Mary DeYon
AUTHOR

Mary DeYon

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I always dreamed of writing a book. Over the past 40 years, I unintentionally wrote 58 books in the form of diaries, notebooks and journals—all on the subject of me. These were not daily rundowns of events but rather dumping grounds of frustration where here or there, an insight would shine through, bringing transformation. In this way, I evolved from being a depressed, hopeless victim to a person fully alive, capable of ecstatic happiness. When I sat down on my fiftieth birthday and read through my dramas I found tragedies and comedies intertwined to weave the story of my life. From there I was led to a writing class and then to the teacher who became my coach. She lovingly coaxed stories out of me that I didn’t want to tell—even to myself. And then I couldn’t stop. My dream of writing a book became a desire so deep it kept me going for several years as I struggled with writing the tough parts—coughing up hairballs, I called it. I again felt the powerlessness of living with an alcoholic father and the strictness of Catholic School. I replaced that victimhood by fighting back and trying to control every aspect of my life. I unconsciously married the very kind of man I was running from—twice. From Al-Anon and Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings I realized the overwhelming task of controlling was not only futile but exhausting. I began letting go and asking God to take over. Slowly I learned what was mine to control and what wasn’t. Then I began really living. Through writing this book, counseling, group therapy, Feng Shui, Reiki, N.E.T. and other energy work along with Al-Anon, I was able to conquer my fear of telling the family secrets or being burned at the stake for believing in a spirituality different than I was taught in Catholic School. I learned to love myself enough to stop the abuse from me and others. I now live in a magical place of grace where I feel divinely guided every day. These stories are my perception of my life. Some of the names have been changed to protect the guilty. I’ve capitalized some Moms and Dads out of reverence for them. As Freud said, we are only as mentally healthy as the secrets we keep. I must be sane now because I have no secrets left…here they are.
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