Why I Wrote This Book

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Hardship. No one likes it. We try to avoid it by pursuing happiness and stability - all the wonderful things we hope to gain. Yet trials inevitably come. They’re part of this wild, amazing, gut-wrenching human experience.

Trials transform us if we let them. They take our rough-hewn selves and polish them into masterpieces. Trials don't make us perfect, but they give us texture. They allow us to feel the weight of another’s burden because we know the weight of our own.

When that happens, we start showing up for ourselves. We remember we’re beautiful and powerful. That we’re only here for a short time. That we have reasons.

I don’t know your reasons. That’s the beauty - we all get different ones. Mine is showing up for others. That’s why I’m sharing my story.

Dad, Mom, Jehovah, and Me is a memoir about growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness yet reaches far beyond the walls of the Kingdom Hall. It navigates physical and mental illness, suicide, religious control. Yet these topics are not the tragedy; they’re the crucible.

To forge the story within that fire, I had to be raw. The book is deeply personal. Sometimes it gets ugly. In sharing, I offer not just confession but pieces of myself - shortcomings included. They're given with profound care. I trust you to receive them gracefully - their truth, however uncomfortable, may help you navigate your own life.

For Jehovah’s Witness: If you are brave enough, let me offer a mirror. See the struggle of fitting your mind into a mold it was never made for. Notice the rationalization of doctrines that contradict themselves. Feel the justification for staying despite the doubt.

For ex-Witnesses: Your curious mind is valuable. You don’t need to carry guilt. You’re damn strong for walking away from a religion that punishes dissenters with ostracism. You have the power to reclaim a story once told for you.

For anyone else: May this story help you find the courage to break from the familiar - to claim your life against religious, familial, and societal expectations. In doing so, recognize your power: the strength rising through loss.

This is the story I wasn't supposed to tell.

Now I'm handing it to you.