Adriene Caldwell has bravely written her memoir Unbroken: Life Outside the Lines, “a harrowing coming-of-age story defined by resilience in the face of unimaginable odds.” It is a raw, emotional read with disclaimers that it could trigger nightmares of the past and present in people affected by child abuse, including in foster homes or by being groomed. Adriene’s mother lived in extreme poverty and suffered from mental illness, and so Adriene suffered, too, especially from terrible beatings, and she tried to protect her baby brother, becoming as a mother to him until he was taken away. Abuse of any kind affects the way a person perceives themselves, especially when they have no outside support. Thankfully this story has a good ending, but so much bad happens it’s a wonder Adriene could eventually rise above it all.
I had some questions for Adrienne about the writing of Unbroken, which can help others who dare to write about their trauma. Trauma affects mindset and behavior which can be passed onto future generations, so understanding the source can help to break the chain.
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Adriene, I imagine Unbroken: Life Outside the Lines was a difficult book to write. What made you want to write your story and was it hard to re-live this part of your life? How did you get through it?
Writing this book was absolute hell. There were times when I didn’t think I could get it done. It was like ripping off scabs of wounds that never healed properly.
I wrote Unbroken with the hope that it would be a lifeline for others, a reminder that healing is possible even in the darkest moments. If someone can look at my journey and say,“If she went through that and made it to the other side, then I can handle my situation too,” then the struggle of writing every painful page was worth it.
Like Mary Karr (The Liar’s Club, Lit), you really laid open your life, including your own sometimes shocking choices. Was that scary—is that scary to share with others, whether family or strangers? How do you manage that emotionally? Has your daughter read your memoir?
I am absolutely terrified of the judgment I know will come. There will be critics and strangers who will have harsh things to say, and I’m bracing myself for that reality. My husband has kindly offered to filter the feedback and share only the positive, but I’m aware that social media will still be a challenge. The truth is, much of the criticism will sting because some of it will be valid. I made mistakes—many of them—and I’ve had to face that.
What I hold on to is that I’ve made a deliberate, heartfelt effort to reach out to those I hurt and offer sincere apologies. Not everyone has accepted, and that’s their right, but at least they know I’m remorseful and that I take responsibility for my actions. That acknowledgment, even when forgiveness doesn’t follow, matters deeply to me.
As for my daughter, she’s asked if I would be okay if she chose not to read the book. I told her yes, absolutely. She’s an adult now and has every right to protect her emotional boundaries. She doesn’t want to know every detail of what I lived through, and I respect that choice fully. Her well-being is far more important to me than her reading the memoir.
To what do you credit your ability to persevere and to overcome all this? Where did you find that “innate light that refuses to dim?” Do you still have bad days or moments and how do you deal with those?
Honestly, I credit God. He refused to allow me to die. As I share in the prologue, I pulled the trigger—twice—and yet I survived. That moment changed everything. I realized that death would not be an option for me, and if I had to stay alive, I had a choice: either live a self-medicated, tortured existence, or commit to the much harder path of pursuing forgiveness and hope. I chose the latter.
That doesn’t mean life is suddenly easy. I still have bad hours, bad days, sometimes even bad weeks. But I’ve learned how to navigate them with what I call my “Depression Rules.” It started as something I created for my best friend—who also lives with major depressive disorder—and myself. The rules are simple but vital: eat at least once a day, shower at least twice a week, sleep as much as you need. And above all, give yourself permission to feel what you feel, even to wallow in self-pity for a short while, but then draw a line, pick yourself up, and move forward.
It’s not perfect, and I’m not perfect, but these small practices help me keep moving toward healing rather than back into despair.
Ann Lamott wrote in Bird by Bird, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your story. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” Your one foster home “mother” is referred to not by name but by an unpleasant descriptive acronym. Did you change any other names—to protect the innocent or the guilty? If not, were you afraid of repercussions?
I changed all the names. Just because I am willing to tell my story does not mean I have the right to expose the stories of others. Their lives and choices are theirs to disclose, not mine. That said, I do not deign to give that particular woman—whom I refer to in the book as TBFH—a name. Out of everyone who failed me, she is the one person I have not yet been able to forgive. I sincerely hope that one day I will reach that place, but I’m not there yet.
You eventually escaped from your mother, breaking completely away, but can you explain why you later wanted to find her? Were you able to forgive? Did you ever contact her again?
After about a decade, I felt compelled to know what had become of my mother—whether she was okay, whether she was alive, or even if she had passed away. In time, I found forgiveness for her. She was sick, and I understand that now in a way I couldn’t as a child. What I also came to realize is that she made one of the most selfless sacrifices a mother can make: she gave my brother and me to the Smith family. The expectation was that we would both be adopted, and while things didn’t unfold as we hoped, her decision was still an act of love.
It’s only now, as a mother myself, that I can fully grasp the weight of that sacrifice. She knew she couldn’t provide the kind of life we needed, and so she gave us a chance at something better. That perspective has allowed me to forgive her and to see her through a more compassionate lens.
Who is the audience you wrote this for and what do you hope they get from your story? Is there anything else you’d like to say to other writers or readers?
I wrote this book for anyone who has struggled or is still struggling. My deepest hope is that readers will see themselves in my story and feel less alone, less ashamed, and more empowered to face their own pain.
I also hope that my book, alongside my website—which contains my Children’s Protective Services case files, psychiatric evaluations, monthly reports, and more—can be used in psychology and counseling curricula, especially in courses on early childhood trauma. There are many powerful childhood trauma memoirs, but very few that combine lived experience with the clinical documentation that shows what was happening behind the scenes. I believe that dual perspective—personal and professional—can make this book a unique tool for both healing and education.
To other writers, I would say: be brave. Your story matters. Don’t be afraid to bare your soul, because vulnerability is where connection begins.
To my readers, my hope is that this book gives you the strength and courage to face your past—or your present—with honesty and resilience. No matter how painful your situation may be, you can get through it. And remember, when I say, “It could always be worse,” I don’t mean that in a dismissive way. I mean it as a reminder to accept your circumstances, acknowledge their weight, but also recognize that survival is possible—and life beyond suffering is possible too.
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Congratulations to Adriene for her challenging life and writing achievements. For more information about Adriene and her memoir, see www.UnbrokenCaldwell.com and her Amazon Audible “Unbroken Caldwell” podcast
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