Sara McGrath

Take 20% off your next order thru Jan 20

2012-01-16T10:36:00.000-08:00

Save 20% on any order thru Jan 20. Use code: PRICETHAW305.

My brilliant memoirs

2011-11-07T16:49:00.000-08:00

(Update: Wow! I sold a lot of memoirs this month. I can't decide if I'm excited or terrified.)

The sales rank for my memoirs of a strange little girl has been none too shabby lately, so I figure that's all the more reason to promote it.

With reviewers complementing the refreshing, honest, and "Brilliant!" telling of my story and asking "Why haven't you won awards for your work??" you wonder, don't you?

The Kindle version is only $.99.

I celebrate death, because I love my life, my family

2011-10-22T10:03:00.001-07:00

I celebrate death every day, because sometimes that's what it takes to remind me of what's really important in life.

I have a few experiences from my own life, which I'll share, and a few borrowed from others that inspire me to deeply value every moment with my loved ones.

A story about a mom who held her baby for 42 minutes has stayed with me since the first time I read it just after giving birth to my second baby. "In 42 minutes everything about life and death can change..." I read the story again every so often and just cry and feel grateful.

My relationship with death began when I died just after my nineteenth birthday. I was revived, obviously since this isn't a channeled message from beyond, but it was a good time to die. I was living a reckless life, in a reckless marriage, no kids yet, so I peacefully, painfully took my leave and resurrected myself.

I'd been saying I was marking time for the whole of my young adulthood, but I realized that I wasn't. My life was passing while I waited for it to begin.

I'd been wanting to start a family since I was 7 years old, so I was eager to get started when I met my second husband who obviously had the makings of a great father. Thus followed a couple years and several miscarriages before we gratefully got pregnant with our first daughter who had a birth defect of her kidney.

In "Notes from a Dragon Mom," Emily Rapp made the point that "Parenting advice is, by its nature, future-directed..." but how do you parent a child for whom there is no future? This is worth really thinking about. "Traditional parenting naturally presumes a future where the child outlives the parent..." This presumption that the future is what matters could be your worst mistake.

My father died unexpectedly when he was 50. I'd moved 300 miles away from home. My two babies and I hadn't seen him in months. His death, the death of my childhood, prompted further rearranging of my priorities. I wrote my memoirs then. Plus, I realized that it's true--those we love never really leave us.

This is magnified every time my youngest daughter smiles his familiar smile. She was born after he died, but she reminds me of him in so many ways.

Nowadays, I cherish every moment my husband and children are alive. We're on familiar terms with the local emergency responders, because my husband nearly dies regularly. He's an aging Type 1 diabetic and we've always known that his life is maintained by alchemy, so his presence in our lives has always been magical.

When I cry over life losses, I do so with gratitude in my tears. The future is no place for love. This moment always matters most.

(Cross-post from unschoolinglifestyle.com)

I've just finished a new fiction book, Hard Times

2011-08-27T10:23:00.000-07:00

I've been playing with this book off-and-on over the past 7 years. I say playing, because it began as an exercise with words and taboo. I didn't know if it would ever really become a finished book. As it is, I think it could continue as a series. Here's the author's note, which gives an explanation of how the book came to be.

In case you’re wondering, this book is an exercise in taboo, a challenge I issued to my prudish self. I simply said: I’m going to write about sex. The strange story you’re about to read ensued.

Why did I wish to challenge myself in this way? As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I’ve experienced plenty of ugliness and discomfort around the subject. I have reason for my sometimes prudish responses.

Nonetheless, this writing has been therapeutic. I know it could be uncomfortable for some, as it initially was for me–well fine, it still is–but I’m glad I did it. Not to mention, it was fun calling out the various aspects of my personality–the wounded and the wild innocent–and playing with them.

Enjoy, or run. Do what you need to do.

Find out more: Hard Times: They hurt like the dickens. The Kindle (only $.99) and eBook (only $1.99) are available. The paperback will be ready soon.

Feeling alone, repost

2011-07-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

I accept that I live within an insane culture, but I refuse to assimilate. Excommunication, however, leaves me wanting.

My story, briefly
I realized at a young age that I did not fit in. I was born to an unconventional teenaged, drug-addicted mother and a feral, forest-dwelling father. It was the Seventies--think wraparound skirts, bell-bottoms, The Mamas and the Papas. My mom named me after a sad Bob Dylan song. Although my young parents were loving, well-intentioned people from broken, abusive families, bad things happened.

