GET IT HERE! The First 22 Years Are the Hardest: A Memoir: coming of age with a baby on the hip and hope for happily ever after

By the time she is thirteen, Angela Giles Klocke has already learned what it means to survive sexual assault, child abuse, and poverty. What follows is a deeply honest survivor memoir about searching for love as a way out—and discovering the high cost of that hope.

When Angela meets Dewayne, she believes she has found her escape. Instead, the relationship slowly becomes a cycle of emotional and domestic abuse, stretching from her teenage years into adulthood and leaving her questioning her worth, her voice, and her future.

This true story of survival is not only about what was endured, but about what refused to disappear: hope. With courage, self-reflection, and resilience, Angela begins the difficult work of imagining life beyond abuse.

The First 22 Years Are the Hardest is a powerful memoir about overcoming abuse, written for survivors, advocates, and anyone seeking proof that healing after trauma is possible—even when the road forward feels impossible to see.

Content Warning: This book includes discussions of domestic violence, sexual assault, and child abuse.

GET IT HERE! The First 22 Years Are the Hardest: A Memoir: coming of age with a baby on the hip and hope for happily ever after

The post FREE EBOOK: The First 22 Years Are the Hardest Memoir, 7/8-7/12/26 first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

As they leave, finally, way past the time I was supposed to leave, the head of the family returns, smiling. He thanks me for the wonderful service and then holds out a small gift. It’s a button on string. “Since you were so patient with us, I wanted to give you a gift. Oh, it’s probably useless, but it’ll keep you busy staring at it when you’re doing nothing. Which you probably never do nothing, but anyway.” And so he demonstrates the button on the string as it twirls and twirls. “And when you aren’t entertaining yourself with it,” he says, “You can just wear it like a necklace.” I thank him, and I mean it, and I put it around my neck. It looks like a gift one of my children would have brought home from school when they were small, over a hundred and eleven years ago, and it’s beautiful. For a few moments, I delight in the joy of the gift, and then another thought comes along: how long will I keep it?

In recent years, I’ve been downsizing my life little by little. Sometimes it means pulling pictures from dozens of frames and inserting the pictures into albums instead, and sometimes it means donating books to the library. But as I’ve minimized more and more, it’s meant letting go of trinkets and such, things that collect dust and take up space and don’t always hold value — monetary or otherwise. I like having less in many ways, but there is often some guilt attached. I forget that it’s not very likely that others have attached emotional tracking devices on gifts they’ve given, that it is ok to part with them eventually. I forget that I don’t remember every gift I’ve given others and if they have parted ways, that’s ok too. I don’t have to keep everything.

So often, I hold on to gifts like I hold onto the past. Slights and hurts cling to a heart that usually doesn’t think about the when and the how, but then a moment comes up, a smell, a tiny smidgen of memory, and I realize I’m still keeping the pains, still tucking them away like little treasures, carrying that which should have been discarded so long ago. A bad day at work can stay with me just as long as the memory of fists from childhood, and as much as I try to shrug things off, how that bad day went will often turn expectation of the next working day into one of dread. And I will carry that with me too. Like pain that paints an ugly picture of distrust, I will take something too personally, and what did she mean by that? and what did I do so wrong here?

The button on a string around my neck today reminds me that I keep and carry too much. I hold onto that which is useless and tiresome, and instead let go of that which matters. I don’t have to keep everything. But maybe I will keep the button on a string, the sweet memory of a stranger’s kindness. A gift that has little monetary value but carries a strong message: you can do hard things, and you can push through hard times and still be great and kind, and you are worth more than the ugly things you have been keeping.

Written July 2014.

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When I first landed on the Internet scene in 1999, I quickly checked out the situation and, without (too much) fear or overthinking it, I launched my first writing endeavor – The Writing Parent. It began as the worst site you’d ever laid eyes on with Geocities, and from there I announced a zine (online newsletter) was coming soon and…

My grandbaby just woke up. Quick 17-minute nap… She’s staring at me. 

We play, eat, and have deep conversations, like:

“I want you to finish poopin’ so I can change you. Or do you want me to change you so you can finish poopin’?”

Baby smiles. Of course. 

A couple of hours later and she’s asleep again but only because she fell asleep on my chest. I’m trapped in the sweetest way. Technology has come so far since I was doing this as a parent that I can stay put and still write—albeit with one finger—with a tiny handheld computer that is also playing white noise. 

