I was a teenage runaway. There. I said it. The strange thing is, all these years later, I can’t really tell you why. I started running away when I was around twelve years old. I would leave home and hide out at my friends’ houses. And when I look back now, I can’t point to some terrible thing my parents were doing to me and say, That’s why. I really don’t know. I know I was constantly getting grounded. I know I hated being told I couldn’t go anywhere. And I definitely remember my dad catching me smoking cigarettes when I was young. His solution was to shove a pack of cigarettes in my mouth. That didn’t work. I also remember him telling me I was grounded until I was eighteen. When you’re twelve years old, eighteen might as well be eighty. So I ran. I’d go to a friend’s house. I’d hide out. Eventually I’d come back. Then I’d run again. Looking back at that girl now, I sometimes wish I could sit down beside her and ask her what she was running from. Because I honestly don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t running from something as much as I was running toward something. I wanted a life. I wanted movement. I wanted excitement. And I definitely didn’t want to sit in a classroom. Running away and ditching school pretty much went hand in hand for me. By junior high, I was ditching school constantly. And I had apparently developed quite a system for it. Fake notes. Lots and lots of fake notes. You have to remember, this was long before parents got instant text messages and emails telling them their child had missed third period. Back then, if you were absent, you brought a handwritten note from your parent explaining why. Or, in my case, you brought a note that looked like it came from your parent. I must have thought I was getting away with it. Until ninth grade. One day, they called me into the school office. My dad was already there. That was not a good sign. Then someone brought out a box. Inside that box were all those fake absence notes I had been turning in. They poured them out onto the desk.

I see you’re already a member of some of my favorite Skool communities, so thank you for adding Memoir Skool to your list! 🥰 And as a Skool Community Builder & Growth Expert, I’m especially curious what brought you here. Do you have a story waiting to be told, or what sparked your interest in Memoir Skool? ✍️📚 So happy to have you here and looking forward to getting to know you! ❤️

What is one memory from your life that still feels vivid when you think about it? 🌿 Memoir Skool is filled with incredible people from different backgrounds, generations, careers, and life experiences — and every single person here carries stories that matter. 🤍 Maybe it’s:✨ a childhood memory✨ a life-changing moment✨ a funny family story✨ a dream you chased✨ a lesson you learned the hard way✨ a place you never forgot Sometimes the smallest memories become the most meaningful ones when we finally share them. Drop one memory, moment, or life lesson below that still stays with you today. ✍️📖 #From Story to Published: The Modern Memoir Path

Before social media…Before cell phones…Before life got complicated… There were roller rinks. My sister and I had matching candy apple red patent leather roller skates my mom bought for us, and every Friday night felt magical under the disco lights at Skating Plus in The Valley. Music blasting. Wheels rolling. Freedom. Innocence. Sisterhood. ✨🛼 They eventually turned it into Racquetball World…but in my memories, the music is still playing. Did anyone else grow up at a roller skating rink every weekend?What was yours called… and what song instantly takes you back there🎶 #Friday nights belonged to Skating Plus.

Most memoirs are written quietly…and only shared once they’re finished. But the more I write this way, the more I realize— A story becomes richer when it’s not held alone. What started as me sharing chapters in real time…has slowly become something else. A space with 80+ of you—writers, observers, thinkers— all bringing your own experiences into the feeling. It doesn’t feel like an audience anymore. It feels like a circle. Inside Memoir Skool, I’m still sharing chapters as they unfold—raw moments from my life, along with visual scenes inspired by them. But what I’m really interested in now…is what this brings up for you. You don’t have to be “a writer” to be part of this. Just present. When you read or hear a story, do you feel more like an observer… or someone inside it? -Cristal #I Escaped Hollywood, Barely.