D. Yacono is a grandmother, mother, daughter, sister, Veteran, teacher, pilgrim, crafter, widow, and so much more. I’ve done a lot in my time on this big blue ball we call home. Each of the titles I’ve worn carries its own responsibility. Each carries its own weight.
My early years were heavy—being a daughter and sister in a house full of silence, a student trying to stay invisible, a child learning how to disappear. Before I ever knew what it meant to be strong, I had already learned how to endure.
Some people run away to the circus, I ran away to the Army. It was my first real act of rebellion against the life that tried to shape me small. I didn’t join because I was brave. I joined because I needed to belong somewhere. I found pieces of myself in camouflage, in discipline, in challenge. Later, I found more pieces in motherhood, in marriage, in grief. And somewhere in between all those lives, I became a teacher. A listener. A storyteller.
I didn’t set out to become a writer, as a matter of fact, I was convinced I couldn’t do it. I’d tried and tried, then one day I just sat down and started telling the truth. And once the words started, they didn’t stop. They poured out—messy, raw, honest. They told me who I had been. They helped me understand who I was becoming.
I write for my daughters, to show them how to find their voice. I write for the ones who’ve lived through hard things. For the ones who carry silence in their bones. For the ones still learning how to speak. I write because healing is not linear, and stories are one way we make sense of the weight we carry.
I’m still growing. Still healing. Still moving forward.
I hope you’ll join me on my journey.
