Head’s up that today’s post will vaguely discuss domestic violence and mental health issues. It is not graphic or in-depth.

Today I turn 33, which is quite a good number. I’m happy to be this old and hope I continue to get older.

It’s also the release date for my third book, Funeral of Hopes. Here’s the blurb:

Complicated grief takes center stage in this cathartic, character-driven fantasy novel.

Uileac Korviridi can never forget his parents, killed at their family farm while he hid from savage soldiers. He strives to honor their names in his every action, whether that is protecting his little sister Cerie or avenging their deaths as a cavalryman.

Which is exactly why he can’t fathom that his husband, infantryman Orrinir Relickim, could delight at the news that his estranged father is dying.

Horrified at the idea of abandoning a blood relative, Uileac pushes Orrinir to make peace with his parents, only to be rebuffed in vicious terms. He struggles to reconcile this image of a vengeful son – one who could even pull a sword on him – with the spouse he promised to love in this life and beyond.

What Uileac can’t understand are the terrible ordeals Orrinir suffered at his father’s hand. These painful memories are revealed only in snatches, as if the stories themselves were beaten beyond recognition. Abandoned at age six to become a child soldier, Orrinir mourns not just the loss of a father but of a better past.

With heartbreaking expositions of grief, loss, and trauma, Funeral of Hopes examines the difficulties domestic violence survivors face when confronted with the abuser’s death. Delicate prose highlights these complicated feelings in a sensitive yet stirring portrait of one son’s pain. This third novel in the Eirenic Verses series features more High Poetry, the native magic system, as well as a deeper sense of place.

I try not to get too personal on this blog because I know most of my audience could not care less. Don’t worry; this doesn’t bother me. After all, I’m just a stranger whose books you might like a bit, who does her best to transmit some helpful writing advice.

But this book is incredibly special to me, and I’d like to tell you why.

I was a child of domestic violence whose sociopath father abused and disowned me.

That man dislocated my jaw, broke my nose, and left me with such severe trauma that I ended up developing bipolar disorder, Complex PTSD, Functional Neurological Symptom Disorder (also known as conversion disorder), and Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder.

Yikes. So many labels for something so simple: my father is an asshole.

My brain tried to wipe this extreme abuse from my mind for decades. I’m still struggling to retrieve these memories through therapy, including some very dark ones that I will not share here.

I also suffered a psychotic break shortly after he told my brother that he only had one child now.

Yes, that man hurt me so badly that I blanked out the majority of my childhood, then summarily cut me off. This is quite unusual; generally it is the victim who decides to break ties. But I suppose I had grown too independent and too liberal for him to feel I had any use.

Once the break was complete, I legally changed my name. All that remains is my first middle name, Mireille. That I only kept because my mom asked me to. It’s French for ‘miracle,’ which feels appropriate given my life story.

Recently, I threw out my very last gift from him: a pair of green rain boots. If he didn’t want anything to do with me, then I didn’t want anything from him.

We have not spoken in over a decade. Even without his looming presence, I still suffer from what happened, though I have gotten much better over the years thanks to hard work in therapy. The endless, selfless support of my mother and brother have also been key to my recovery; I wouldn’t be alive without them.

So, I decided to release this book on my birthday to remind myself of everything I have been through – and how I have overcome these challenges, just as Orrinir does in the book.

While Orrinir’s situation is not the same as mine, many of his feelings about grief, loss, and identity are from my own experiences.

There is a deep-seated pain that comes from being mistreated by someone who is meant to protect you, who is half of your DNA. I consider this one of the ultimate betrayals, especially as the victims are helpless children. No amount of self-delusion in the world can ever justify abusing a child.

While physical violence is bad enough, I feel the emotional harm is even worse. Bones can heal and bruises will fade, but these mental scars last forever.

Orrinir and I have a nagging fear that we are not good enough; being abandoned by one of the most important figures in your life is going to cause permanent damage. If someone who is supposed to show you unconditional love can’t do so, how can one expect anyone else will, either?

