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The Invisible Soul: Rise Up
George W. Beasley’s The Invisible Soul: Rise Up, in its second edition, is a Christian memoir about childhood abuse, concealed emotional suffering, and the relationships through which he comes to understand healing. Beasley traces his life from a violent home and placements in children’s homes to marriage, fatherhood, and ministry. The title names the private world of fear, guilt, and condemnation that persists beneath an outwardly capable, cheerful identity. He captures that division in a sentence that gives the book much of its emotional clarity: “A smile was a mask, a laugh was a cry and a hug was a separation from all truth.” His account examines how a person can build a loving family and serve others while continuing to carry experiences he’s scarcely able to describe.
The second edition’s inclusion of court and social-service records adds a valuable documentary dimension. These reports show a child seeking acceptance, struggling with his circumstances, and gradually responding to adults who invest time in him. Read alongside Beasley’s memories, they give readers two perspectives on the same boy: the observations recorded by professionals and the fear he remembers living through. His descriptions of confinement, hunger, and violence are explicit, and their cumulative effect establishes the severity of the childhood he survived. Equally significant is his recognition of the counselors, house parents, and friends who offered stability. The book’s attention to these people gives its account of recovery substance, showing how practical care and sustained involvement become part of a life long before their significance is fully understood.
The narrative becomes especially engaging when water skiing connects Beasley’s family life with his work for In His Wakes. What begins as a source of pleasure and temporary relief develops into a ministry that brings him into contact with children whose expressions and stories recall his own. These encounters make the book’s recurring images of mirrors and reflections concrete: he recognizes his hidden pain through other people. The movement between exhilaration on the water, difficult conversations, and exhaustion after ministry events gives this section emotional complexity. His wife, Lisa, provides continuity throughout, offering affection and a place where he can speak and grieve. Beasley’s growing willingness to tell his story, together with the support of his family and ministry colleagues, makes healing a process readers can follow through specific relationships and events.
Beasley writes with the directness of spoken testimony, frequently addressing readers and interpreting his experiences through passages from The Message. That approach creates intimacy and makes his evangelical purpose clear. Repeated lists of painful emotions and frequent assurances of victory sometimes slow the narrative; the strongest passages allow a scene or conversation to carry the meaning. His firm convictions about divine sovereignty and healing also shape the book’s appeal, particularly for readers who share his Christian framework. Its concluding emphasis on humility, trust, and forgiveness gathers the personal history into an invitation to live differently. “You can never forget, but you can forgive,” he writes, expressing a distinction central to his understanding of recovery. The Invisible Soul offers a candid account of the lasting effects of abuse and a deeply personal interpretation of how faith, love, and service can reshape a survivor’s relationship with his past.
Pages: 118 | ASIN : B094YWMN54
Connecting the Dots
Girl, Groomed is a raw and unflinching memoir that traces your childhood experiences of grooming and abuse at a horse stable, and the long, painful process of understanding how that past shaped your adult life and relationships. Why was this an important book for you to write?
I wanted to offer what I have learned personally and professionally about the importance of lining up with and healing from past trauma. I chose to use my own story to encourage readers that it is only through walking directly into the painful places that we can heal ourselves.
What were some ideas that were important for you to share in this book?
The path towards reclaiming our lives is through an understanding of how trauma continues to impact ourselves and others. This shows up in many forms, but through an awareness of this, we gain the agency to decrease our reactivity and defensiveness that are constricting byproducts. This, in turn, gives us more choice and liberation over our lives going forward.
What was the most challenging part of writing your memoir, and what was the most rewarding?
Writing my memoir required me to delve back into memories that I had disconnected from. The process of re-experiencing what I had fractured off was both painful and healing. After all, we can only heal from what we can accurately name. Connecting the dots of my life helped me integrate and reclaim my story.
What do you hope is one thing readers take away from your story?
One takeaway is that trauma informs our lives, but it doesn’t define who we are or who we are becoming.
Author Links: GoodReads | Website | Instagram | Amazon
Raw and riveting, Girl, Groomed is seasoned psychotherapist Carol Odell’s evolving story of deepening her understanding of how the crisis she blindly imposes on her marriage is rooted in her own history of sexual abuse and violence at the hands of a predatory horse trainer who, for far too much of her young life, held all the reins. Chapters toggle back and forth between scenes of her childhood growing up jumping horses on the show circuit in Virginia and the therapy sessions she later undergoes as an adult sitting in “the other chair.”
Using her own journey, Carol demonstrates in this insightful memoir how unintegrated trauma limits us and our connection with others—and how the work of uncovering and reintegrating “what we do with what happens to us” can become the very source of our liberation.
