![]() ![]() So in the thick of the crisis, I journaled, and then I sketched an outline of things to share, and eventually I made cassette tapes of events I wanted to remember when I started my memoir.Īt first, I thought the trickiest part about writing my memoir was deciding where to end it. I knew that this story was one to be shared, one day with my daughters, and with other women wanting to break out of their own intergenerational patterns of abuse. This is a story, and it will have a happy ending. I knew that my stoic ways had helped me through a turbulent childhood of my own, punctuated with family violence and my own childhood kidnapping, would carry me through. ![]() ![]() I wanted to write a book about bringing my daughters home. ![]() Why does she stay? Here’s why: Because sometimes, the cost of leaving is incalculable. It was the answer to the only question asked when a woman was abused. My daughters’ kidnapping was a continuation of leaving an abusive relationship. It was 1995, and I had just returned to Alaska from Greece after my first failed attempt to rescue my kidnapped daughters, taken by their non-custodial father a year earlier. “You should be glad you didn’t get your girls back yet,” a friend told me while we were in line at a coffee shop. ![]()
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