I barely get started again when my younger dog thinks he hears someone sneeze 6 blocks away and starts barking, waking the angel and starting another round of ruckus. Rude. 

It’s so familiar. So similar to the days of yesteryear, the attempts to get as much down on paper as possible before children needed me again. Or before I fell asleep. Today, as baby girl falls back to sleep again, I just end up wrapping my arms around her and relaxing into the moment. Her calm becomes my calm, and her rest becomes my rest. And the balance will always be the same – the beautiful moments that go by too fast coupled with the dreams that still call to me. 

All those years before, it was my mission to help other writing parents find time and inspiration to pour into both sides of their lives without guilt, to confront the lie that we needed to wait for our babies to grow up before we could be writers. I came at it from this idea that we could raise up dreams while we raised up our progeny, and it is good that I did, because what I didn’t know is that life would just keep getting busier. 

Waiting for the kids to grow up before we could have time to write would have been the biggest tall tale we could have spun.

The baby wakes up again and we play and eat and change a diaper (hers, not mine) and walk around and chat about the deal we made about no more poop until her daddy takes her home, and with the passage of time, she tires again and goes off to sleep and I return to the page. 

This isn’t my everyday life anymore, and that is bittersweet. I have so much time to write on a regular day versus how it once was. And yet, I think I wrote more then than I do now. So, if you’re a writing mama with littles, let me assure you, time doesn’t expand as they grow up. Your busyness can expand in a new way, especially if you’re like me, someone wh–

The baby just woke up again. She cares not for the words that are eager to bounce on out of my head!

–someone who has done life a little out of order. By the time the nest was nearly empty, the grandbabies started arriving, and time seemed to magically disappear. I was Grandma before I had the chance to ask myself how I might fill my time (this isn’t a complaint at all). And now that we are at five grandbabies with one on the way*, I find myself re-learning how to have this career alongside tiny humans with whom I desire to spend time. 

History has shown me life won’t slow down the growth of children, nor will it wait for the time to be perfect to write, to create, to live fully. The time is now. 

That is the story I’m writing and sharing now. Again. The Writing Grandma. I like it.

And hindsight tells me I forgot to include “no puking all over the both of us” in the earlier “no poopin’” deal. Next time.

“I’ll Write When the Kids Are Grown” is the title of an ebook I published way back then, encouraging writing parents not to use that phrase or to wait. Here we are again.

*10 grandbabies with 1 on the way — a lot can happen in just a handful of years!

The post I’ll Write When the Kids Are Grown: The Story We Told Ourselves first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

If one of your goals is reading more books and wearing a tiara to celebrate your reclamation of self, I have the giveaway for you! (United States Only, Please.)

I’m giving away a signed print copy of The First 22 Years Are the Hardest along with a healing-centered gift package.

By the time she is thirteen, Angela Giles Klocke has already learned what it means to survive sexual assault, child abuse, and poverty. What follows is a deeply honest survivor memoir about searching for love as a way out—and discovering the high cost of that hope.

When Angela meets Dewayne, she believes she has found her escape. Instead, the relationship slowly becomes a cycle of emotional and domestic abuse, stretching from her teenage years into adulthood and leaving her questioning her worth, her voice, and her future.

This true story of survival is not only about what was endured, but about what refused to disappear: hope. With courage, self-reflection, and resilience, Angela begins the difficult work of imagining life beyond abuse.

The First 22 Years Are the Hardest is a powerful memoir about overcoming abuse, written for survivors, advocates, and anyone seeking proof that healing after trauma is possible—even when the road forward feels impossible to see.

Content Warning: This book includes discussions of domestic violence, sexual assault, and child abuse.

I wrote my story for me first, to process, to heal. I kept working on it for you, to help you feel less alone, to show the sides of abuse that aren’t necessarily illegal, that don’t look like the Hollywood version of domestic violence and survival, but rather what is less talked about that often carries more doubt — for yourself and from others. There is so much I chose not to include (some will likely be in the follow-up memoir) due to space, privacy, and the very truth of still healing from those parts. Stay tuned…

Enter the giveaway
Share with someone who needs it
Wear the tiara — metaphorical or not

“Angela shares her story with raw transparency. I would recommend this book to anyone, but especially to those who are currently living with verbal, physical, or sexual abuse. Or to anyone else who is second guessing themselves, believing that this kind of life is normal or what they deserve.” -Amazon Review

DEADLINE TO ENTER: April 7, 2026
Winner will be notified and announced April 8, 2026.

