It has been one year this weekend, friends.

One year has passed since My Laura and I laid eyes on each other after a thirty-five-year separation. A separation over which we had no choice.

One year has passed since I stood on the train station platform with my heart beating like crazy waiting for her to step off the car so I could hug her again.

One year has passed since she and I curled up in front of a roaring fire with tea and warm blankets and finally found all of those missing pieces to the puzzles of our lives.

One year has passed since we sported our white “Invincible” coats and stood camera ready for My Michael to capture a moment we would never forget.


One year has passed since we ventured to Carlisle to find his grave.

One year has passed since I hurled behind a dumpster.

One year since we met Officer Paul Smith, our hero.


Everybody’s hero.

One year since we learned that there was, at least, one other little girl he abused.

One year has passed since we held her momma and cried together.

And from that one year that has passed to this very moment

THOUSANDS have said, “ME TOO!”  

We founded Say It, Survivor. 

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Officer Paul Smith

Chief Fisher

The beautiful girl’s Momma

Susan Elsbree

Michael Ross

S.I, Rosenbaum

Brian Stauffer


My children

My Dearest Clare, who has been my closest pal since age 14 who knew my secret from the start

Friends, family and everybody has read Marymorphosis, shared, offered kindness and love


That’s all.



Here is our story. And our story happened here, in our backyard.


Boston Magazine, October 2015 “How to Bring a Dead Man to Justice.”

You may think our story is powerful, impactful or moving.  Maybe it is. The sad truth is that our story is NOTHING SPECIAL.

The only thing different about our story is that we are telling it. Shamelessly.

Our story is a common one shared by one in five people. The details of our story may be unique. But the underlying theme is a constant. It happens all around us. Everyday.

All. The. Time.

There are the victims:  mothers, daughters, sons, best friends, neighbors, teachers, bullies, babysitters. It happens here in The Bean, in the penthouse in NYC, on the set of reality TV, in Hollywood, in Tulsa and on the freaking Cosby Show. (I used to LOVE that show.)

And then there are the perpetrators: grandfathers, sons, brothers, actors, mothers, sisters, tennis pros, clergy, best friends, bosses, politicians, actors, professional athletes, boyfriends, girlfriends, college football coaches and on and on.

You name it.

Cut it out, for the love of Pete.  It is time for us to speak up.

Sexual abuse has no place. It is criminal, It is traumatic. It is life altering.

It lurks.

There is a mask that exists. That mask says, “Everything is great.”

It thrives on “Don’t tell. “or ” This is our little secret.”

It threatens, “No one will believe you.” or “I will hurt you if you say anything.”

It deceives, “This is NORMAL.”

STOP is a complete sentence, everybody.


Please help us in our mission to put an end to this abuse. Jump on board, everyone.


That’s All.

It is Time to Tell Your Story- Announcing Say it, Survivor.

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They tried to bury us…they didn’t know we were seeds.

-Mexican Proverb

Today is the day that we have been waiting for- “we” meaning my cousin Laura and I.

Thirty-five years ago Laura told her mother what our grandpa did to her. That gave me the nudge to speak up and tell the adults in my life that he was doing it to me, too.


I lost my childhood to a monster who was supposed to love me and protect me. Instead, he violated and robbed me. My innocence was sacrificed by his need for domination and power.


I was just a little, little girl.

And then, also because of him, I lost my dear cousin, Laura. We never saw each other after we spoke up.

The impact that my abuse has had on my life has been monumental. My abuse has played a starring role the choices and decisions I have made. What he did to me changed the way I saw the world.

I was busted.

But my abuse made me resilient, too. My abuse forced me to move onward. I had something to prove, or so I thought.

Then the strangest thing happened last Thanksgiving.

Out of the blue, I had a strong urge to find Laura. And I did, that night, thanks to Facebook.

Re-connecting has changed our lives. Just in ten months the enormous processing and healing we have experienced together has been overwhelming. It has been by the grace of God.IMG_2907

This was taken the morning after we reunited.

We went to the Carlisle Police Station, and Officer Paul Smith sat with us. He heard us. He believed us. He documented what we said about our abuse.

Thank you, Officer Paul. We will never, ever forget your kindness.


Me, Officer Paul and Laura

Then, Laura wrote about what happened to us, and hundreds said “Me too.” Other talented and soulful authors re-posted.Thank you, thank you, thank you to Glennon Doyle Melton and Jen Hatmaker for sharing our story. It is in great part because of you that we connected with such a community of survivors.

Our story has been published in the October 2015 issue of Boston Magazine, which is on newsstands now. The online version will be available soon. Thank you S.I.! Working with you has been an outstanding experience.


What happened to me as a child was horrible.  It was criminal. I was so lonely and felt so lost all the time. But there is something so incredible about what has happened as a result of us speaking out.

The number of survivors who joined in saying “ME TOO!” was overwhelming. Thank you to everyone who has offered support and kindness  to us but more importantly,  to those who have had the bravery to say, “ME TOO.” You are courageous, and you have strength and are resilient.

No one can mute our collective voices. Right?

We are a community of survivors. And although the common denominator that we share is terrible, in coming together as a community we can do great things.

There is strength, power and healing in community.

And there is something to be said about taking lemons and making lemonade, everybody. And that is just what we are doing.

Laura and I have decided to put our pain to work.  We have given it a job. We have resolved to tell our stories to all who will listen and encourage others to do so as well.

Because, you know what? This violent, destructive epidemic continues to fester in the dark. It will continue to manifest until we shine a light on it, everyone. Let’s flip that switch.

