For years, I was isolated by the travesties that were beaten and slashed into my body and the shame that was burned into my soul. I felt like a goldfish, looking wistfully out at the world from my own private hell, hiding from a secret that I thought no one would believe. And there Joan sat, in front of a microphone, saying, "I believe." Those two words felt like a life jacket thrown to me from the stage. They validated the pain of my childhood. Tears streamed down my face, and I felt redeemed. For the rest of her set and on through the encore, I was warm in a way I hadn't felt since I was eight.
I doubt that I'll ever meet Joan in person, but I would like her to know that she gave me, and probably many others, something more precious than gold. So Joan, if you are reading this, thanks for believing, and for daring to say it out loud.
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