On November 9th, I will release my memoir Out From the Shadows. This should be a moment of triumph and celebration after four years of struggling to reach this point. It should be, but it’s not.

I expected this book to be not much different from writing any of my fiction books, only easier because the story is already in my head. Well, it wasn’t easier and definitely not anything like writing fiction. I’ve already documented my struggles to write the memoir and how the process exposed me to buried memories and trauma. The writing process also made me realize that I have been running away from my past. I’ve stopped running, and the past has caught up with me.

I’ve been outspoken about my family’s history, the Holocaust, trauma and mental health. That also comes at a cost. The reaction from family, friends and social media followers has been extremely positive and supportive. I’ve been called so many wonderful things and treated like a mini-celebrity. I’m referred to as strong, courageous, a role model, resilient, respected, and much more.

I feel none of these things. I only feel broken and in constant survival mode. Anxiety pulsates through my body until I’m overwhelmed. I hate the pity from those who see me struggle. I keep hoping this nightmare I’m living will finally come to an end. Most of all, I regret writing a book that turned my life upside down. I would love to turn back the clock and go back to 2019 when I believed that intergenerational trauma happened to other descendants of survivors but not me.

But I can’t go back. So, each day, I pick up the pieces and attempt to move forward without stumbling. I’m no hero. I don’t want to be a hero. I just want my life back.