In Youth Truth, you reflect on the students you encountered as a school resource officer, the crises they faced, and the adults who reached out to them. Why was this an important book for you to write?

This book was never just a book for me—it was a responsibility.

As a School Resource Officer, I saw kids carrying far more than they should have to—those slipping through the cracks, those acting out because they didn’t have the words, and those who looked fine but were struggling in silence.

What stayed with me is this: it’s rarely the big interventions that change a life—it’s one adult, one moment, one question asked the right way.

But I also saw good parents, teachers, and mentors who cared deeply and still didn’t feel equipped to reach these kids. Conversations were being missed—not from a lack of care, but a lack of confidence and tools.

That’s why I wrote Youth Truth: Engaging in Conversations That Can Change Lives.

I wanted to bridge that gap—turn real, front-line experiences into something practical people can actually use when it matters most.

Because I’ve lived this truth: connection heals what correction can’t.

And too many moments are being missed—sometimes with consequences we can’t take back. This book is about helping more adults show up in those moments, because one brave, genuine conversation doesn’t just change a moment—it can change, or even save, a life.

Stories like Jon’s imagined meal or Jane’s struggle with addiction are deeply affecting. How did you choose which stories to tell?

Those stories stayed with me long after the moment passed—that was my first filter.

I chose stories that represented patterns I saw over and over again: youth feeling unseen, unheard, or carrying pain they didn’t know how to express. I also chose ones that reflected different kinds of struggle, so more readers could see a piece of someone they love—or themselves—in those pages.

And I was intentional about this: every story had to serve a purpose. Not just to move people emotionally, but to help them understand what’s really going on beneath the surface and how they can show up differently.

Because these aren’t just stories—they’re windows into moments where the right response could change everything.

Did you ever feel tension between letting stories speak for themselves and explaining their lessons?

Absolutely—there was a real tension there.

The stories are powerful on their own, and I never wanted to over-explain or take away from their truth. But I also knew that if I left them without guidance, some of the most important lessons could be missed—especially for adults who are already unsure how to navigate these moments.

So I was intentional about both: letting the stories be felt, and then giving just enough insight and practical takeaways to help readers actually use what they just experienced.

Because for me, this book wasn’t just about telling stories—it was about making sure those stories lead to action, better conversations, and real connection when it matters most.

What did you most want readers to understand about youth in crisis?

More than anything, I wanted readers to understand that youth in crisis aren’t trying to be difficult—they’re trying to be understood.

What looks like anger, withdrawal, or defiance is often pain, fear, or confusion they don’t have the words for yet. And too often, we respond to the behavior instead of the need underneath it.

If adults can pause, get curious, and lead with connection instead of correction, everything shifts.

Because at the core of it, most youth in crisis aren’t pushing people away—they’re quietly asking, “Will someone see me, hear me, and stay?”

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