This Authentic Life

16/10/2025

Don't miss a single beat of the story that started it all. Coming soon on This Authentic Life Podcast is "The Best Friend." This isn't just an episode; it's the genesis, the crucial, unforgettable turning point in my entire journey. But before the storm that began in the 1980s, there was the sunshine: a love so innocent, so pure, it's easily the sweetest, most unexpected love story you will ever hear. I'd like you to tune in to witness how a deep, life-saving friendship blossomed into a lifelong anchor against unimaginable darkness.

13/10/2025

In an era before social media, the danger of oversharing was just as potent. It's a risk young people take when they're isolated, a risk I took nearly forty years ago. In the painful, confusing vacuum of the 1980s, I had no one: no confidante, no guide to help me understand what was wrong with me.

Through this episode of This Authentic Life, you'll see a predatory pattern emerge.

The man I met that day targeted my loneliness. He was kind, or skillfully pretended to be, and immediately cultivated a fierce sense of trust. But that connection was a trap. He began to systematically dismantle my self-worth, twisting my achievements until I believed they were impossible without him. I bought the lie: I was articulate, I was smart, I would "knock it out of the park" on a contract, but only because he believed in me, only because he made me stronger.

I believed he understood me. I thought he saved me. I gave him credit for every success.

The terrifying truth? He groomed me, precisely according to his design. That initial encounter was not a coincidence; it was the moment I walked into the presence of pure evil.

Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/episode/6UqnXzu4IJE44i14A0Uv0U?si=8WaMh_8vQTWLZNlDxfsELA

Apple Podcasts
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-calamitous-door/id1843441865?i=1000731710562

This Authentic Life · Episode

11/10/2025

Hungarian Opera? Yes, it's true. For a brief, bizarre time several years ago, my life became the subject of one. It was an ambitious production by a well-known Hungarian composer, complete with a libretto by an artistic director of the Hungarian State Opera.
Three different opera singers played my supposed "role." I confess, I don't truly understand opera, but I love the arts and deeply respect the immeasurable talent of great artists. Yet, with anything sold as being based on a "true story," there is an absolute responsibility to uphold that truth. If liberties are taken for entertainment, then a simple, honest disclaimer is required. That was never offered to me, not by anyone.

Even now, as I face the damaging consequences of their choices and plead for them to correct what is so profoundly harmful, they stand firm on their creation.

Why is it so difficult for some to say, "I'm sorry, I was wrong, and let's explore ways to make this right?" Even if a solution is elusive, an apology for the emotional harm and distress is the least they could offer. Every step I take toward healing is often followed by a painful retreat, caused directly by these preventable actions.
Let me be clear: The role they depicted was not based on actual truth. It sprang from a completely false radio story, a story I had desperately pleaded with them to correct. Their depiction was not even close to being representative of me. I will share the truth when that part of my story is told on an upcoming podcast episode of This Authentic Life.

The violations don't end on the stage. My misrepresented life led to a disgusting invitation to pose for Hustler Magazine, an unimaginable act for a woman who has been sexually assaulted and abused. There have been horrible independent films and multiple books claiming to include parts of my story. The reality? Not a single one of those depictions was accurate. Not even close.

I hope that even one person who reads this gains an understanding of how this occurs every day. It happens in the dizzying heights of celebrity culture and in the quiet desperation of the real world. Many people can't, or won't, distinguish the real from the fabricated. They allow their emotions to be built on what they’ve read, listened to, or watched, without asking the fundamental question: "Is this even real? Is this true?"

I implore you to care enough to ask that question. The moment you feel that inkling of doubt, that whisper of a trap, believing something that impacts your emotions and the way you view our world, you have a responsibility to question it. Fear, uncertainty, division, and so much of what is harmful to our society occur when we allow fabricated stories to stand in for the truth.

09/10/2025

Follow-Up Post to 'The Closet Prison' Podcast Episode:

"Why didn't you just leave?"

I did. I ran barefoot from our attic apartment. He caught me in the driveway and beat me as a stranger watched, then drove away.

"Why didn't you call the police?"

I did. I ran down a hill to the police station, bloodied and bruised, screaming for help. They gave me a 10-minute head start and let him wait behind the counter.

