Chapter Eight

Years go by in that house for years on end. This would be my hell loop if hell were a real place. Imagine sharing a space with someone who constantly berated your character. Every time we disagreed, I was told that I had no right to voice my thoughts or feelings, that they could tell me whatever they wanted, and that I should just accept their superiority.

It takes a truly repulsive person, in my opinion, to tell someone that they are not permitted to feel emotions. I was always told this by her husband. At this point, I was on the verge of detesting him more than her. It was similar to a cake, with the first layer being insults and criticism and the second tier being the declaration that you had no right to self-defense. Every time she committed a violation or visited the child's teacher without authorization, this procedure was triggered.

My life was rescued when I began to write, and becoming an author gave me a new lease on life. It gave me a sense of identity and purpose. Not the following, though I am grateful for them. I have a higher number of followers than I ever had pals. But even just my status as a writer. I am not garbage, I am not worthless or useless. My self-esteem began to recover after that. Yes, I couldn't afford childcare with four kids. I can do this on the side, and I truly enjoy it, I love writing.

Naturally, though, my neighbors looked down upon it. It's unfortunate, the two of them informed me that it's not a real profession. I was even told by my neighbor that the sole reason you are a published novelist is that you spend all day in that house. And her husband said to me, "Let me tell you, you're probably not going to have any bestsellers."

When I published a book, my neighbor got incredibly upset, and I finally realized why: all those people who went about calling me trash and a foolish person saw that I had done something that plenty of other people hadn't. I had stuck a magnet promoting my first book on our car, and she went and took it overnight.

So tell me, quit advertising that book that's embarrassing, it's not embarrassing to be an author. She was jealous. She was upset because I had done something she never could!