mom’s not alright
debut narrative nonfiction book
There’s a specific kind of grief that comes from losing someone you never fully knew. Not from their death—but to the slow unraveling of everything you thought was true about them. About yourself. About the childhood you lived inside.
I grew up in southern Utah in a house that smelled like Mountain Dew and prescription bottles. I was my mother’s caregiver, her keeper, her reminder. I was also just a kid who wanted to kick a soccer ball in the backyard and not have to worry about whether someone was breathing.
It took a pandemic, a phone call, and 400 pages of court documents to hand me a diagnosis I’d never heard of and a childhood I barely recognized.
Mom’s Not Alright is the story of what I found when I started looking. And what it cost me. And what it gave me back.
Currently querying.