153 Bridge street

Northampton, Mass 01060

June 15, 1978

Dear Mom and Dad,

I have published articles in the past years that I havent mentioned, because there is no particular reason to. Or, for instance, when a piece appeared in Ms. quitexxxxxx awhile ago, I mentioned it, but there was no particular reason to go into it.

Now I have just published a piece which I want to tell you about. Since I told you about my “Lesbian pride” lecture before Our Blood appeared, it has been quite difficult for me to talk about my work with you. I am sure you can understand that.

In the July issue of Mother Jones, a leftist xxxxx magazine published in San Francisco but distributed nationally--quite, a fine magazine--I have an essay of which I am very proud, but which I am afraid will upset you and cause you pain. They have titled it “The Bruise That Doesn’t Heal,” a rather silly title I think. I called it “A Battered Wife Survives.” It is first person, nonfiction, about the fact that I was a battered wife.

The fact that I managed to write this, after so many years of not being able to, is something of which I am proud. I wrote it because I want to help the literally millions of women who are in the situation I was in. Because I have the talent to write, I also have a responsibility to write the truth about many things that many people do not want to x face, or cannot x face.

The piece mentions you in passing, but does not blame you. I do not go into what happened in Amsterdam, when you came to visit. It is not a piece about particulars, but about the general experience.

I wrote the piece around my last birthday, when I turned 31. The piece should not embarrass you, but I am afraid that it will, since my work has so often in the past.

There are many kinds of pain one can feel. One kind is empathy for the sufferings of another. Another kind of pain comes from feeling embarrassed or humiliated because something bad has happened, and one doesn’t want others to know. I am hoping that, if you read this piece, you will feel the first kind of pain, not the second. Once Gloria Steinem and I had a conversation about “Feminism, Art, and My Mother Sylvia,” the first essay in Our Blood. She loves that piece very much. In the course of our conversation, she told me that she often feels sorry for the families of writers because they so often feel exposed by the work of the writer in the family, and so often suffer from the prejudices of those around them. She told me that her own mother changed her last name, so as not to be identified with the notorious “Gloria Steinem.” (Her father is dead.) Needless to say, this hurt her very much, but she did understand it. It reminded me of when Uncle Leon teases we about why I didnt change my name before I started writing. “It’s my name,” I told him.

I have always been proud of both of you, even though sometimes you have not thought so. I hope that if you read this piece you will be proud of me--of the strength that I found, of my power as a writer, and of my commitment to helping other women.

Grace Paley told me when I was 18 I think that I should not show you my work. She has found it impossible to show her parents and sisters her work, because it disturbs them profoundly. But I have felt in the past, and feel now, that since others may read this, and it may have an effect on you, you should know about it.

Now that I am really a professional writer of some stature, I dont generally think of sending you my work. I cant keep track of what is published and where. But since this is liable to have a farreaching impact, I feel responsible to tell you about it. Also, because I wrote it and it is true. I cant write to you about the things other people write about me, for instance. I feel that by now you have had ample opportunity to see how things are distorted. Most of what is written about people is rumor at best, often pure fabrication. So if someone writes something dreadful about me, I am not going to (nor have I in the past) bring it to yr attention. Why? For what reason?

But this is different. It strikes the same deep chords as the House of Detention situation, or the Lesbian Pride essay. I hope that you will stand with me in this, because being able to write this essay has been one of the finest achievements of my life.

As far as I know, the magazine is not on the newsstands yet. When it was accepted for publication many months ago, the magazine was not distributed on newsstands, just to subscribers. Publication of the essay was postponed many months, and I was not certain when it would appear. In these months, the circulation of Mother Jones has increased greatly, and it is on newstands, as far as I know, in most places.

So rather than have this come at you from someone else, I am writing to tell you about it. I hope that yr response will he one of support, not of anger.

The essay, read so far on a small scale, has elicited much response, all of it thus far extremely positive. Women extremely grateful to me for writing it. Perhaps knowing that, and that that is likely to be its main reception in the larger world, will mean something to you.

I have told you often, and said in my books, that whatever courage I have, or ability to realize my talent, I owe to the both of you. I am saying that again here. I am hoping that if you encounter pettiness or stupidity on the part of family and friends, you will not see that as more important than what I have done.

You will probably receive this before I call on Sunday to say Happy Fathers Day. I do not know if you will see the essay before then. I could have gone along, leaving to chance whether you would see it or not, but I did not want to risk having you ignorant of the piece if someone brings it up.

I also hope so much that this will not lead to another period of no communication, anger, and hurt. I would like it so much if you could appreciate me for having had the courage to write this piece, and the talent to write it so well.

Please be with me in this, not against me. It is the hardest thing, personally, that I have ever done.

Love,
Andrea