Before jumping into Part 2, I want to thank those of you who read and shared Part 1 of “Monsters Under the Stairs.” Writing this story has been a process of excavation—of memories long buried and emotions still raw.
This was such a homecoming for me too and since I've known you since those times I could feel the story with every fiber of my being. Those horrible school days which I have chosen to completely block out and can't remember much of it. I had come back to Iran after the revolution and had to endure this school system coming from International American Schools. I think now that I was in shock for the whole time and had suppressed feelings which came out in a rebellious way all through middle and high school. Those were really disturbing times but we survived and apart from the ulcer which stayed the rest is just distant unpleasant memories.
Love you friend. We thrived in high school. We found each other, created a tight-knit friend group. You all were the only thing that made me happy during those years. Lots of beautiful times together.
I call 8th grade my year of silence. I have very few memories from that year. No friends other than my cousins. Lots of escaping into films and novels. And then the first weeks of 9th grade we found each. 😘
Thank you for the words dear Judith. Every single Iranian growing up in the last 46 years has many stories like this one. So many lives ruined, and snuffed out. I was one of the lucky ones. Grateful every day.
I had tears in my eyes and whole body chills as I read your powerful words.
I read part 1 this morning, and came back to part 2 as soon as I could.
I saw a Woman, Life, Freedom bumper sticker while I was in traffic today. I live outside Nashville and I’d never seen one before.
This is one of those stories that’s going to stay with me.
Thank you for sharing. 🩷
wow, I knew you had a story behind the amazing woman you are. thanks for your eloquence.
This was such a homecoming for me too and since I've known you since those times I could feel the story with every fiber of my being. Those horrible school days which I have chosen to completely block out and can't remember much of it. I had come back to Iran after the revolution and had to endure this school system coming from International American Schools. I think now that I was in shock for the whole time and had suppressed feelings which came out in a rebellious way all through middle and high school. Those were really disturbing times but we survived and apart from the ulcer which stayed the rest is just distant unpleasant memories.
Love you friend. We thrived in high school. We found each other, created a tight-knit friend group. You all were the only thing that made me happy during those years. Lots of beautiful times together.
I call 8th grade my year of silence. I have very few memories from that year. No friends other than my cousins. Lots of escaping into films and novels. And then the first weeks of 9th grade we found each. 😘
Unbelievably courageous and powerful writing and story-telling. This historical episode was just theoretical to me until reading this. Thank you.
Thank you for the words dear Judith. Every single Iranian growing up in the last 46 years has many stories like this one. So many lives ruined, and snuffed out. I was one of the lucky ones. Grateful every day.
My heart was in my throat the whole time I read this. Powerful storytelling, my friend.