Why I Tell the Hardest Part of My Story

People ask me some version of this question almost every time I speak: "Why would you put that in a book? Why would you stand on a stage and say it out loud?"

For a long time, I didn't have a good answer. I just knew I had to.

Writing From Stilettos to Grace meant going back into rooms I'd spent years trying to seal shut, the abuse, the years in exotic dancing, the version of me that believed she was only ever worth what someone was willing to pay for her. I wasn't ready to be that honest in print. I'm not sure anyone ever fully is.

But somewhere in the writing, I realized the silence had never actually protected me. It just made sure I carried the weight of it alone. And if I was still carrying it, I knew there were women in this city, in your city, carrying the exact same weight right now, convinced no one would understand if they said it out loud.

So the book isn't really about what happened to me. It's about what's possible after. It's proof, on paper, that the mess doesn't get the final word.

If you're holding a chapter of your story you've never told anyone, you don't have to publish it. You don't have to stand on a stage. But I hope you'll find one person to say it to out loud, because that's usually where the healing actually starts, not in the silence, in the saying.