Want to earn bonus entries? Share the social media post and tag me in the post: Angela Giles Klocke

IF YOU WIN

We will only ask for your mailing address if you are the winner. You must respond by April 12, 2026 to accept your prize by responding to the email we send with your mailing address. US Only.

The post Win a Signed Copy of My Book! (US Only) first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

There’s nothing wrong with selling, of course. Many of us have personal businesses, and storytelling helps, but sometimes I think we — I include myself — have lost the plot.

As I write this, I’ve been up since 2:50 am. I went to bed bone-tired from a beautifully chaotic day of watching a whole gang of grandchildren, so I expected to sleep in late (late for me being 8:00). Instead, my brain woke me up to get the day started and, despite my best attempts, I ended up rolling out of bed a half hour later. It reminds me of how early I used to get up in the early 2000s, back when I blogged regular life and shared my story, posting photos and anecdotes of my own small children (who also left me bone-tired, but it was also my everyday life then, so I noticed it less…perhaps). 

My alarm would go off at 3:00 am. I was excited to greet the day, to have those precious hours before my kidlings woke up to write and work on my business endeavors. I was so much younger then, true, but the passion, the pursuit of my goals, was beautiful. Life was already full and busy, and it definitely wasn’t easier then (I wrote an ebook called, “I’ll Write When the Kids Are Grown” and ran a successful ‘zine called, “The Writing Parent,” all about helping parent writers find harmony between parenting and finding time to write), but somewhere along the way, I…well…keep losing my way.

In more recent years, I’ve pushed my waking until the last possible moment, allowing more for a natural wakeup time that started coming later and later. This has in part been due to AGE and CHANGES OF LIFE (hooray.), but I am realizing in the last week that it has also been due to other circumstances. While I won’t go too far into it, I was laid off from my job as a peer recovery coach last week. I miss my coaching clients and the beautiful work we were doing that came to an abrupt stop (with me — but I know they will continue on because they are incredible like that!). All the feelings around this are complicated and frustrating, but…it was necessary. 

Necessary because I’m 50 (and a half!) now and time keeps marching on and I keep not marching on toward my own goals and dreams. Over the last decade+ I’ve poured into other people’s lives for other organizations as an advocate, coach, and more. I’ve started and stopped my own goals to build up places where I worked and the people I worked with. Losing my job pushed me out of a place I was holding onto for my clients, out of comfort and into uncertainty. Except, I have already proven to myself I know how to build. Unfortunately, I also know how to burn. If burnout doesn’t happen on its own, I have matches. I was doing a very good job of not burning anything down; I was working to build and safely exit the building. My layoff just moved the timeline. Forcefully.

So, my brain is waking me up with an enthusiastic “LET’S GOOOOOOOO!!!” and sure, I’ll probably need a nap later — or a super early bedtime — but this last week I have slept better than in years, and my chest has stopped hurting at night, and my brain has stopped running through what I should say, what I should not say, etc. to situations that are unhealthy. I am free again to build, to dream, to have bone-tired days with grandchildren, to be up in the middle of the night, to rest as needed, to make art, to be fully me, to create and write, and to greet each day with enthusiastic passion and hope. 

And to return to the good ole days of blogging. Because if I’m going to do the rest of my life my way, I can do this my way, too. 

*On a whim, I checked to see if the domain for “The Writing Parent” was finally free from the clutches of domain name squatters, and lo! It was! AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! I don’t know what this means, but I had to get it back. Stay tuned? 

The post Let’s do old-fashioned blogging again! first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

I truly can’t imagine overlooking the value of a “smaller” audience.

I will speak to one and be just as content.

But…every single person matters. Every ear that listens, every heart that absorbs, every mind that shifts. THAT is impact.

So many people say they hope to reach just one person. We say if we can help just one person, it’s worth it. But do we really mean it? Or do we only count it as a success when the numbers feel impressive?

I never want to see “just one” as not enough. I never want to overlook 50-100 people who showed up, who chose to be present, who may need to hear exactly what I have to say.

Because I was the “one” once…the one who needed a word of encouragement, a spark of hope, a reminder that I wasn’t alone. And I’m willing to bet you were, too.

May we never outgrow our gratitude for just one. And may we never underestimate the power of showing up, no matter the size of the room.