"Why didn't you go to your family?"

I did. I ran five miles to my childhood home, the white house I grew up in. My father met me at the door, saw the state I was in, and said, "You made your bed, now lie in it."

This is why we don't "just leave." We don't leave because the systems meant to protect us - police, community, even family - can become accomplices to the abuse. We stay because every escape route we're told to take leads to a dead end, reinforcing the abuser's greatest weapon: the belief that we are worthless and alone.

The real question isn't why we didn't leave. It's why our world makes it so impossible to do so.

Before we teach our children about strangers, we must teach them about love. Before we warn them about the world, we must build their worth at home.

I once confused jealousy with love because I had no blueprint for what genuine affection or love looked like. I mistook possession and jealousy for protection because my own self-worth was a blank page. His rage initially felt like even more proof that he loved me; his control felt like caring. It was a language I accepted because I had never been taught any other.

The yelling, the slammed doors, the terrifying drives; they were all signs of a coming storm of horrendous abuse. But the foundation for that storm was laid years earlier, in a childhood devoid of a true example of love.

So I implore you, parents: Your child’s first defense against abuse isn't a lock on the door; it's the unshakeable belief in their own value. Show them what respect feels like. Demonstrate what a safe harbor, a loving home can be. Don't just tell them they are loved, live it. Build their worth so fiercely that no one can ever tear it down.

There's a particular kind of numbness that comes after the screaming stops. It's not peace; it's defeat. Mine arrived the day I was failed by everyone.

It happened after I ran, barefoot and bleeding, into a police station, only to be offered a head start instead of a lifeline. It crystallized when I ran five miles to the safety of my childhood home, only to have the door and my father's heart closed to me.

In that moment, the world confirmed what my abuser had been telling me all along: that I was not worthy of protection. Not by strangers, not by the law, not even by my own family. And when you believe you are worthless, you stop fighting for your life. Your tears dry up because you don’t feel worthy enough to shed them.

If you have ever felt that profound sense of abandonment, please hear me: You were not unworthy. They were undeserving of you. Their failure was not a reflection of your value; it was a reflection of their brokenness. You deserve protection. You deserve to be saved. You are worthy, and above all, you deserve to be loved.

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, help is available. You can contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline 24/7:

Call: 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) National Domestic Violence Hotline

Text: START to 88788

Chat online at https://thehotline.org

09/10/2025

For such a long time, I prefaced many of my blog posts with "trigger warnings." Once I read, "learning is painful. It’s often ugly and traumatic." I believe this to be true and cannot deny that it makes sense to me. Please refrain from listening in the presence of young children.

What you are about to hear is not a sanitized story. To truly understand what happened to me, I must share the parts that are unsettling and raw. This isn't for shock value; it's to honor the truth. I am telling this story for those who need to hear it, for those who may find echoes of their own experiences in the darkness, and for those who need to understand the realities of domestic violence. I will revisit the most challenging moments because they are central to the larger questions: How did this happen? How was he never punished? I may not have all the answers, but I have my memory, and I will share it without flinching.

Before we continue, I need you to know that this episode was recorded in one take. It had to be. My podcast is a homegrown effort, and any tremor you hear in my voice is the echo of this story.

I ask you, if you are able, to walk this path with me. Start with the trailer for This Authentic Life, and then let us bear witness together, for all who have faced the harsh realities of abuse. The story will become harder to hear before it gets easier, but I promise that where it leads is a place of profound hope, with a message that could make all the difference to you or someone you care about.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/0RY8MsUbWEJR67ibwvsUNM?si=3yL3gXREQ6KgEj2R5BS8hg

This Authentic Life · Episode

02/10/2025

What does it feel like when a pain so deep swallows your future whole? When you’re left drowning in the terrifying uncertainty of a shattered life? Now, imagine that agony wasn't random. Imagine it was a choice, made by the very people sworn to protect you. The ones who could have pulled you from a horrific childhood, but instead, became the architects of a new nightmare. They had the power to extract you from the clutches of a known evil, but they made a decision: they left you to be terrorized, creating a reality so depraved that most people would look away.