I've never really known what it feels like to belong within mainstream culture. I didn't have a pink childhood bedroom. Mine had drug paraphernalia in it and I was regularly robbed of my treasures by my mom's "friends." I rarely attended the same school for longer than a year. We were on the run from my first step-dad throughout much of my childhood. Still am, really. (It's all in my memoirs, everything no one wants to know.)
(It's satisfying to have a self-serving blog again. I haven't kept a personal-style journal in years.)

Aberrant childrearing (theirs or mine?)
Flash forward. The *super*natural mother that I am now didn't know a thing about giving birth when she found herself pregnant for the first time eight years ago. Strange now (three natural births later) to think that I even considered joining the medically-managed childbirth party line, let alone the cascade of uncaring choices that typically follow along a woman's journey into motherhood (my first daughter's birth story is in a book by that name, full of inspiring natural birth stories.)

My roundabout, unclearly-defined point, I suppose, is that I do not understand this culture despite being born into it, sort of. In other words, most Western-culture childrearing, family life practices seem aberrant and uncaring to me. They don't come naturally.

Typical mothers come together to complain about the responsibilities of caring for their babies. They look for ways around meeting their baby's most basic needs (i.e., breastfeeding, sense of safety and comfort, authentic human interaction.) They ask, "How can I deal with this inconvenience?" I say, "Look into your baby's eyes. How can you not meet that need?" Sometimes I wonder how many mothers realize that their babies are thinking, feeling beings just like everyone.

I can only guess that this widespread indifference to babies' needs is conditioned and reinforced by cultural design. As a Seventies counterculture refugee, I missed the class.
For all her faults, my mother unconditionally loved me. She made clear to me and my siblings that love and happiness were more important than anything. I brought that into my mothering practice, along with some definite ideas on how not to parent. My mother did not give me any experience fitting into mainstream culture, and glad I am for that.

Leave me alone, then
I did not set out to live an unconventional life (if that was at all avoidable.) In fact, I feel decidedly uncomfortable attracting attention to myself (perhaps after years tagging along behind a heavily tattooed, barefoot, braless mom.) Nonetheless, I could not act against my dearly held, instinctual values to seek love, peace, joy, and happiness in whatever form they happen to take.

In my way, I feel happier with the addition of each child. Love expounds. It really does. But I'm still lonely within the larger community. The nuclear family isolates, but the unconventional nuclear family is like a desert island.

When unconventional women such as myself complain about loneliness, we're told to abandon our babies and prioritize adult time and seek a life for ourselves. That's an adulterated concept, if you ask me. I live a life together with my mate and our children.

Can you imagine a life in which children are integrated (welcomed, valued, cherished) rather than one in which the parents are constantly trying to figure out who to leave the children with so they can do adult things? I've long been lonely for a circle of supportive families with joy in mind, but I would rather remain alone than "belong" to this culture that separates and punishes everyone.

So, if you're concerned about the well-being of me and my children, because we live atypically together, and you'd feel much better if I got a stroller and pushed the children off to day-prison and headed off to earn a slave wage so I could get my hair done and go clubbing with the other moms--for my own sanity, I must say, "bye bye."

I'm not anti-social. I'm authentically social. Therein lies the problem. (I get a little bitter sometimes. You wouldn't want to hear the judgments random strangers make about my choices for a happy together family.)

(Reposted from an old blog.)

Join the Memoir Mania Blog Hop

2011-07-27T12:59:00.000-07:00

Have you written a memoir or autobiography? If so, you're invited to add your memoir-related blog post to the Memoir Mania Blog Hop.

Join the Hop:

Add your blog post address. Click here to enter.
Add the Linky code to your blog post. Get the code.
Help us get the word out by adding the Blog Hop button to your blog.

Grab the Button: Simply copy and past the text from the text box.

CSA Survivor Says 'Unschooling is the Opposite of Child Abuse'

2011-07-18T11:12:00.000-07:00

I'm not saying that unschooling is for everyone. What I am saying is that unschooling is not child abuse, and I would know.

I'm a 34-year-old unschooling mom with three daughters. I love my life now, but inside me the buried remains of an abused child come to the surface each time I read a sad news story about a child mistreated (whether heinous or mundane).

You don't need me to retell the horror stories--like mine--that leave no doubt about abuse, but what about the the everyday callous and unjust treatment of children?

I remember reading about a young man put out on the street in a sandwich board sign as a punishment for disobedience. Public humiliation. People in droves were patting his parents on the back. I felt so sad for the boy. I don't even remember what he did, but it wasn't anything uncommon for a teen.

When I hear unschooling described as child abuse, it hits a nerve.

The misery, hopelessness, and powerless I felt as a child directly influenced my love of unschooling.

The unschooling approach to homeschooling--or more accurately, living in partnership with children--honors each individual child's authenticity and autonomy. Unschooling parents don't force or coerce, threaten or humiliate their children in the name of discipline or education.

