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Editorial Reviews
First introduced to the world in her sons’ now-classic memoirs—Augusten Burroughs’s Running with Scissors and John Elder Robison’s Look Me in the Eye—Margaret Robison now tells her own haunting and lyrical story. A poet and teacher by profession, Robison describes her Southern Gothic childhood, her marriage to a handsome, brilliant man who became a split-personality alcoholic and abusive husband, the challenges she faced raising two children while having psychotic breakdowns of her own, and her struggle to regain her sanity.
Robison grew up in southern Georgia, where the façade of 1950s propriety masked all sorts of demons, including alcoholism, misogyny, repressed homosexuality, and suicide. She met her husband, John Robison, in college, and together they moved up north, where John embarked upon a successful academic career and Margaret brought up the children and worked on her art and poetry. Yet her husband’s alcoholism and her collapse into psychosis, and the eventual disintegration of their marriage, took a tremendous toll on their family: Her older son, John Elder, moved out of the house when he was a teenager, and her younger son, Chris (who later renamed himself Augusten), never completed high school. When Margaret met Dr. Rodolph Turcotte, the therapist who was treating her husband, she felt understood for the first time and quickly fell under his idiosyncratic and, eventually, harmful influence.
Robison writes movingly and honestly about her mental illness, her shortcomings as a parent, her difficult marriage, her traumatic relationship with Dr. Turcotte, and her two now-famous children, Augusten Burroughs and John Elder Robison, who have each written bestselling memoirs about their family. She also writes inspiringly about her hard-earned journey to sanity and clarity. An astonishing and enduring story, The Long Journey Home is a remarkable and ultimately uplifting account of a complicated, afflicted twentieth-century family.
From the Hardcover edition.
Robison grew up in southern Georgia, where the façade of 1950s propriety masked all sorts of demons, including alcoholism, misogyny, repressed homosexuality, and suicide. She met her husband, John Robison, in college, and together they moved up north, where John embarked upon a successful academic career and Margaret brought up the children and worked on her art and poetry. Yet her husband’s alcoholism and her collapse into psychosis, and the eventual disintegration of their marriage, took a tremendous toll on their family: Her older son, John Elder, moved out of the house when he was a teenager, and her younger son, Chris (who later renamed himself Augusten), never completed high school. When Margaret met Dr. Rodolph Turcotte, the therapist who was treating her husband, she felt understood for the first time and quickly fell under his idiosyncratic and, eventually, harmful influence.
Robison writes movingly and honestly about her mental illness, her shortcomings as a parent, her difficult marriage, her traumatic relationship with Dr. Turcotte, and her two now-famous children, Augusten Burroughs and John Elder Robison, who have each written bestselling memoirs about their family. She also writes inspiringly about her hard-earned journey to sanity and clarity. An astonishing and enduring story, The Long Journey Home is a remarkable and ultimately uplifting account of a complicated, afflicted twentieth-century family.
From the Hardcover edition.
Related Reviews
Difficult to get through, and even harder to believe.
Before reading this book, I had already read all of Ms. Robison's son's works in their entirety. Her son Chris/Augusten's books: "Running With Scissors", "Wolf at the Table", "You Better Not Cry", "Magical Thinking", "Possible Side Effects", "Dry" (my personal favorite of his), and his novel, "Sellevision", which I found hysterical, and excellent for a first novel.
I have also read John Elder Robison's, "Look Me in the Eye", and "Be Different!", the first about John's life as an undiagnosed child and adult with Asperger's Syndrome (a high functioning type of autism that was not regularly diagnosed, or widely heard of when John was a boy...he suffered his first 40 years, believing something was wrong with *him*, until a client of his gave him a book on Asperger's Syndrome, and the rest was history.) and the second about how to live a life as an "Aspergian" in a neurotypical world (or as he calls them, "nypicals".) My son is also an Aspergian, but he is 2e (Twice Expectional, meaning he is profoundly gifted with an IQ in the 170s and he is a math whiz at 7, but he has trouble making friends and keeping them...once we started reading from John Elder's book, and watched "Temple Grandin" together, he realized he wasn't the only one, and started to make friends.. I found such great comfort and many great ideas in John's books, I feel I owe him something.
Back to Ms. Robison's work...it was difficult to get through. I found it poorly written, poorly edited...I could go on, but the part that bothered me the most: I was hoping she would show more compassion to the children she frequently abandoned. I'm not speaking about the "abandonment" they felt when she was in the hospital after a psychic break with reality. When you are sick, you are sick. She had the wherewithal to know when she was sick, and in the early years, she made sure the children were cared for in her absence. Commendable, truly...but that's not what I mean.