Both of us have been pushed to succeed at all costs due to this damaged self-esteem. I have won thousands of dollars in scholarships, studied abroad in the most competitive country for the Gilman Scholarship, joined four honors societies, earned three degrees, and written millions of words of creative fiction.

I’m obsessed with improving at anything I do, whether that is rock climbing or horseback riding. My therapist has grown tired of hearing me ask if I’m getting an A+ in therapy; she’s banned me from even saying the phrase. All of this comes from a compulsive need to be told I’m doing well.

But I never will be good enough in my own eyes. No achievement can plug that hole; I remain unsatisfied, berating myself for not doing more. I often imagine who I could have been without this history, then resent those who have achieved my dreams.

Orrinir trains himself to exhaustion until he has nothing left for himself because the military is a surrogate parental figure to him. Not only does he crave validation from his superiors, but he’s terrified of losing Uileac or Cerie, sure they’ll abandon him at any second. And he, too, never feels like he measures up.

Worse still, there’s a strange longing for our estranged parent, even if we logically know that we never had them in the first place.

We wish things could have been different: a desire to find some paragon of parenthood that doesn’t exist.

There is a scene in the book where we see Orrinir attempting to find the perfect balance between getting his parents’ attention and scorning them, something I believe many estranged adult children can relate to.

Petty as it may be, we want to hurt the parent’s feelings just as they have hurt ours. We want them to feel bad about how they treated us, even if we know they won’t, because we have a deep wound in us that so wants to be soothed.

We want our anger validated. We want to be assured that we were never the problem.

Most of all, we want our parent’s love, even if we know they’ll never provide it. And we want to prove that we are worthy of love. That we’ve done wonderful things with ourselves, things that the parent missed through their selfishness and disregard.

But Orrinir’s father, like mine, can never provide any of those things. He’s not capable of feeling those emotions and does not have the humility to admit fault. This realization is crushing to the estranged child, leaving us mourning something that never existed.

Like many AFAB trauma victims, I turned my anger against myself through self-harm, eating disorders, suicide attempts, and even developing the aforementioned conversion disorder. My body felt so much emotional suffering that it started manifesting as physical pain.

Orrinir deals with his emotions in a different way than I do: namely, externalizing his pain. He lashes out, threatens divorce, and even breaks a votive box due to his overwhelming trauma.

Thankfully, Orrinir has an incredible partner in Uileac, just as I have been blessed with an amazing family who has helped me move forward. Those who found themselves annoyed with Uileac in Pride Before a Fall will be immensely gratified by his supreme love, patience, and empathy toward his husband, even at times when it feels impossible to love someone so angry.

That companionship is essential to healing. I’m glad both Orrinir and I have such wonderful people in our lives.

Life is fantastic now that I’ve dedicated myself to healing.

I never expected to live past my 30th birthday, nor did I think I’d ever fulfill my lifelong goal of being an author.

If you told my 16-year-old self that she would go horseback riding every week and rock climb with a bunch of cool queer people, Younger Cam would have looked at you like you were insane. Tell her that she’s a small business owner who has written three books and a novella; she’d probably yell at you for making things up. Yet all those things are true!

Sometimes, I lie down at night and just smile to myself, thinking: I’ve really done the damn thing. I can’t tell you how good of a feeling that is for someone who couldn’t imagine ever being happy.

I wish I could go back in time and share all these good things with my younger self so she’d know that all her suffering was worth it in the end. And I’m so proud of my younger self – so thankful to her. What incredible resilience. I must show my gratitude every single day.

It’s for her, the little teenage girl, that I keep fighting, writing, and healing. Just as Orrinir does in Funeral of Hopes, I will find a way forward with the help of my family and friends.

Thanks for reading this, and thanks in advance for buying my book.

It’s such a joy to know that a handful of people care enough to stick with my series. My heart is full, my future bright.

Today, on my 33rd birthday, I am so happy I never succeeded at ending my life. I’m going to eat my mom’s world-famous chili and dream up new ways to torment fictional characters instead of myself.