The post The Power of Reaching “Just One” first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

“The Survivor’s Resume” by Angela Giles Klocke explores how survivors of domestic violence and trauma can reframe the ways they coped to see the strengths beneath. It invites listeners to release shame, reclaim their stories, and recognize the resilience that helped them survive.

Angela is a dynamic speaker, writer, and coach passionate about trauma recovery, creativity, and personal empowerment. With a focus on domestic violence recovery and healing, she uses her platform to guide individuals through their journeys of finding their voices and reclaiming their stories. Angela’s work spans speaking, workshops, coaching, and podcasting, all infused with a trauma-informed approach that emphasizes storytelling, creativity, and hope. Based in Colorado Springs, Angela is driven by the belief in leading by example, encapsulated in her powerful tagline: “I’ll go first.”

Watch the full video here: TEDxManitou Springs – The Survivor’s Resume

Photos by Epoch Moment.

The post On This Day In History: Walking Onto My Second TEDx Stage first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

I owe this woman an apology.

I have not been super kind to her for this performance. I have always offered her up with apologies instead of celebrating the courage it took to walk out on that stage and ask to be seen and heard — for me and for all survivors.

Eight years ago today, my video from when I did this very big thing came out, and then I spent most of the time that followed apologizing for it in one way or another. What did those apologies look like?

“Can’t you see where I can’t breathe?”

“You don’t have to watch it.”

“I walked onto the stage way too fast!”

“Ugh, my posture is terrible. You can tell I was uncomfortable, right?”

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“I didn’t give it the time I needed so it’s not really good.”

Also —

*Not telling people about it.
*Not watching it myself for months and months.
*Pushing the conversation away when people found out about it.
*Not receiving compliments about it.
*Making self-deprecating jokes about it.
*Nitpicking everything that I could have done better.

But 2017 Me did a very hard thing. She stood up and spoke out and asked people to look at her and listen to her.

So I honor her today, 8 years later. I celebrate the courage it took to do this. I apologize for apologizing for her. And I share her with you again today to remind you — and ME! — that we should keep showing up, no matter how hard it can be sometimes, because we didn’t survive just to sit down and shut up. And we definitely didn’t survive to make ourselves small or apologize for being seen and heard.

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Things went downhill unexpectedly when she bonked heads with another player and just could not find soothing. The tears came, followed by cuddles with her parents (and hugs and gentle pats from her siblings), and then after a bit, everyone encouraged her to get back in the game.

We always have to find that balance between giving comfort for what is scary and hard, and also encouragement not to stay on the sidelines — the literal sidelines, in this case.

It was so adorable to watch her go back onto the field, but she refused to let go of her coach’s hand. Multiple times he tried to persuade her to release his hand, yet he never withheld support. Even when he managed to get her to release and sort of get back in the game, he gently nudged her shoulder to give her forward momentum. When she realized he wasn’t as close by as before, she turned and chased after his support (his hand) again. At first the coach attempted to use his words of encouragement, but when that didn’t work, he gave her comfort again. And finally, when holding his hand was no longer of comfort, he gave her the chance to go back to the arms of her parents. 

I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of it, the patience and compassion of the coach. Not everyone gets it when they coach tiny humans. They are sometimes too over the top competitively (come on, these kids’ legs haven’t figured out gravity yet) or too gentle. The scene I witnessed modeled how I see good coaching across the board, whether sports with littles or coaching someone’s everyday life. 

Throughout my granddaughter’s whole first season, her coach continued to nurture her, meet her where she was, and give her the tools she needed to show up for herself. By her final game, no, she wasn’t suddenly a soccer star, but she was a girl who decided she might keep playing after all. She might not give it up. And even if she changes her mind, she saw it through with the help of a coach that saw it through with her. 

A good coach says:

I know you are hurt so take a breather
But I won’t leave you on the sidelines
I’ll want you to get back in the game
And I’ll support you
I’ll go with you
Maybe today isn’t the day you run again on your own
But when you’re ready, I’m here
I won’t give up on you

The post “I’ll go with you” On Coaching & Support first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.

While the free days have passed, you can always grab the book on KindleUnlimited or for a very low price —
GET IT HERE! The First 22 Years Are the Hardest: A Memoir: coming of age with a baby on the hip and hope for happily ever after

The post FREE EBOOK: The First 22 Years Are the Hardest Memoir, 2/9-2/13/26 first appeared on Angela Giles Klocke.