I am talking about things like, well...let's take the most obvious. She signed over the parental rights to her son, Chris (Augusten), to a man she did not trust, she would not see, claims *raped* her, and she ultimately worked with the police to make sure that the man she left her son with would lose his medical license, his home, his practice...she knew he was insane, and she left her son in his care, though he begged her not to.
Augusten goes into great detail about how this affected his life. Ms. Robison gave this ONE LINE. It was a passing line...if I had blinked, I literally would have missed it. It was almost as if she were trying to pass it off as something that women do to their children all the time: give them up to their crazy shrinks when they become tired of them. She gave him away like a puppy you grow tired of training.
I can't tell if it is because she was embarrassed, or if she simply had no clue how devastating it was to her son. She does take great pains to obsequiously apologize to anyone she has ever harmed, intentionally or unintentionally. She sounded like she was 9 stepping in the last chapters of the book. I know people like this...people who have been selfish their entire lives, and when they get older, make blanket statements of apology, as if that does anyone any good. It just rips the band aid off of almost completely healed wounds, and exposes them to air and sunlight. You know what, Ms. Robison? Sometimes, it really is best to leave it alone.
There are many parts in the book like this. She glosses over things that both of her children remember in great detail, and dismisses them out of hand.
Perhaps it is too difficult to think about. She could have just said that.
I was waiting for reasons, excuses...anything. There were none. In the end, they are just 3 more emotionally scarred people in the world who won't see eye to eye. How many of our families are like that? (Other than my own.)
I honestly was not all that captivated by her "Southern Upbringing" and it's purported mystery. I have been to south, and it is sad for about 3/4 of the people who live there. (mostly minorities, but some white folks, too)
For the fortunate few who were able to afford go places, and the pageantry of the old South was a reality, not just something that old rich ladies talked about while black folks cleaned their houses.
I wouldn't buy this book again, and if I hadn't bought it on Kindle, I'd return it. If you are looking for why she did what she did...just read "Running With Scissors". I believe every word, and I am looking forward to Augusten's new works.
I have also read John Elder Robison's, "Look Me in the Eye", and "Be Different!", the first about John's life as an undiagnosed child and adult with Asperger's Syndrome (a high functioning type of autism that was not regularly diagnosed, or widely heard of when John was a boy...he suffered his first 40 years, believing something was wrong with *him*, until a client of his gave him a book on Asperger's Syndrome, and the rest was history.) and the second about how to live a life as an "Aspergian" in a neurotypical world (or as he calls them, "nypicals".) My son is also an Aspergian, but he is 2e (Twice Expectional, meaning he is profoundly gifted with an IQ in the 170s and he is a math whiz at 7, but he has trouble making friends and keeping them...once we started reading from John Elder's book, and watched "Temple Grandin" together, he realized he wasn't the only one, and started to make friends.. I found such great comfort and many great ideas in John's books, I feel I owe him something.
Back to Ms. Robison's work...it was difficult to get through. I found it poorly written, poorly edited...I could go on, but the part that bothered me the most: I was hoping she would show more compassion to the children she frequently abandoned. I'm not speaking about the "abandonment" they felt when she was in the hospital after a psychic break with reality. When you are sick, you are sick. She had the wherewithal to know when she was sick, and in the early years, she made sure the children were cared for in her absence. Commendable, truly...but that's not what I mean.
I am talking about things like, well...let's take the most obvious. She signed over the parental rights to her son, Chris (Augusten), to a man she did not trust, she would not see, claims *raped* her, and she ultimately worked with the police to make sure that the man she left her son with would lose his medical license, his home, his practice...she knew he was insane, and she left her son in his care, though he begged her not to.
Augusten goes into great detail about how this affected his life. Ms. Robison gave this ONE LINE. It was a passing line...if I had blinked, I literally would have missed it. It was almost as if she were trying to pass it off as something that women do to their children all the time: give them up to their crazy shrinks when they become tired of them. She gave him away like a puppy you grow tired of training.
