People ask who I am, and the truth is, I’ve been a mother longer than I’ve been anything else.

I was born in South Philly, the oldest of four girls, in a rowhome that smelled like spaghetti and vodka martinis. I married young. Waitressed before that. Moved more times than I care to count. Of all the places we landed, I loved Virginia best. Harrisonburg felt like home in a way no other place ever did.

I’ve raised a big family—five children, if you asked me out loud. More, if you knew where to look. I loved each one differently, but fiercely.

Most of my life, I kept quiet. That was the job, in a way. A good wife knows when to hold her tongue, and a good mother carries the weight so her kids don’t have to. I’m not saying that was right. I’m just saying that’s what I did.

There are things I never said. Things I never could.

But silence isn’t the same as peace.

If you’re reading this, maybe the truth found its way to you anyway.