In Injustice: My Story, Dr. Iris Wright recounts a life shaped by early instability, teen motherhood, a devastating false accusation, and the long, bruising work of reclaiming her name, her daughter, and her sense of self. The memoir moves from her childhood in the Booth Street projects, where she learns too young how bias and abandonment can mark a child, into the shattering experience of being accused of burning her daughter after what began as a mother’s urgent response to a skin infection. From the cold reduction of her identity to SBI Number 00400319, to the refusal of a ten-year plea deal, to the four-year custody battle that follows, Wright frames her story not as a clean triumph over suffering, but as a hard-won account of survival, faith, motherhood, and becoming what she calls a Black Diamond.

Wright has a preacherly cadence, full of repetition, declarations, and lines that feel carved out of lived pain. That style circles the same truths, especially around resilience, pressure, and purpose, but I found that repetition revealing. Trauma does repeat itself in the body. It returns, insists, asks to be named again. The strongest passages are the ones where concrete memory grounds the lyricism: the teacher who failed her despite correct work, the stormy night with broken windshield wipers, the burning logs placed around her car, the obscene message written across her windshield, the daughter asking when she was coming to get her. Those moments have a pulse. They make the broader reflections feel earned.

I also appreciated the complexity of the book’s central ideas. Wright writes about faith and destiny with conviction, but the memoir is most affecting when it refuses easy consolation. Her victories are not simple victories, and I respected the way the book lets grief and gratitude sit in the same room. Its moral force comes from that tension. Wright isn’t asking the reader to pity her. She’s asking us to understand what systems do to human beings when labels become stronger than truth.

I felt that Injustice: My Story was less a conventional memoir than a testimony, one that turns personal anguish into a language of witness. It’s intimate, wounded, forceful, and maternal, with a voice that keeps reaching toward healing. I’d recommend it to readers drawn to memoirs of survival, wrongful accusation, motherhood under pressure, faith-rooted resilience, and the long aftermath of institutional harm. This is a book for people who understand that becoming unstoppable doesn’t mean nothing hurts you. It means you kept rising with the hurt still speaking.

Pages: 146 | ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0GX2YQT32