I can't tell if it is because she was embarrassed, or if she simply had no clue how devastating it was to her son. She does take great pains to obsequiously apologize to anyone she has ever harmed, intentionally or unintentionally. She sounded like she was 9 stepping in the last chapters of the book. I know people like this...people who have been selfish their entire lives, and when they get older, make blanket statements of apology, as if that does anyone any good. It just rips the band aid off of almost completely healed wounds, and exposes them to air and sunlight. You know what, Ms. Robison? Sometimes, it really is best to leave it alone.
There are many parts in the book like this. She glosses over things that both of her children remember in great detail, and dismisses them out of hand.
Perhaps it is too difficult to think about. She could have just said that.
I was waiting for reasons, excuses...anything. There were none. In the end, they are just 3 more emotionally scarred people in the world who won't see eye to eye. How many of our families are like that? (Other than my own.)
I honestly was not all that captivated by her "Southern Upbringing" and it's purported mystery. I have been to south, and it is sad for about 3/4 of the people who live there. (mostly minorities, but some white folks, too)
For the fortunate few who were able to afford go places, and the pageantry of the old South was a reality, not just something that old rich ladies talked about while black folks cleaned their houses.
I wouldn't buy this book again, and if I hadn't bought it on Kindle, I'd return it. If you are looking for why she did what she did...just read "Running With Scissors". I believe every word, and I am looking forward to Augusten's new works.
Self-serving and just not very well-written; a disappointment
I came to this book, THE LONG JOURNEY HOME, with high hopes. That was probably my first mistake, because my eager anticipation was not rewarded. In fact I nearly put the book aside after reading the first fifty pages or so, because the first section about Robison's childhood is stultifyingly slow and not very interesting. But I stayed with the book, and should probably admit that those first rather boring pages with their intimations of the author's own dysfunctional and strange southern family (the Richters) were probably necessary to at least partially explain Margaret Richter Robison's own nearly lifelong struggle with mental illness and psychotic breakdowns that often left her hospitalized.
The pace of the narrative picked up considerably when the author left home for college and met her future husband, John Robison, who came from an equally dysfunctional background and was already something of a mental mess when the two met. The fact that he physically and emotionally abused her and threatened suicide even before they married should have been a plain warning to Margaret Richter that this union was not a good idea and doomed to failure. But this was the 1950s, and to her parents, John Robison, who was after all studying for the ministry, was considered a "good catch." And so they married. And the abuse and erratic behavior patterns and threats of suicide continued throughout their marriage of more than twenty years. The obvious question is Why did she stay, and why so long? Once again, the answer to this is deceptively simple: it was the 50s. And back then marriage really was serious business and the American mindset was that the husband was right, and was in charge. And wives were there to support their men and to make the best of whatever the situation was. Try reading Anne Roiphe's recent memoir ART AND MADNESS, about an incredibly abusive relationship and marriage she endured with her first husband for several years - because he was an aspiring writer, a playwright she admired tremendously for his potential, for his talent. Women were not part of the literary crowd back then, so she tried to live her life through him. It didn't work, of course. But it was the 50s, so she tried.
The difference between this book and the Roiphe book is the writing. Anne Roiphe is an incredibly gifted writer. Margaret Robison - despite what she may believe abour her own talent - is not. She's not even a particularly good writer. Spread throughout the narrative she makes frequent references to her writing and her poetry and her writing groups and workshops and MFA in creative writing, but my God, her style is often just excruciatingly boring, dwelling on every minute detail of what she did, thought and felt. A helpful editor would have been nice. She is supposedly, a "published poet," and there are a few lines of her "poetry" noted here and there. If these snippets are characteristic, then she would appear to be of the "butterflies-and-flowers-and tra-la-la-la-la" school of verse.
And yet here I am giving this book a 3-star rating. Well, it's not because of the writing; it's because of the morbidly compelling quantity of all the horrible things that happened to her in her life. The beatings and abuse at the hands of her crazy-but-functional husband; the multiple psychotic episodes and even more abuse perpetrated by her apparently crazy-but-functional psychotherapist, Dr Turcotte; the problems of being a mother in this whole awful home situation, with a couple of very "different" kids to boot. And there was her struggle with her own sexual identity from the time she was a teenager. It never did become clear whether she was a lesbian, bisexual, or what. And she also told of her stroke and the struggle to battle back from that. All of these elements, I must shamefacedly admit, kept me turning the pages, although I often found myself skimming much of the text which was, as I said, badly in need of an astute editor.
