s note: The author of this story, Ivana Waz, and her son, Makani, were murdered in their Southern California home July 11. Authorities say Ivana’s husband shot them before turning the gun on himself.

A google search of her name revealed a series of articles on her and her son’s death, attributing it to her husband’s depression after his back injury. One entire article sympathized solely with him.

I guarantee you that Ivana Waz and her child were not killed by a back injury or depression.

Which brings me to my earlier question: Who wants to hear about something they can’t change?

The truth is, we can all make a positive difference in creating lasting change regarding abuse. When we learn about it, when we talk about it, how we talk about it, when we seek ways to get involved, we become a resource.

I decided just now to make a difference and donate several copies of my memoir, themed around intergenerational patterns of domestic violence, to my Methodist church for their silent auction, and will continue to volunteer at the local shelter. It’s not much, but it’s something I can do.

What will you do?

Do you know someone impacted by domestic violence? Call 1-800-799-SAFE.

Want to lend your time or resources to affecting global change? Consider attending a meeting at your local Zonta chapter or giving to the domestic violence agency near you.

For information about what to do when you witness or suspect domestic violence, look at your local Green Dot Program.

Together, we can make a difference.