…And Then I Would Fly is a memoir chronicling your journey through a childhood fractured by love, betrayal, and the search for self amid the emotional wreckage of a broken home. Why was this an important book for you to write?

It was more than important for me to write, it oozed like Play-Doh through the cracks in my being, needing to be expressed. It did not start as a book that I intended to publish. It started as journals trying to make sense of my life up to that point and offering insight and role-modeling to my little sister, who was getting very little of those things. Before I really started going deep into my own experience, I was trying to “fix” my sister’s experience. It was only through therapy and self-reflection that I realized it was me who needed to listen to my own advice for healing. After two decades of writing, I saw the story and that it should be published for others, as well.

What was the hardest scene to write emotionally, and did you ever consider leaving it out?

Some of the hardest scenes to write were remembering the times as a child where I was acting out the abusive or dysfunctional behavior that was modeled to me. I’ve carried a lot of shame and guilt for some of these things over the years. When I realized that I was going to publish my story, I was also worried that retelling these events might further traumatize or shame the other people involved. I made a lot of hard decisions when it came to what should be included. I also had some hard conversations with many of the people involved. In the end, I decided it was important to tell my story and to tell it honestly and authentically, which hopefully allowed everyone to keep their dignity, since we are all human beings doing the best we can with what we have at the moment.

What do you hope readers who come from similarly messy families take away from your story?

I love the connections that this book has brought from people with whom it resonates. As a therapist in training, I hope that the self-reflection and humility make people realize that they are not alone and can be optimistic about their continued growth and development. Even in the hardest times, we can emerge stronger and surprisingly more vulnerable, like a phoenix from the ash.

How did your perspective on your father shift while writing the memoir?

I feel like my entire life I’ve been trying to squeeze my father into an object that I could hold out in front of me with both hands and see all of his sides. I’m not sure this memoir achieved that, but it provided enough catharsis to begin growing beyond some of the pain and suffering, and help separate his destructive behavior from my identity. I could see him more as a flawed human being who played a role in my life, as opposed to an ocean that I was treading water in. The end of the book really captures this, as I wasn’t ready to see him this way, but it was being shown to me nonetheless.

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