Here's the thing. I looked forward to this memoir because I'd read her sons' books - Augusten Burroughs' RUNNING WITH SCISSORS and A WOLF AT THE TABLE, and John Elder Robison's LOOK ME IN THE EYE. I enjoyed all three of these well-written memoirs, particularly the latter. I mistakenly believed that a book by their mother would be equally good. It was not. It was a compelling story, but the writing was too often exasperatingly self-pitying, self-serving and just plain bad. She felt compelled, toward the end of her book to contradict certain points that Burroughs had made in his memoirs. But given her multiple breakdowns, heavy medications and just generally loopy, self-centered behavior, even in her own words, I'm somewhat skeptical of what she says about the Burroughs books. I found nothing in THE LONG JOURNEY HOME that gives much proof of her sterling mothering skills or instincts. The truth is, this whole family was just a mess in so many ways that reading about them was, as I think I commented on one of the Burroughs books, "like watching a human train wreck."
Having said all this, I still would not be too surprised if this book sells like hotcakes. The writing stinks, but that's true of many bestsellers. Margaret Robison's sons are both pretty talented writers. I'm sad I can't say that about her, and this not-very-literary "rebuttal" to their books. Were it not for their success, I doubt this book would even have been published. I feel sorry for Margaret Robison and the often miserable life she has apparently lived, but as for her writing skills? Nope. - Tim Bazzett, author of the memoir BOOKLOVER
The pace of the narrative picked up considerably when the author left home for college and met her future husband, John Robison, who came from an equally dysfunctional background and was already something of a mental mess when the two met. The fact that he physically and emotionally abused her and threatened suicide even before they married should have been a plain warning to Margaret Richter that this union was not a good idea and doomed to failure. But this was the 1950s, and to her parents, John Robison, who was after all studying for the ministry, was considered a "good catch." And so they married. And the abuse and erratic behavior patterns and threats of suicide continued throughout their marriage of more than twenty years. The obvious question is Why did she stay, and why so long? Once again, the answer to this is deceptively simple: it was the 50s. And back then marriage really was serious business and the American mindset was that the husband was right, and was in charge. And wives were there to support their men and to make the best of whatever the situation was. Try reading Anne Roiphe's recent memoir ART AND MADNESS, about an incredibly abusive relationship and marriage she endured with her first husband for several years - because he was an aspiring writer, a playwright she admired tremendously for his potential, for his talent. Women were not part of the literary crowd back then, so she tried to live her life through him. It didn't work, of course. But it was the 50s, so she tried.
The difference between this book and the Roiphe book is the writing. Anne Roiphe is an incredibly gifted writer. Margaret Robison - despite what she may believe abour her own talent - is not. She's not even a particularly good writer. Spread throughout the narrative she makes frequent references to her writing and her poetry and her writing groups and workshops and MFA in creative writing, but my God, her style is often just excruciatingly boring, dwelling on every minute detail of what she did, thought and felt. A helpful editor would have been nice. She is supposedly, a "published poet," and there are a few lines of her "poetry" noted here and there. If these snippets are characteristic, then she would appear to be of the "butterflies-and-flowers-and tra-la-la-la-la" school of verse.
And yet here I am giving this book a 3-star rating. Well, it's not because of the writing; it's because of the morbidly compelling quantity of all the horrible things that happened to her in her life. The beatings and abuse at the hands of her crazy-but-functional husband; the multiple psychotic episodes and even more abuse perpetrated by her apparently crazy-but-functional psychotherapist, Dr Turcotte; the problems of being a mother in this whole awful home situation, with a couple of very "different" kids to boot. And there was her struggle with her own sexual identity from the time she was a teenager. It never did become clear whether she was a lesbian, bisexual, or what. And she also told of her stroke and the struggle to battle back from that. All of these elements, I must shamefacedly admit, kept me turning the pages, although I often found myself skimming much of the text which was, as I said, badly in need of an astute editor.
Here's the thing. I looked forward to this memoir because I'd read her sons' books - Augusten Burroughs' RUNNING WITH SCISSORS and A WOLF AT THE TABLE, and John Elder Robison's LOOK ME IN THE EYE. I enjoyed all three of these well-written memoirs, particularly the latter. I mistakenly believed that a book by their mother would be equally good. It was not. It was a compelling story, but the writing was too often exasperatingly self-pitying, self-serving and just plain bad. She felt compelled, toward the end of her book to contradict certain points that Burroughs had made in his memoirs. But given her multiple breakdowns, heavy medications and just generally loopy, self-centered behavior, even in her own words, I'm somewhat skeptical of what she says about the Burroughs books. I found nothing in THE LONG JOURNEY HOME that gives much proof of her sterling mothering skills or instincts. The truth is, this whole family was just a mess in so many ways that reading about them was, as I think I commented on one of the Burroughs books, "like watching a human train wreck."