This isn't a ghost story from a distant past. This evil is alive and breathing in our world today, patiently waiting in the shadows for our children. As difficult as this is, I choose to speak because I would rather be uncomfortable with the truth than complicit in the silence that protects predators. This journey is treacherous, but it has only one destination: The Truth.

In the 1980s, my private hell was turned into a public spectacle. The media feasted on my trauma, transforming a young girl's suffering into a salacious global sideshow. They stripped me of my humanity for a headline, discarding truth, my safety, and my very life as collateral damage. At the same time, the justice system, the very people who could have extracted me from the clutches of a known evil, made a calculated decision to sacrifice me. Instead of providing a safe harbor, they left me to be terrorized, creating circumstances so horrific that most people can't bear to hear them. They stole the simple dreams I held of a safe husband and happy children, and planted fresh nightmares in a life already defined by unimaginable pain.

This story is not just a look back at a terrifying past. It is the unveiling of a wound that has never stopped bleeding, a trauma that has woven itself into every fiber of the life I have fought so desperately to live. It is a wild, unbelievable journey that has taken more courage to tell than I ever thought I possessed.

Now, I am asking you to find your own courage: the courage to listen without judgment. I invite you into a story with unexpected twists and turns, a story that our society often chooses to ignore because the truth is rarely as comfortable as the lie. This is the trailer for my podcast, This Authentic Life.



https://open.spotify.com/episode/6ayhJkdUxMUfbVztEON4Ld?si=9f6574b2fe1c4bec

This Authentic Life · Episode

06/09/2025

Life’s journey often feels like navigating a tumultuous storm, bearing burdens that seem impossible to lift. Yet, it’s precisely within these overwhelming moments that the extraordinary power of your spirit shines brightest.

Each obstacle isn't just a hurdle; it's a sculptor, chiseling you into a more insightful, courageous, and unbreakable version of yourself. The path ahead might be demanding, but every single stride forward is a testament to your fierce courage and unwavering resolve to conquer.

Never surrender to despair, no matter how many times you falter. True growth blossoms from struggle, and every battle you win becomes a powerful chapter in your epic tale of resilience. Hold steadfast to your belief in yourself, for brighter horizons await, and your radiant spirit will undoubtedly ignite hope in countless others.

13/06/2025

Learning at sixty that you were my biological father didn't just rip open old wounds; it birthed a torrent of new ones, a seismic shift in the bedrock of my identity. Did you know I existed? Why didn't you want me? Why did you vanish when I was just a shattered, hurting young girl, leaving me adrift in a world that offered no safe harbor? Would you have loved me? How could you have allowed a lifetime to pass without trying to find me, without ever letting me know I had a father who was good to the other children he later embraced, the ones he held dear? The "whys" echo within me now, a relentless, aching refrain that suffocates my peace. I am not just hurt; I am shattered, lost in a storm of confusion and profound conflict, a tempest of what-ifs.

That melody you shared with my mother now haunts me - a cruel, twisted lullaby of a hidden truth. She knew, didn't she? She carried this secret, a crushing weight, while I suffered in plain sight. I can still hear the chilling threat from the man who raised me—the man I believed was my father, the man who abused me: "Take her to work, or she won't be here when you get back." And so, the sickening, unwelcome scent of cigarette smoke at the Red Carpet Club became my constant companion, a suffocating veil over my stolen childhood, a tangible presence of my terror. I was so profoundly sad then; I remain so now. I was utterly alone then; I remain so now.

I learned about you only after you had already passed away, a final, cruel twist of fate that sealed my ignorance. So I'll never know. I'll never know if you would have loved me, or even accepted me into the life you so readily shared with others. I'll never know if you could have been the one person, the single anchor, to save me from the unimaginable pain I suffered, the endless, suffocating darkness that defined my early years.

To ease my pain, I'm sure my mom tells me lies. I don't believe for a second you rocked me to sleep one time. I don't believe you ever said I was a beautiful baby. I only believe you left me. I understand how you may not have wanted the responsibility of the other children, the ones I grew up with—my siblings—but they did not have your DNA coursing through their veins. I did, yet I am left wondering so many things, adrift in a sea of unanswered questions. I am left in pain, a constant, throbbing ache that resonates in my very bones.

