Opening ourselves up to hear and understand the horrors and sorrows in the life of another does not have to negate our personal grief or weigh futilely on our souls, it just expands our capacity for compassion and endurance.


I dedicate this post to some of the bravest people I’ve ever known.

Unspeakable horrors happened to you. Your earliest memories expose trusts broken by parents who should have loved you – protected you.

Grown ups who bought and sold you to satisfy their warped desires.

I saw the hurt in your eyes when I begged you to stop telling me. I couldn’t even bear to hear what you had somehow managed to live.


You were just a boy, 10 years old when you left home. You chose a life of prostitution. Somehow you had glamourized that life-style. You thought that you’d make lots of money.

Then you’d go get your brothers – rescue them from your abusive addict of a mother. And raise them on your own and give them a chance for a better future.


You were only 17. You were nervous and ashamed. You were quiet…

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    1. Diana,
      I lived on the fringe of “street youth” life in my late teens, early 20’s. Both of my older children have as well, partially because we live in a city where that is a highly visible and prevalent subculture. Our stories are not as horrific as the ones you shared, but I have known others whose stories are similar or worse. Knowing that what we have experienced could have been so much worse deepens my gratitude and increases my ability to tolerate and forgive much negative and harmful behavior in others because we can’t know or judge how another’s experiences have shaped and driven them.


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