I loved the idea of unschooling from the moment I discovered it in John Holt's books. My first daughter was a baby at the time and I was trying somewhat desperately to find the most loving, respectful way to support her, raise her, and meet her educational needs as she stepped out into the world.

The school atmosphere was impersonal at best, cruel at worst.

I wanted my little girl to feel loved, understood, respected, trusted, and deeply cared about. I wanted her to feel confident and courageous. I didn't feel that way in school. The school atmosphere was impersonal at best, cruel at worst. And I'm not just talking about the other kids. The teachers were mean.

I was a withdrawn, shy, sad little girl. My teachers often interpreted my demeanor as suspect. My first grade teacher took me in the bathroom and searched through my clothing when another child's bracelets went missing. That continued for days until I finally told my mom.

The elementary school counselor told me I was "sick," and I knew he meant sick in the head, but I didn't know why. I just knew that people didn't like me. They thought I was strange.

Looking back, I see that I was clearly demonstrating to the world that I was abused. But no one wanted to see.

Teachers are trained to recognize the signs of child abuse. I've heard this argument against homeschooling, as if homeschoolers never leave home. I was a "mandatory reporter" myself when I worked in day care. I made several reports, but nothing came of the shallow investigations.

I have encountered so many abused children through my work and none of them were homeschooled. Homeschoolers are a minority of families. Why should they be singled out for suspicion?

People feel uncomfortable with that level of commitment.

Parents like myself who choose to take responsibility for their children's whole upbringing--including education--demonstrate a high level of commitment and concern for their children. But that's an unconventional choice.

It's like breastfeeding. Many people feel uncomfortable with that level of commitment. They fear that you might be judging them simply by choosing differently.

I believe that schooling is inherently abusive. By definition, it's about making kids do things whether they want to or not. It's about coercion, manipulation, bribes, threats, and punishments. Public humiliation. Forced competition.

Unschooling is the opposite of abuse. Unschooling is not-schooling. It's about love and respect for the individual whole child. It's what every child deserves.

Related:
Why I unschool my children
My Unschooling Journey
Alone in an insane culture

To all of you who've enjoyed my books...

2011-07-17T20:52:00.001-07:00

Thank you for supporting my writing <3

If you feel inspired, please add a short review or words of support at Amazon, Lulu, Barnes & Noble, the Apple iBookstore, and anywhere else you may have seen them listed. This would be a great help.

eBook Deals
I've lowered all eBook prices.
Find out how to get my eBooks for half price.
Free eBook series on Homeschooling Types.

Why do we write these "misery memoirs"?

2011-07-17T18:55:00.000-07:00

Why would anyone want to read about another person's horrible childhood?

One reason: Because our stories are bigger than ourselves.

I read other people's memoirs to feel less alone than I felt when I was growing up. I felt absolutely alone--cut off and different from the rest of humanity. I wrote my own story to extend that same hand to others.

I wrote memoirs of a strange little girl to put my stories into a form that would allow me to sort through my thoughts and feelings, identify and bring them to consciousness, explore them, and to see the bigger picture ~ my life is more than the abuse. For a long, long time I identified strongly with the victim role.

In my article, Child Abuse: How to Move On, I discussed moving beyond identifying as victim, vulnerable, ruined, etc.

The healing process for abuse that occurs during childhood can follow a long, hard road. Many people never escape. They lead lives full of pain, mired in the past. However, those of us who keep seeking something that feels better can become freer and freer as we move forward into a happier life.

I wrote my story, in part, to accept and release its hold on me. I also wrote it to show that one is not doomed to suffer until death, irreparably broken, or any of the other ways I once described myself.

I read memoirs to learn of the discoveries others have made along the healing path. People in active pursuit of a better experience have wisdom to offer others on the path. People who have experienced a lot of pain and have learned to move beyond it often want to help others to feel better, too. This becomes a calling.

In the Child Abuse Memoirs and Autobiographies zone at Helium.com, I assembled a collection of resources on writing memoirs for anyone who might benefit from the project.

comments and reviews for 'memoirs'

2011-07-17T18:48:00.000-07:00

Great Storytelling.

"What a great bit of storytelling, you spare us the sentimentality simply get on with the story from beginning to end. You have a unique voice which takes us time to get out head around but eventually it becomes as much part of charm of the book as does your honesty. Brave, articulate, open and clear, I would hope and pray that this was cathartic to write. I enjoyed this, although that is the wrong word, but what I mean is became utterly immersed in this charming narrative." -- AndrewW

Good Tale Told Well.