Girl, Groomed
Carol Odell’s Girl, Groomed is a raw and unflinching memoir that traces her childhood experiences of grooming and abuse at a horse stable, the deep love she had for horses, and the long, painful process of understanding how that past shaped her adult life and relationships. Odell moves between her girlhood innocence, where horses offered her comfort and belonging, and the unsettling reality of how her trust was exploited. As she grows into adulthood, she reckons with the trauma, explores how it bled into her marriage and identity, and shows how therapy, reflection, and courage helped her reframe her story.
The writing is vivid, sometimes almost cinematic, and the way Odell describes both the beauty of horses and the darkness of abuse made me feel pulled in two directions at once. There were moments where I found myself smiling at her descriptions of childhood wonder, then seconds later reeling from the cruelty and manipulation woven into those same memories. I admired her honesty, but I also found myself feeling frustrated on her behalf, angry at how easily her vulnerability was taken advantage of, and heartbroken that the safe space she longed for was the same place that hurt her.
What impressed me most was how Odell refuses to simplify her story. She doesn’t paint herself as a perfect victim. She shows her younger self caught in admiration for her abuser, which was difficult to read but also profoundly true. That honesty made the book feel even more important because it illustrates the messy, confusing ways trauma imprints on us. I appreciated the way she linked her past to her marriage struggles later in life, and I found myself pausing often to reflect on how our old, unexamined wounds shape the way we love, fight, and cope.
I would recommend this book to readers who want a deeply personal exploration of trauma and survival, but also to anyone interested in the psychology of how abuse and grooming take root. It’s not an easy read, but it’s an essential one. I think therapists, survivors, and anyone willing to confront hard truths will find it valuable. It left me unsettled and hopeful at the same time, which to me is the mark of a powerful memoir.
Pages: 222 | ASIN : B0D96PPVDQ
Free People Free People
The Lie That Changed Everything is a memoir that blends sharp humour, biting honesty, and painful recollections into a story that feels both chaotic and deeply human. Why was this an important book for you to write?
This book goes right back to the moment that shaped me—a childish lie I swore on my father’s life, followed by his cancer diagnosis. For years, I carried the belief that I had somehow killed him. That single moment of guilt became the thread that ran through my childhood and beyond, influencing how I saw myself, my family, and even my faith.
Writing The Lie That Changed Everything was my way of holding that memory up to the light and finally making sense of it. But it’s not just about trauma—it’s about the absurdity of family life, the strange superstitions that guided us, and the humour that helped me survive. I wanted to show that even in chaos, there’s resilience and laughter, and that being human means carrying contradictions: grief and comedy, shame and love, darkness and light.
How did you decide what to include and leave out in your memoir?
That was one of the most complex parts of the process. Some of my family were opposed to me writing memoirs—both The Hate Game and The Lie That Changed Everything—because it’s difficult to face the dysfunction that runs through our family. But after years of working as a child protection social worker with hundreds of families, I know dysfunction is universal. The difference lies in whether we discuss it or keep it buried.
I chose to write my truth, but I also left things out. Some situations were too private, too sensitive, or simply not mine to tell. Respect was a guiding principle. What’s on the page is my perspective—my memories, my emotions—rather than an exposé. My brother, who is nine years older, helped me fill in gaps from the early years, and between his input and my mother’s knack for remembering everything, I had a wealth of detail to draw from. I’ve been blessed—or cursed—with an elephant’s memory of my own, so much of it was already stored in my brain in glorious technicolour.
In the end, I included what served the story, what illuminated the themes of guilt, resilience, and humour, and what felt authentic to share. A memoir isn’t the whole truth of a life—it’s the truth of a particular journey.
What was the most challenging part of writing your memoir, and what was the most rewarding?
The most challenging part was working through the trauma—breaking the silence I’d carried for decades. I hadn’t told a soul about the grief and guilt that shaped me. Fear and shame kept my story bottled up. Sitting down to write meant opening old wounds, but it also gave me a way to release them.
The most rewarding part has been the liberation that followed. Over the years, I discovered that I could share painful stories and still make people laugh, even in the darkness. Writing allowed me to see my parents in a different light, too. I came to understand how their own trauma defined them, and that gave me compassion instead of just confusion.
Ultimately, the memoir has helped me stop being defined by the same pain. I often say: hurt people hurt people; free people free people. Writing this book was my step into freedom.
What do you hope is one thing readers take away from your story?
I hope readers come away with the sense that it’s possible to carry both laughter and pain in the same story. Life is rarely one-dimensional—grief can sit beside humour, shame beside love, darkness beside resilience. For a long time, I thought my story was only about guilt and trauma, but writing showed me it was just as much about survival, absurdity, and even joy.
I was thrilled with one review that said, “If you enjoyed Angela’s Ashes, you’ll love The Lie That Changed Everything. My late mum’s favourite book of all time was Angela’s Ashes. To be compared with Frank McCourt’s work was very humbling, and my mum would be so chuffed to hear such a compliment.
