I met Maya Angelou once. I was quite young, early 20’s, and just coming to terms with being a child sexual abuse survivor. She was the only person I knew who had written about being a survivor, and her writing helped me begin to heal. I stood in line for nearly and hour, but when I finally reached her I couldn’t even squeak out a thank you. Just looking at her made my throat close and tears to involuntarily stream down my cheeks. I kept trying to talk, but it was all squeaks. In response, she tore a piece of paper out of her notebook, wrote down her home address, handed it to me, and said, “Write to me, child.” And then she hugged me. Thank you, Maya Angelou for that moment of showing me I mattered. We are all so lucky you decided to change us, right there in our shoes.
cross-posted on Facebook