When I was in fourth grade, my college-aged brother took me aside and said, “When you get to college, you are going to have to read a lot. The kids who know how to read fast do well. You better start now.” Then he handed me a copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.

It was like he struck a match and set me on fire. From that point on, reading, which I’d always enjoyed, became my mission, and the library became my favorite place. Nothing felt more hopeful to me than that short ride in my mom’s car to get more books. The library itself was a sanctuary. The tight rows of shelved books. The order. The quiet. The possibilities.

Since then the written word has saved me time and again. It saved me when I was a kid—-from loneliness and sadness and ups and downs with bad friends. It saved me that winter I got so sick and depressed that I turned my world upside down and withdrew from the college where I was so miserable. I buried myself in words that winter, devouring books during the night when I couldn’t sleep: Resurrection by Tolstoy, The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin, The Awakening by Kate Chopin. The written word saved me when I was a new mom and couldn’t find my way. I read Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions and discovered that I was not the only mom who sometimes wanted to put their crying child out on the back porch for a while, and I forgave myself for my complicated feelings.

Jesus is called the Word, and I believe that he has used all of these words, written by so many different authors, to carry me through to the place where I am now. These words have offered me endless companionship, guidance, and solace. I would not be who I am or where I am without them all. I suspect authors and their words will go on doing God’s work in my life, but from here on out, I suspect my own words will do it as well.

That thing about the truth setting you free is for real. Almost two years ago now, when I could finally say to myself and to my husband of twenty-five years that I could no longer live with him, it was like taking my finger out of the dike. All this truth that had been held back for so long rushed out in a torrent, and carried all of us far away from the construct we had called home and family. It was devastating but overdue. Sometimes being swept off of your foundation isn’t the worst thing that can happen.

I live differently now. No more pretending that things are okay when they are not okay. For years I betrayed my own self because I thought that was what my marriage required. In fact, it did require that, but I finally learned that self-betrayal is a price too high. Now I tell the truth-—to myself, to my friends and loved ones, and here on this page. Words mean almost everything to me, and these days I write mine down, and the truth is setting me free