If readers realise they’re not alone in their chaos: that silence can be broken, that healing can happen through honesty, and that humour can be a lifeline—then the book has fulfilled its purpose.
Author Links: GoodReads | X (Twitter) | Facebook | Website | Amazon
The Lie That Changed Everything is the story of a boy who was made to swear a lie on his father’s life, dreamed of his death, and witnessed it happen.
Trew’s story unfolds with unfiltered honesty and laugh-out-loud British humour as he reflects on a childhood marked by chaos, confusion and unexpected moments of grace. Set in the ’60s and ’70s, across RAF bases, hilarious first kisses and a botched “Ten Pound Pom” migration to Australia, the memoir centers on a mum who could scare the devil with her “scriptures” and a war-hero dad, whose reclusiveness left a heartache that humour alone couldn’t fill.
One little rascal. One very big lie. And one funny, unforgettable ride. Perfect for fans of Sedaris, Angela’s Ashes and The Glass Castle; Trew’s tale is as heartbreaking as it is hilarious.
The Lie That Changed Everything: The Memoir of a Little Rascal
From the first page, Gary Trew makes it clear this is no sugarcoated stroll down memory lane. The Lie That Changed Everything is a memoir that blends sharp humor, biting honesty, and painful recollections into a story that feels both chaotic and deeply human. Trew recounts his early years with a mix of wit and grit, pulling readers through family dysfunction, childhood scrapes, and the bruising aftermath of being raised in a world where love often arrived tangled in trauma. It’s a tale of survival told with an irreverent laugh, even as it shines a light on moments of loneliness, rejection, and heartbreak.
I was taken in almost immediately by Trew’s voice. His writing has a rhythm that swings between wild comedy and gut-punch sadness, and that constant shift kept me hooked. Some chapters had me laughing at his absurd family stories, while others had me pausing to let the weight of what he endured sink in. The mix is unusual, but it works. He doesn’t let the pain take over, and he doesn’t let the jokes cheapen the truth either. At times, I found myself frustrated with the sheer cruelty he describes, but then he’d toss in a line of dark humor, and it felt like sitting in a pub listening to a mate tell a story he can only tell because he survived it.
There were moments where the writing felt a little jagged, but that roughness actually added to the authenticity. It made me feel like I was being trusted with unpolished truths rather than a neatly packaged memoir. I also found myself admiring his willingness to talk about shame, resentment, and fear without dressing them up. His honesty struck me as both brave and disarming. The book reminded me that family histories are rarely tidy, and sometimes the best way to survive them is to laugh at the madness and keep moving forward.
By the time I reached the final chapters, I felt both drained and strangely uplifted. This isn’t a book for someone who wants a gentle or inspirational memoir. It’s for people who appreciate raw honesty, gallows humor, and the messy beauty of a life that didn’t follow the script. If you’ve ever grown up feeling like the odd one out, or if you’re drawn to stories that reveal both the scars and the resilience of childhood, this book will resonate.
Pages: 278 | ASIN : B0FGKN1M47
Don’t Disappoint Daddy: A Story of Abuse, Abortion and Acceptance in the Beloved
This memoir is a raw and unflinching account of childhood trauma, faith, survival, and eventual healing. It follows Elisha through her early years in a military household, where her father’s tyranny casts long shadows over every corner of life. Woven through beatings, verbal degradation, emotional confusion, and heartbreaking loneliness, the story also reveals slivers of hope through her bond with her mother, her growing relationship with God, and the slow, painful process of understanding her own worth.
Elisha’s writing is sharp, honest, and often devastating in its simplicity. She doesn’t try to dress up pain or smooth over the ugly parts. Her memories come to life with vivid emotional detail, pulling you into the child’s perspective. It’s not just a story, it’s an experience. Her use of humor, especially in moments of horror or confusion, is disarming. At times, I caught myself laughing through tears. The book doesn’t try to follow a clean arc or perfect structure, and that’s part of what makes it feel so real. It’s fragmented the way trauma is, and deeply reflective without being preachy.
I found myself angry. A lot. Angry for the child who was never protected. Angry at a society and a church that turned its head from abuse while preaching virtue. But I also felt proud. Watching her grow through those memories, learning to play piano, lead a choir, explore her voice, and find healing, was incredibly moving. Elisha doesn’t write from a place of self-pity. She writes from a place of survival, of transformation. There’s a quiet power in her words. She’s not begging for sympathy. She’s sharing so no one else feels alone.
This book is not for the faint-hearted. But if you’ve ever struggled with a difficult parent, spiritual confusion, or the long road of self-forgiveness, this memoir will speak to you. I’d recommend it for survivors, for adult children of abusive parents, for anyone working through religious trauma, and especially for those who feel like their story might be too ugly to tell. It’s not. Elisha proves that there is strength in telling the truth.