I have been told by the daughter you held, one of my newly discovered sisters, that you were a very good man, a great husband to your wife, a wonderful father to her and your other children and stepdaughter. I believe her. I only wish I could have been held, or that I could have one single memory of you to cling to, a fragile lifeline in this swirling chaos. Why, Daddy? Why? Why did it have to be this way? Why could you not have held me, too, even one time? Why could you not have shared me somehow with my mom, integrating me into the life you created? How could you leave me behind, trapped in an abusive environment, utterly unable to defend myself, a child abandoned to the wolves?

And now, sixty years later, the echoes of those whys reverberate through every fiber of my being. There is no closure, only a gaping wound that will likely never fully heal. The truth, in its brutal honesty, has stripped away the last vestiges of comfort, leaving me to grapple with a past I can't change and a future forever shaped by what was stolen. All I can do now is carry this pain, a heavy inheritance, and somehow, learn to breathe again.

20/01/2025

For far too long, I have carried an overwhelming burden of pain, a weight that has trapped me in silence and solitude. The struggle of wearing a mask throughout my life has left me feeling disconnected from my true self. My story is intricate and deeply woven with moments of sometimes unbearable pain and hardship. I fear that if I don’t share it soon, I will lose the strength I’ve fought so hard to maintain, and my physical health now declines, so as I fight the physical battle, I will push through the telling of my story.

Over the years, I have poured countless hours into constructing a facade, striving to navigate the world with a cloaked identity, the wearing of a mask. It is essential for others to understand the reality of my journey, the genuine narrative of my life—rather than the distorted version that the media has so frequently perpetuated. I long for the truth to be recognized, for people to know me without the constraints of this mask I wear, and I long to break free and to finally reveal my authentic self without fear.

To all of you—The Geraldo Show, This American Life, Current Affair, Trial Watch, The Associated Press, The United Press International, so many newspapers, and other various publications around the globe—I say this: "Try to stop me from exposing how you ignored the lives of many, causing them deep hurt to further your own agendas. My life was one of those you overlooked, just one of the many lives you disregarded or exploited in untruthful ways. You told a story that you claimed was mine and that of other innocent victims, yet you ignored the truth. You did so under the misguided belief that you delivered what people most wanted to read. I believe you were wrong then, and I still believe you are wrong for not correcting those false narratives, for not caring about who would be harmed, who would suffer, or how many hearts would be broken. You did not care. At a time when the American people have lost faith in you because you continually choose to ignore what truly matters—the truth—I have decided to tell my side of the story. This time, you cannot stop me; nobody can.”

To the prosecuting authorities, the attention-seeking lieutenant on a small police force in a Mississippi River town, and the FBI agent who failed to care about the truth because it wouldn’t empower him, I say this: “You have shown how far your ambitions can lead you astray.” The then Attorney General stood on the courthouse steps, misleading the media by claiming I was involved in a scheme that began in 1965, despite the fact that I was born in 1963. The truth is, I did not even meet the “bad man” until April 8, 1985. He asserted that I recruited people for this scheme since 1974, ignoring that I would have only been 11 years old—well before encountering the “bad man” or any of his associates.

To the members of the media who failed to do the simple math or ask me for my perspective, I say this: “You made a conscious choice to harm me while completely ignoring the truth, creating a false narrative instead. I feel sad for all of you. I hope that one day you reflect on the times you wrote about this story, recalling that you likely had it all wrong yet chose to publish falsehoods regardless of the evidence.
I want you to understand that the truth matters. Only the truth should be presented as facts. Today, I say unequivocally that it is essential for you to feel remorse for how you have hurt me and others. If you have the opportunity, you should correct your false stories. If you cannot revisit your narratives, I encourage you to commit to never again overlooking the importance of seeking facts and truthfully sharing your stories. I promise that doing so will lead to a better sense of self and a more fulfilling life.”

To the three Assistant U.S. Attorneys who made a choice in how to prosecute the true villain—the evil man who continued to harm me while they turned a blind eye, I say this: “Go ahead, lock me up again. It doesn’t matter where I am; the truth will always prevail. I am no longer afraid of you. I am not afraid of a dark cell or your veiled threats. After all these years, I realize that those threats were your way of controlling me—preventing me from exposing each of you, especially your wrongdoing and the harm you inflicted on an innocent young girl who had already suffered more than any child, teenager, or young woman should have to endure.”