Having said all this, I still would not be too surprised if this book sells like hotcakes. The writing stinks, but that's true of many bestsellers. Margaret Robison's sons are both pretty talented writers. I'm sad I can't say that about her, and this not-very-literary "rebuttal" to their books. Were it not for their success, I doubt this book would even have been published. I feel sorry for Margaret Robison and the often miserable life she has apparently lived, but as for her writing skills? Nope. - Tim Bazzett, author of the memoir BOOKLOVER
Critical More of the Actions than the Words (3.5 Stars)
I read much (maybe half?) of "Running with Scissors" a number of years ago. I had to put it down because some of the details made me sick to my stomach. True or not, it was too much for me...the details so extreme that I didn't want to believe those things had happened.
Enough time has passed, apparently, that when I read that Augusten Burroughs's mother had a memoir as well, I had to pick it up and see where the accounts meshed and what details were up for debate.
While some of the details may be different, the highly toxic and completely dysfunctional home life seems to be a surety...and true back into author Margaret Robison's childhood as well. Nearly all of her family members (and some family friends) seem to be either suicidal, psychotic or emotionally damaged in some way. Her relationship with her mother seems to be the most difficult for her.
"I was in desperate need of help, especially with taking care of Chris, but Mother's emotional neediness was a constant drain on me. And the relationship that we'd created was one constructed with careful censorship. Clothed in southern manners and restraint, it was like a large and brittle clay container covered cracks. Filled to the brim with all our unspoken feelings, it was bound to break apart."
Her marriage to John Robison seems doomed from almost the moment it begins, with him threatening suicide should she ever leave him and speaking a gibberish language whenever she tried to address anything he did not want to talk about.
This toxic relationship then leads to further unhappiness and an unhealthy environment for her children. Some days, too depressed to move, she says goodbye to her children from her bed.
"Have a good day at school." "Bye, Mom." "He (Chris/Augusten) turned and left my room, walked down the hall and out the front door, to wait at the bottom of the drive for the school bus. (Over thirty years later he will tell me how abandoned he felt, how terribly alone. He will spew out his rage and pain, and I will listen to the man in whom the small boy still hurts.)"
Some scenes made me shake my head, like the one in which 15-year old Chris tells his mother that he is sleeping with an adult friend of Margaret's therapist. Which, turns out, the therapist had already told her...and also told her that she risked losing her son if she did anything about it. So her reaction is...nothing. Her son has been and will be statutorily raped by an adult, and she does nothing. After that conversation, she says that "Life continued as always..." but that "somehow, nothing was the same after that night." Which seems more than a slight understatement as she does nothing to protect her child when he tells her, albeit supposedly excitedly, that he is being molested by an adult.
After that, I started to lose patience. True, I have no experience with serious mental illness or deep depression to base my feelings on, but when I read about parents whose children need to become the adults, whatever the reason may be, I tend to get very angry.
Later, she gets police protection from her therapist...which seems a good choice given his treatment of her...but this is while her son is staying/living there and AFTER..."That past October, John and I had signed papers making Dr. Turcotte Chris's legal guardian in order to make it possible for him to attend school in Northampton, rather than in Amherst, where he felt suicidal. We didn't expect him to attend school over in Northampton, but we were hoping he would be able to drop out of school when he reached the legal age of 16."
Robison is seeking police protection from the man whom she has made her son's legal guardian, does not go get him from there, and is hoping he will drop out of school.
I realize that sounds sarcastic and mean...and as I said, I haven't experienced anything that either she on her son did, but I can't help but be angry. Towards whom, it's almost too hard to say as most of the influences in all of these lives seem to be incredibly negative and damaging. I suppose I feel angry at and empathetic for nearly everyone in these two memoirs. I still have no idea whom or what to believe except that none of the people I've now read about had pleasant lives.
There is some beauty in all of this pain and negativity though, and I keep coming back to a passage where Margaret is describing an adult friend from her childhood. To me, it seems more descriptive of Margaret herself, and clarifies much of how the story of her life is told.