Pages: 143 | ASIN : B0D276HND1
Tell Your Story
Such a Pretty Picture is a devastating and intimate memoir that tells your story of a childhood marked by trauma, silence, and survival. Why was this an important book for you to write?
Like many memoir writers, I started the book with the intention of turning my personal trauma into art, but over time my intention has evolved. I want to use this book to create awareness about the issue of childhood sexual abuse and to give hope to other survivors. I believe that by telling my story I am sending a message to other survivors–letting them know it is okay for them to tell their stories too.
What were some ideas that were important for you to share in this book?
That childhood sexual abuse can occur in any family, no matter how “pretty” things look from the outside.
That love can exist even in the wake of the most profound betrayal.
That childhood sexual abuse or any abuse can have deleterious effects long after the abuse has stopped but that with therapy and support it is possible to heal; find the north star that resides in each of us.
What was the most challenging part of writing your memoir and what was the most rewarding?
My relationship with mother was complicated one of the most challenging parts of writing the book was allowing myself to write honestly about her abuse and her complicity. That secret was almost harder to reveal than the incest.
The most rewarding has come more recently, as part of my publicity I have shared the ARC on Net Galley, Goodreads as well as with Rape Treatment Providers, the comment I hear most often is that memoir will give hope to other survivors. I can’t wait to get the first email or direct message from someone who the book helped.
What do you hope is one thing readers take away from your story?
That even in childhood marked by trauma, growth, healing, and forgiveness are possible.
Author Links: GoodReads | Website
Andrea is four and a half the first time her father, David, gives her a bath. Although she is young, she knows there is something strange about the way he is touching her. When her mother, Marlene, walks in to check on them, she howls and crumples to the floor—and when she opens her eyes, she is blind. Marlene’s hysterical blindness lasts for weeks, but her willful blindness lasts decades. The abuse continues, and Andrea spends a childhood living with a secret she can’t tell and a shame she is too afraid to name.
Despite it, she survives. She builds a life and tells herself she is fine. But at age thirty-three, an unwanted grope on a New York City subway triggers her past. Suddenly unable to remember how to forget, Andrea is forced to confront her past—and finally begin to heal.
This brave debut offers honest insight into a survivor’s journey. Readers will feel Andrea’s pain, her fear, and her shame—yet they will also feel her hope. And like Andrea, they will come to understand an important truth: though healing is complicated, it is possible to find joy and even grace in the wake of the most profound betrayals.
Such a Pretty Picture
Andrea Leeb’s Such a Pretty Picture is a devastating and intimate memoir that tells the story of a childhood marked by trauma, silence, and survival. Set in 1960s and ’70s New York, the book opens with a gut-wrenching scene: a four-year-old Andrea is molested by her father during bath time. Her mother, upon discovering the abuse, collapses and goes temporarily blind—both literally and emotionally. That moment becomes a metaphor for what follows: a house where appearances are cherished, secrets are guarded, and a child is left alone in the fallout. What unfolds is a gripping narrative of emotional abandonment, maternal betrayal, and the long shadow of incest.
Reading this memoir gutted me. Not just because of the trauma Leeb endured, but because of how plainly she lays it bare. She doesn’t use flowery language or metaphors to distance herself—she brings you into the room with her. In Chapter 1, when she says, “The way he touched me felt strange: good but not good,” I felt that sick knot of confusion and fear. What shook me even more was her mother’s reaction—not to rescue, but to disappear. That decision to prioritize denial over protection sets the tone for the emotional cruelty that follows.
Leeb’s mother, Marlene, is portrayed with brutal honesty. She’s fragile, vain, jealous, and deeply wounded, but also dangerous in her indifference. You feel Andrea’s heartbreak not in screams, but in those small silences where a child should have been loved and wasn’t. The mother’s obsession with order and appearances, like matching pink nightgowns or birthday parties, just made the contrast sharper. I found myself mourning what Andrea never had more than anything she lost.
The darkest chapter for me was Chapter 6. Andrea, still a child, tapes her mouth shut, stuffs cotton in her nose and ears, and lies in bed trying to suffocate herself. Her suicide attempt is not melodramatic; it’s quiet, methodical, almost innocent in its execution. All she wants is for her mother to love her again. And when her mother finally holds her and says, “My poor baby. What have I done to you?”—You feel hope. But deep down, you know it’s just a pause before the next wave of pain. That’s the emotional rhythm of this book: brief tenderness followed by long stretches of ache.
This book is brutal. It’s heavy. But it’s honest in a way few memoirs are. It doesn’t try to make pain pretty. It doesn’t ask for pity. Andrea Leeb writes like someone who has lived through hell and made it her mission to tell the truth. I’d recommend this memoir to survivors, to those who work with trauma, and to anyone who’s ever wondered how abuse hides behind closed doors.
Pages: 256 | ASIN : B0DWYSSLL6
