Scary. Exhilarating. Powerful. Heartbreaking. Painful. Honoring.

Those six words describe what it was like to write my memoir, But He Said He Loved Me. People often ask me what the writing process was like, expecting me to talk about publishing, editing, or finding a publisher. While those were certainly part of the journey, the real experience went much deeper.

Writing this memoir meant reopening a chapter of my life that I had kept hidden for more than two decades.

Scary

Writing But He Said He Loved Me was one of the scariest decisions I have ever made.

Even when I co-founded my nonprofit, Love Doesn’t Hurt Inc., it didn’t compare to the fear I felt while preparing to publish my memoir. People knew I had been in an abusive relationship, but they didn’t know what had actually happened. They didn’t know the details I had carried silently for so many years.

The moment I committed to rewriting my manuscript and signed with a publisher, everything became real.

What made it so frightening wasn’t the writing itself. It was knowing that I was about to reveal the secrets I had buried for decades—the moments I had never spoken aloud, the memories I had worked so hard to keep tucked away.

At that point, only two people had ever read my story in its entirety: my husband and my dad, who had passed away two years earlier.

I was afraid of reliving those painful memories. I was afraid of being judged. I was afraid of how people would see me after they knew the whole truth.

But fear no longer got to make my decisions.

Exhilarating

There were also moments of pure joy.

I kept thinking, I’m writing a book. I’m actually doing this after 22 years.

That realization filled me with excitement.

I wasn’t simply telling my story. I was taking one of the most painful experiences of my life and transforming it into something that could help someone else feel seen.

There were moments when I questioned myself.

Who am I to write this book?

Then I would remind myself that I am a survivor. I am the co-founder of a nonprofit dedicated to ending teenage dating violence. More importantly, I am someone who understands what it feels like to believe you’re completely alone.

If my story could help even one person realize the abuse wasn’t their fault, then every difficult page would be worth writing.

Powerful

There is something incredibly powerful about refusing to stay silent.

For years, my story lived only inside me. Writing it down gave it a voice that could never again be taken away.

Abuse thrives in silence.

By publishing this memoir, I was doing the very thing abuse fears most—I was speaking out.

During the writing process, I talked with my counselor about how my former boyfriend might react if he learned about the book. At first, I worried about what he might think or do.

But by the end of that conversation, something had shifted.

I remember saying, “I wish he would.”

He no longer gets to control my voice.

He doesn’t get to have an opinion about the truth of what happened to me.

The teenage Anna he tried to silence no longer exists.

The woman I am today protects her.

I am no longer afraid.

Heartbreaking

Although many years have passed since the abuse, writing brought those memories rushing back.

Not as distant recollections.

As experiences I could still feel.

As I wrote, I was reminded of just how much pain that teenage girl carried. Looking back now—with years of healing, counseling, and understanding—I see how much she endured.

I understand the cycle of abuse.

I understand trauma.

I understand why leaving wasn’t as simple as people often believe.

Most of all, I understand that I was just a child trying to survive something no teenager should ever have to experience.

Now that I’m a mother of three, remembering what my younger self carried breaks my heart even more. I think about my own children and realize just how young I truly was.

Painful

Writing this memoir was emotionally exhausting.

There were days when tears quietly fell onto my keyboard.

Other days, the emotions came in waves that completely overwhelmed me.

Sometimes I had to stop writing because my body simply couldn’t carry any more.

My husband, working upstairs, would hear me crying through the floor even while he was on work calls wearing headphones. Those moments reminded me how deeply grief can remain stored within us, even years after we’ve begun healing.

The tears were necessary.

The grief needed somewhere to go.

But releasing it left me completely drained.

I couldn’t write every day. Sometimes I needed days—or even weeks—before I could return to the manuscript.

Healing doesn’t happen on a schedule.

Neither did writing this book.

Honoring

Perhaps the greatest gift this memoir gave me was the chance to honor the girl I used to be.

For a long time, I was ashamed of teenage Anna.

I questioned her choices.

I wondered why she stayed.

I blamed her for things that were never her fault.

Today, I see her differently.

I see a fifteen-year-old girl who kept going despite unimaginable circumstances.

She earned good grades.

She played basketball and softball.

She worked after school and on weekends.

She coached basketball.

From the outside, she looked like everything was fine.

No one saw the weight she carried.

Today, I don’t judge her.

I admire her.

I am proud of her.

I love her.

That teenage girl survived.

She no longer has to carry those memories alone.

She lives safely with me now, and I will spend the rest of my life protecting and caring for her.

Writing But He Said He Loved Me wasn’t just about publishing a memoir.

It was about breaking decades of silence.

It was about reclaiming my voice.

It was about honoring the teenager who fought so hard to survive and ensuring that her story might help someone else find the courage to tell their own.

If sharing my story helps even one person realize they are not alone, then every tear, every difficult memory, and every fearful step was worth it.