My Dears,

In “Through the Looking Glass” Alice meets a unicorn, and they agree that despite their disbelief the other exists, they will be believe in each other. My life, so much of it, relies on the people who believed in me when it seemed it took Herculean patience to believe I would ever be in a place where I would be safe, where I would be able to unguardedly laugh again or even talk about some of what I have experienced. The people who love me made this promise to me- if you keep believing in us, we will keep believing in you. It is with this understanding I feel compelled to write this message, so there is not misunderstanding of what I have chosen to say, what I have experienced and who I still believe in.

After a massive identity theft and catastrophic hacking of my online presence, I found myself tossed around by the tempest seas of what can only be described as a tornado of greed, misunderstanding and other people’s pain. Gone were the aspirations I had for my life, the career I had worked so hard to build, and very unfairly, my reputation as a whole, competent, and moral person. I was forced to navigate a world which would not ever look like the life I thought I was going to have and was very soon confronted with the reality what I thought were certainties like food, fairness and freedom, had, seemingly overnight, become things which were not guaranteed to me. As I navigated my bewilderment, I vowed when I was able, I would be the voice for the people who might not have ever known a certainty and I would audaciously insist to the world nobody else should experience what I had. Sadly, I have glossed over some of the losses of the past recent years because I have found I was on the list of people who are scared to talk about the ways in which they have been victimized because our society treats victims as broken people. My fears were that if I openly talked about what what happened to me it would affect who would want to hire me, be my friend or ask me out to dinner, and I was scared my insistence about talking about my scary experience would be pathologized by people who want the world to think of me as weak and sick. As it happens, my reluctance has been used to insist what happened to me was not so bad, and even as an argument that documented physical violations I have experienced did not happen, because if they had I would not still have my presence of mind,

Nobody should be able to insist the fact your mind survived something awful means there was nothing to survive. I have come to the understanding my way of handling things gave the people who destroyed my life the impression I did not realize how illegally and unfairly I was treated, when I always did. Today, I am being forthcoming because I want the world to know I believe I am in good company with people who have been victimized but did not let their victimization define what they could achieve or how they should view their own worth. For many moments, I was hesitant to talk about things like being treated unethically, illegally and unfairly because I wanted people to trust me with their children, their old people and their breakables and the things I have survived, the world tells us, make people broken and destructive. I am neither of those things but I have come to the conclusion the world wounds all of us - unavoidably, inexplicably and sometimes beautifully. This phoenix cry of a website is my call for solidarity to people who might not have experienced what I have experienced but understand suffering does not usually engender in people the desire to make others suffer. There is beauty in looking at the flowers growing in the ashes of your life and being a better more compassionate person for having losses and regrets.

As I tried to find ways to use my voice and reclaim both my privacy and my ability to be the person to tell my story, I turned to movement, design, art, cooking, and writing and I sought out ways to be reminded of my own membership to humanity by giving to children, the profoundly mentally ill, those aging gracefully (because this is how we all age, no matter what your plastic surgeon says) and those struggling in ways which I have not ever. In the past I have been reluctant to talk about my experiences and have been careful about what I have said and written about my past. In addition to what I have previously just written, part of this is and was pragmatic- I am not so naive to think verbalizing being treated illegally would not be threatening to the people who have treated me so carelessly. Part of it was personal- I am private and what I chose to share was what I felt safe emotionally talking about. I may share openly more in this relaunch of my blog, but I will share in my way and on my terms.

This website is a clearinghouse of all the things I do, a triumphant song of survival, a place to show some of what I make, an attempt to put an end to speculation about what I value, and a way of giving back to the people who so stubbornly sang my song back to me when I was scared to whisper the words.

I have had many nicknames- Miss D, clarebear, claribell, and even clarisol from my middle school science teacher Mister Keegan. The name today which means the most is when my friends who were so reluctant to tell me they knew each other started calling me “Love”. Despite my edge and my private vocabulary, I have tried to make every step a step of love because I think we should let all things be done in love. Love of brother, love of family, love of justice and love of community mattered more to me at times than comforts or at times even more than being understood. Today I deserve comfort as much as I deserve to be loved and understood for everything I am and have accomplished…as do you. Let us see the world as it is and how it can be.

With Love,

C