"I think you're on the threshold of being discovered. This book isn't whiny and doesn't scream for sympathy as so many like ours do. This is a good tale, told well and is about to bestow success upon you and deservedly so. I'll keep an eye out to see how you fare in the future." -- Kennesaw

Somewhat Poetic.

"I couldn't help enjoying your read Sara...the voice of a little girl trailing her way through the read......somewhat poetic I thought the manner you wrote stringing my thoughts along with your writing. Rather refreshing and honest too..." -- Romilla

Beautiful Story, Deeply Moving.

"I was once a strange little girl, so I was drawn to this book. It is such a beautiful story, deeply moving, raw and honest. This is such a fascinating tale, I am glad you decided to put it on paper." -- The Temple Dancer

Got Stuck In!

"I really, really like this. . . saw this and got stuck in! I love the style of it, I found myself reading it quite quickly, wanting to read on. Fascinating, colourful characters and you seem to have introduced a number of them effortlessly in quite a short space of time. I will put you on my shelf as I think this needs to be noticed, and I will be back for more soon." -- KS

Lyrical.

"I love the flowing lyrical quality of this." -- Ali Cooper

Fantastic!

"Fantastic! I actually watchlisted your book because the title is one of my favorite Tori Amos remakes...so it caught my eye. I thought your pitch was great and came in for a read. Now I've got you on my shelf! I find your imagery vivid, your use of the language tremendous.

Here are the things I liked the most: 'They love the tree as it screams under their saws'- wow. if that doesn't epitomize many of your character's relationships with their parents, I don't know what does. Wonderful. 'When I get distracted by things above the ground.' and the whole scene with Tiger's kittens. How powerful. I certainly didn't expect your mother to come out with her shotgun, and the combined tenderness of laying them in the sweater and then the child's wrapping it up as the sweater was ruined anyway from cottage cheese- wow." -- Cy

Available in eBook - only $1.99 | Kindle - only $0.99 | Paperback - $14.99

I am so depressed

2011-04-14T12:01:00.000-07:00

I'm sad. Too much horrible news. I never seek out bad news online, because I'm just too sensitive to cope well with it. I don't purposely avoid it either though, so when it's right there in the headlines it's pretty hard to miss. Anyway, all on the same news page were a two-year-old raped at Sea World by a family friend while her parents rode a ride, a 5-year-old raped by her mother's boyfriend and then spanked for it when her mother walked in, a 6-year-old raped by her grandpa and made by her grandma to write him an apology...

I cannot even describe the sick visceral reaction I feel when I see just the headlines. I always cry.

I didn't really read the articles. I didn't want to or have to to feel the full force of the despair that most often hides in me. I was raped very young, too many times to know. Just like so many people, even I prefer to think that this cannot happen, but it does. I have young daughters. I look at them and think that it cannot happen. It's too inconceivably horrible.

My girls wouldn't let it happen, I prefer to think. They're strong. They would tell me. But I know that's not necessarily the case. I didn't tell my mother for years. I didn't know how to say no to the men who raped me. I didn't fully understand what they were doing. I barely had words to describe it, if I had gotten up the courage, past the threats and embarrassment and humiliation in order to tell someone. It was so yucky, I didn't want anyone to know.

People had suspicions, I'm sure. Even my mother had suspicions, but it was too horrible to be possible, so she shook it off until I became so withdrawn and suspicious and fearful that my young mother could no longer hope and pretend. She'd been raped as a child, too.

I prefer to think that I would definitely do something, anything to stop it from happening to another child. But when I had my suspicions about a child in my care, the things she said about her mother's boyfriend, I did what we're supposed to do. I called child protective services. They did nothing, despite his history of raping his 12-year-old sister, impregnating her, raping their child, and his niece, and who knows who else. The police simply said he did his time for those crimes. Now he's living in a houseful of little girls with a woman who knows his history, yet leaves the little girls alone with him anyway. I don't understand.

So I ran 5K, but I'm still wound up. I want to call my husband and cry, but I've got my girls to feed and get ready for ballet. I don't usually wallow, but I need some cocoon time.

dreams

2010-10-10T18:38:00.000-07:00

I had many dreams that stood out for me during childhood. This particular one, I had night after night until one night the feel of it changed and I never had it again.

I have a recurring dream. A man with all the big predators in the forest–bears, cougars, wolves, followed by elk, deer, bunnies, and squirrels–all chasing me, trying to get me. I run as fast as I can, sliding downhill on the gravel of a logging road, trying to use gravity to my advantage, running and skidding for my life. I wake up terrified, heart pounding, wondering if I screamed out loud.

Over the years it changed. The man who had led the animals in the chase instead urged me to escape. He was helping me escape. After that, I didn't have the dream any more.