“I’m a writer.”
“What do you write about?” It’s a question I can’t avoid at a party or social function.
Sometimes, depending on the emotional climate, I respond with, “Do you really want to know?” Most times, I go for it, “Sexual Abuse,” I say.
The conversation either rolls forward fast and furious or it falls flat—next question, please.
I’m not ashamed of what I write about. It’s my passion. Knowing something I pen may bring a smidge of encouragement to a survivor or an ounce of education to an adult on how to protect children, fills me with joy. And it gives me the courage to continue to write and answer the question.
But sometimes the joy gets overshadowed by heaviness.
I read a summary of the prosecution for the Sandusky trial this morning. I’ve felt a mix of anger and sadness all afternoon. So much hurt. So much pain.
I wonder how the jurors are doing emotionally as they listen to details of abuse they could never have imagined possible. How are the witnesses holding up who are speaking words in public that they can barely utter in private? I wonder.
But these things I know: These brave men, these witnesses, will inspire me to continue to write and answer the question.
And joy will come.