To the Federal Judge who presided over a case that should never have involved me, I say these things: “How did you not see my fear of that evil man? To this day, I believe you did see my fear. How did you allow me to be involved in this case, even when I stood before you and expressed only what I was forced to say? Rule 44 Hearings? Those hearings mean nothing if you fail to recognize and act upon the very reasons those hearings exist procedurally. How could you not recognize that I was being manipulated, not just by the evil man but also by the same attorney you allowed to represent both of us? Others, who were indeed culpable, never even had to testify. When I fell to the floor screaming, that was a clear sign that something was deeply wrong. I was pleading out of fear for what was happening—terrible things that should never have been permitted, especially at the hands of U.S. Federal Marshals and prison guards with ill intentions.

Instead of recognizing my fear, you chose to dismiss my screams, my shaking, and my tears as mere "tantrums," failing to see that I was begging for help—literally any help—from someone. I was only 21 when I encountered that man, yet I felt like a small child. You chose to seal my mental health records from the media and even me. Perhaps if you hadn't done that, at least one person may have stopped to think, "Something is terribly wrong. Someone needs to intervene." An investigation might have unveiled the trauma I had endured, not just since I was an infant, but the ongoing trauma I was still facing. That trauma caused me to develop anxiety, major depressive disorder, dissociative disorder, PTSD, dissociative fugue, and more. That was in the records you chose to seal from the view of the media. Those records represent the truth. You hid the truth, which meant I would not even learn until much later why I felt so different, why I had night terrors as a small child, and why I never felt like my life would be okay or even remotely peaceful on any given day.

Someone might have pulled me away—perhaps a compassionate woman who could have helped me understand that what was in my head was instilled by a genuinely evil man and that I could be helped, that I could be freed from the horrors that followed when you imposed a sentence on an innocent young woman and sent her to a nightmarish place that will never be forgotten. What was not acknowledged is that I was sent to that nightmarish place only because of the multiple mental health and some physical diagnoses that you chose to seal away from public view. You sealed that information away from me as well. As a result, I suffered even more. I felt unworthy to even live.

I forgive you, but I still struggle to comprehend the situation. I have heard that you stopped allowing individuals with such varying levels of culpability to be represented by the same attorney, recognizing that it is not in their best interest. I hope that’s true because it would be the right thing to do. I believe you saw glimpses of the reality of what was happening, but you did nothing to stop it. Your inaction later led to horrific events that I will finally share with the public for the first time. Yes, it took me decades to heal enough to articulate the pain I experienced in a way that conveys to others the truth about what was done to me.

My life mattered then, and my life matters now. You chose to do your job in ways that violate our Constitution, and that matters. You took an oath when you entered office; you had specific duties to perform, which you chose to ignore. How and why did you disregard your duty to make the proper decisions? How could you overlook the importance of protecting me from that evil man who harmed me?

Why did you prioritize prosecuting him over my well-being, my very life? Not once did you try to help me escape from my situation, especially after the Assistant US Attorneys and the unscrupulous FBI Agent interviewed the same man who caused my suffering as a teen—the man who locked me in an attic closet and robbed me of my chance to ever have a child. He should have been placed behind bars. Yet, their only decision was that he could not serve as a witness for their international, salacious case. You allowed them to completely ignore the fact that he was honest about the ways he hurt me, albeit in despicably haunting ways.

There was still an opportunity to protect me from the primary bad, evil man, one you already knew had harmed thousands of people. You knew he had warped countless minds. How could none of you understand the power that someone could hold without even seeing them? How could you fail to recognize that this same evil man could inflict harm on me in ways that would take a lifetime to re-examine so I could even begin to heal? How? How? How?

To Hustler Magazine, I say, "How dare you think for one moment I would ever pose for your despicable magazine. You objectify women and harm society in far too many ways for me to mention. You should be ashamed."

I tell the evil man, "You took so much from me, and you were never truly punished for your actions. You died, and even though the very same authorities knew every despicable thing you did to me, they never pursued justice for it. They only sought justice for what would bring them the attention they craved from an international story. As a result, I was left feeling like I must have deserved the horrific, terrifying, unimaginable, and painful things that were done to me."

