Got a Minute Friend?
I’ve been talking about writing this book for years, but honestly, I’ve never really taken the steps to make it happen, until now. Life has a way of reminding you that time is precious, and my current health struggles have been a wake-up call. If I don’t do this now, then when?
This book, 4 Generations, isn’t just a project; it’s a part of me. It’s my raw truth, my scars, my lessons, and my resilience. It’s the story of survival, heartbreak, healing, and faith. And it’s not just for me, it’s for anyone who’s faced darkness and fought to find their light.
I’ll be sharing snippets with you a few times a week, and I’d love to know where you think I should start. Should I begin with my childhood? My battles with addiction? The heartbreaks and lessons? Or the journey that brought me to where I am now as a healer and survivor? Your input will help guide me as I shape this story.
I’d also love your thoughts on the title and cover design. The working title is 4 Generations, representing the legacy, strength, and lessons that have shaped my life and so many others. Does it speak to you?
This process is deeply personal, and having your support means more than I can put into words. Please like, share, and comment on these posts as we take this journey together. It’s a vulnerable step for me, but I believe it’s time.
Thank you for being here with me. Let’s see where this path takes us together.
Today, as I was driving my squeaky, rickety van home, it started making all kinds of ridiculous noises. Naturally, I started mimicking the sounds groaning, squealing, and rattling along with it. My son couldn’t stop laughing at me, and soon we were both in stitches. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “Mom, if you’d just hurry up and write that book, we wouldn’t be driving a van that sounds like this.”
I laughed it off at first, but deep down, his words hit me like a ton of bricks. He was right. I’ve been carrying this book inside me for far too long. I need to get started. But where? That’s the million-dollar question.
There are so many places I could begin so many versions of me that people might want to hear about.
The six-year-old being tested like a science experiment because she said she could see spirits.
The child caught in the bloody battles between her mom and dad.
The girl who spent her eighth birthday in a hospital bed because of a beating so bad it put her there.
The kid who was used as a human shield in armed robberies, or the one who watched women being sold in the back rooms of strip clubs, never to return. Or the life's I saw taken right in front of me?
The runaway at 13 who hit the road hitchhiking, leaving behind one life of chaos and stepping right into another.
Or maybe the me who’s been pregnant seven times—a journey of joy, heartbreak, and lessons I never expected to learn. Three of my children are my everything, my reason for fighting through the darkest days. But my story isn’t without loss. I gave birth to a stillborn child at 13, a pain I didn’t even know how to process at that age. Later, I miscarried two babies , souls I never got to hold. And then there was the pregnancy I ended after a beating so severe it left me and the child I carried in grave danger. I didn’t want to make that choice, but it was forced upon me by the circumstances, the doctors, and the reality of my life at the time. The choice I made that still haunts me to this day.
Maybe I should tell you about the me who fell deep into drug addiction, trying to numb the pain of it all. Or the me who endured years of domestic violence relationships that started with promises and ended with fists. The me who survived sexual abuse, first as a child and later as an adult, trapped by people who were supposed to protect me.
How about the version of me that ran bars and clubs, drank way too much, and wasn’t afraid to throw punches or take them? The woman who stared down the barrel of a gun more times than she cares to admit and somehow walked away. Or the me who came so close to prison, narrowly escaping a sentence that could’ve stolen my freedom forever.
Then there’s the part of me that’s known love and heartbreak in equal measure. I’ve been proposed to seven times, and seven times I said no. The irony isn’t lost on me seven is a number that weaves itself through my life. My grandmother, who always said, “Men are a dime a dozen,” was married seven times. I’ve been pregnant seven times, with three beautiful children to show for it. And after all that, I married once, only to be left a widow at the halfway point of my life. Seven again.
And then there’s the me of today the psychic, the healer, the mom. The survivor who wakes up every day determined to inspire and help others overcome their trauma, even while being judged by social media, the spiritual community, and people in the church.
My life isn’t just one story it’s a mosaic of scars, each one with its own tale. Some might make you laugh, others will make you cry, and a few might make you wonder how I’ve managed to survive it all. But survive I have.
So, where do I start? Honestly, I think the best way to tell this story is to let it flow to follow the memories as they come and see where they take us.
If you’re still here, still reading, then maybe this story is for you. My life might sound like something out of a movie, but for me, it’s raw, unfiltered reality. And if you’re that friend willing to stick around, let’s take this journey together.
Because this isn’t just my story. It’s a story about survival, resilience, healing, and finding light in the darkest places. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll inspire you to find yours too.
Be Blessed Beautiful Souls
The Unique Tonya Le
Comments