So, Laura and I have founded Say it, Survivor.


Say It, Survivor,  offers guided writing workshops for survivors of sexual abuse. We bring a community of survivors together, and we work as facilitators helping them to process and tell their stories they way they wish and on their terms

Through Say It, Survivor, we bring our message of awareness and prevention to women’s groups, parents’ groups, and law enforcement by offering public speaking engagements.

Please visit us.


Here comes the sun!

Click here to read our original posts


That’s All.

My Strongly Worded Letter to WORDPRESS

Dear WordPress,

I love to write my blog!  Thank you for helping me to spread my message to whoever is willing to listen.  One would think that after five months of writing,  I would have the hang of maneuvering the site.

One would think.

So, Wordpress, do you have a suggestion box? Because, I have a suggestion.

For the second time since I started writing in April, I inadvertently hit the “Publish” tab instead of the “Save Draft” tab on my post.

Hey! I wasn’t DONE!

Why did you design your site so that these tabs are RIGHT next to each other?  It just seems, well, mean.

As you may know, some writers like to write and revise and write and revise. And so forth and so on.  And sometimes, writers such as myself,  see something sparkly!  And then, all of a sudden, we drift off in another direction and hit the wrong button:  “Publish.” not “Save Draft.”

There is no going back. There are sentence fragments, typos, dumb examples and, well, sometimes, there is pure stupidity flying all around the internet and popping into readers’ inboxes. And that is just wrong. And unfair. And a bad joke.

We all know that when someone walks out of the restroom with TP on their shoe we are supposed to WARN that person. That is the kind thing to do.

Earlier today I sent my TP out into the world, and you did not even warn me!

I am just saying.

Here is my suggestion:

Will you kindly move the two tabs so that they are not next to each other. At all. Anywhere. As a matter of fact, it would be super if they were on separate pages altogether.

And, if you could require a password to publish a post that would be a dream.

And maybe, while you are at it, you could make the tabs flashing colors- like red for “publish” and green for “save draft?”

Even better, maybe you could send a warning saying, “Are you sure you want to publish your not finished, riddled-with-errors, incoherent and senseless piece? Because if you do, there are going to be a lot of folks scratching their heads out there.”

Thanks for listening, WordPress.

I am about to hit “Publish.”

Here I go…

Stop me if you want…

Yep, I am SURE…….!

That’s all.

Things that Blow My Dress Up


Sleeping under my duvet on a crisp night with the window open so my nose is cold

That tight feeling on my skin after a sunscreen-y, salty and sandy day

Creamed. Spinach. Anytime. Oh. My. Goodness.

Reading a paperback book that gets wet and then dries to be twice its size

Chugging a super cold Coors Light after mowing the lawn- and the little burp that ensues. It is a little bit hysterical.

Women who accept and love and refuse to judge. They are angels of God.

My untamed hair on a beach day.  It is wild and curly and crazy and fits in.  Cause usually, it doesn’t.

Jumping into the pool with my gross and dirty clothes on after working like a dog in the yard on a 90-degree day.

The smell of burgers grilling

My August feet- I am pretty sure  I could walk through fire with them.

I found my cousin.  I never thought I would see her again.

When my guests ask me for the recipe of something I served at a dinner party. And they wait until I give it to them before they leave.

My in-laws.  They make me happy. They make me feel loved.

My daily morning kiss on my forehead from My Michael.

REGINA PIZZA. Cheese. Red pepper flakes. A little sprinkle of salt. God is Good.

A raspberry lime rickey

My snakeskin cowboy boots

My morning walks with Dex

Cooking. All the time. Period.

The fact that I just looked over and saw My Michael busting a move to the Bee Gees.  I wish you were here. Now. To see him.  All your troubles would momentarily disappear.

Laughing so hard that my Pepsi comes out of my nose

That’s all.


Join Laura and me!

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My cousin, Laura, and I are looking for Massachusetts area survivors of sexual abuse who are interested in participating in a half-day workshop that we are offering on September 25. The workshop will take place in the 495 area, convenient to routes 3, 128, 95,93 and the Mass Pike.

This event is free of charge and space is limited.

To register, please contact me at marymorphosis@gmail.com

That’s all.

After “MEAN”-ing. A Loving Message

My friends, following is a timely and beautiful piece posted on one of my favorite blogs, Momastary.

What perfect timing!  The topic of one of my recent posts was about bullying. Thanks, G for this letter.


I experienced it. My cousin, Laura experienced it. Now, my son suffers from it.

Please. Please. Please.

Talk to your children. Read this letter to your kids. Glennon gives her permission to substitute her son’s name with your child’s.  We can minimize bullying by being aware and educating our children on what this means and what it feels like to victims.

Glennon is inspiring. She is full of love. She brings good into this world.

We connect with Glennon. Glennon connects with us.  Want to know why? She is vulnerable, honest, real, and she offers a full heart. Consistently.

My cousin, Laura, turned me on to her. Laura took me to see her.

Here is Laura, our friend, Jessica and I waiting in great anticipation for G to arrive at The Old South Church in Boston. Glennon more than delivered.


Then, by choice, the three of us waited at the very end of the line of many, many women to say hello to G.  It was worth the wait. We loved being last.

Glennon’s sister Amanda was by her side. What lucky women. They have each other. And they share full hearts collectively with all. And they make a difference.


Glennon says, “Love Wins.”

She is so very right. And so is Amanda.

Thank you, both.

Right on!

That’s all