To the bad, evil man, I want to say that for so many years, you made me feel exactly as you intended for so many years. You knew that as long as I remained injured—frozen, as I have been many times—you could continue to harm me, and I would never feel clean again. I am hurting, and it is a pain that may never truly go away. However, you cannot hurt me again. I will not allow it.

The media chooses and often continues to tell a different story that fits their agenda better, the sensationalized version. Their desire is to gain readers, listeners, and viewers. There is only one person in this whole world who knows the complete story. Though I have tried to share facts and truth with the media when they approached me, they have never shown a desire to do anything but continue pushing the same false narrative, a narrative that hurt me deeply in ways nearly impossible to put into words. They chose to tell a story that also harmed others. Some of those innocent victims died without receiving an apology for how they were treated and without being afforded the opportunity for the truth to be known. They were innocent lives—lives harmed by the same evil man who hurt me. They were good people, men and women (though you ignored the fact that women were part of this story) who deserved better from you. They deserved more than being forced to fight for their voices and for their words to be heard and understood; they had to struggle so hard just for an opportunity to tell the truth. You used them, showing no regard for how you trampled on their tender, beautiful hearts.

Careers have been elevated from the false portrayal of this story, which reflects how much mainstream media chooses to operate. I am proud to say that I have never asked for even one red penny for the opportunity to share the truth. I am NOT for sale and will NEVER be for sale. I have turned down many offers of significant sums of money because, for me, no amount can hold value if the truth is never known. There can be no healing in my life or the countless lives of others if the truth is not revealed.

I am not just telling this story for myself; I want to continue healing. I now experience glimpses of joy. I have learned how to stand on my own. I have developed strength, resilience, and the courage to speak out. I achieved this by relying on my faith in our Lord and Savior. We are not given much time on this beautiful earth, so we must stand up when we can and shout only the truth.

We are victims for only a time before we become strong warriors. We stand up for what is true and help others understand how to avoid being victimized. We advocate for what is good, true, and healing. We open our hearts to trust again. We begin to trust good people who stay with us as we share the truth and speak out, even when it still hurts. Sometimes, the pain is relentless and comes in waves. However, all of us can ride those waves. It is never easy, but it is always possible, and I believe this with every fiber of my being.

This story will be told my way, particularly the parts that have wounded me deeply enough that I believed I would not survive the pain. I will never again allow a journalist, producer, or anyone in the television or film industry to ignore the truth. Since I know the truth is often not the objective of many—possibly most—journalists I have encountered, I must ignore them all and tell my story alone.

This story involves many people and spans several decades. It is a story everyone should hear, as it has and will continue to impact many lives. I will not allow the media or anyone intending to use me or my story for personal profit or to manipulate me, especially by distorting or ignoring the truth.

I am finally ready to remove my mask completely, and although it makes me shake and tremble like an aspen leaf, it is time to incinerate the vexatious burdens buried deep within my heart and soul.

Soon, I will release my podcast trailer, followed by its episodes.

The title is "This Authentic Life." Once I have fully shared my story—using my own voice, which may sometimes tremble or convey emotional pain—I believe I will connect with another individual who is also living their Authentic Life. I will assist them in standing up to tell their story and present it truthfully, especially if it has been misrepresented by the media in ways that have caused them harm or hurt. I understand that it is not only my story but also the stories of others affected by false narratives that need to be heard.

This Authentic Life aims to showcase the stories of true warriors—individuals who have triumphed over challenges they once thought insurmountable. These narratives highlight how they persevered through experiences of pain, especially when that pain was inflicted by others—people who intentionally seek to harm and damage innocent hearts and lives.

I will help others understand that we can all become Sons and Daughters of God through our Lord and Savior, Jesus. I will show them how deeply they are loved and that one day they can say, "Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for all you have given me and for every blessing you have placed in my path, even when I did not recognize those blessings. Thank you for knowing me, for lifting me up, and for carrying me when I felt alone. I give myself to you and dedicate my life to sharing the truth—that we can all be Your Sons and Daughters. I commit myself to stand strongly for you and to help bring others to you."