"Though she spoke of many hurtful experiences, they had happened to her so long ago that they had shaped themselves into stories, edges smoothed like pieces of broken glass tumbled by the sea. She had a storyteller's gift, and the forms that she created for holding the stories of her life also enabled me to hold them. No matter how great the loss or deep the grief, her stories satisfied a need in me, and ignited my imagination more than they distressed me."
Enough time has passed, apparently, that when I read that Augusten Burroughs's mother had a memoir as well, I had to pick it up and see where the accounts meshed and what details were up for debate.
While some of the details may be different, the highly toxic and completely dysfunctional home life seems to be a surety...and true back into author Margaret Robison's childhood as well. Nearly all of her family members (and some family friends) seem to be either suicidal, psychotic or emotionally damaged in some way. Her relationship with her mother seems to be the most difficult for her.
"I was in desperate need of help, especially with taking care of Chris, but Mother's emotional neediness was a constant drain on me. And the relationship that we'd created was one constructed with careful censorship. Clothed in southern manners and restraint, it was like a large and brittle clay container covered cracks. Filled to the brim with all our unspoken feelings, it was bound to break apart."
Her marriage to John Robison seems doomed from almost the moment it begins, with him threatening suicide should she ever leave him and speaking a gibberish language whenever she tried to address anything he did not want to talk about.
This toxic relationship then leads to further unhappiness and an unhealthy environment for her children. Some days, too depressed to move, she says goodbye to her children from her bed.
"Have a good day at school." "Bye, Mom." "He (Chris/Augusten) turned and left my room, walked down the hall and out the front door, to wait at the bottom of the drive for the school bus. (Over thirty years later he will tell me how abandoned he felt, how terribly alone. He will spew out his rage and pain, and I will listen to the man in whom the small boy still hurts.)"
Some scenes made me shake my head, like the one in which 15-year old Chris tells his mother that he is sleeping with an adult friend of Margaret's therapist. Which, turns out, the therapist had already told her...and also told her that she risked losing her son if she did anything about it. So her reaction is...nothing. Her son has been and will be statutorily raped by an adult, and she does nothing. After that conversation, she says that "Life continued as always..." but that "somehow, nothing was the same after that night." Which seems more than a slight understatement as she does nothing to protect her child when he tells her, albeit supposedly excitedly, that he is being molested by an adult.
After that, I started to lose patience. True, I have no experience with serious mental illness or deep depression to base my feelings on, but when I read about parents whose children need to become the adults, whatever the reason may be, I tend to get very angry.
Later, she gets police protection from her therapist...which seems a good choice given his treatment of her...but this is while her son is staying/living there and AFTER..."That past October, John and I had signed papers making Dr. Turcotte Chris's legal guardian in order to make it possible for him to attend school in Northampton, rather than in Amherst, where he felt suicidal. We didn't expect him to attend school over in Northampton, but we were hoping he would be able to drop out of school when he reached the legal age of 16."
Robison is seeking police protection from the man whom she has made her son's legal guardian, does not go get him from there, and is hoping he will drop out of school.
I realize that sounds sarcastic and mean...and as I said, I haven't experienced anything that either she on her son did, but I can't help but be angry. Towards whom, it's almost too hard to say as most of the influences in all of these lives seem to be incredibly negative and damaging. I suppose I feel angry at and empathetic for nearly everyone in these two memoirs. I still have no idea whom or what to believe except that none of the people I've now read about had pleasant lives.
There is some beauty in all of this pain and negativity though, and I keep coming back to a passage where Margaret is describing an adult friend from her childhood. To me, it seems more descriptive of Margaret herself, and clarifies much of how the story of her life is told.
"Though she spoke of many hurtful experiences, they had happened to her so long ago that they had shaped themselves into stories, edges smoothed like pieces of broken glass tumbled by the sea. She had a storyteller's gift, and the forms that she created for holding the stories of her life also enabled me to hold them. No matter how great the loss or deep the grief, her stories satisfied a need in me, and ignited my imagination more than they distressed me."
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Margaret's childhood in the 1950s was a different world than the world today. However, even then it was a facade. It was not the life that it appeared to be, setting the stage for many of Margaret's later struggles. The difficult societal changes following the 1950s were challenging enough. Add to that Margaret's turmoil in dealing with issues of alcoholism and mental illness, not only as a woman, but as a wife and mother.
Margaret is open about her battles and her feelings. Her memoir is difficult to read in its honesty and its poignancy. Yet it is beautifully told and ultimately inspirational.
Indeed it was a long journey for Margaret, but I believe she is finally "Home".