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My family and I recently took a trip to the western part of the United States. We went through long stretches of desert and climbed high mountains, several close to ten thousand feet. What I noticed when we were at Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado, the Grand Canyon in Arizona, in the mountains of California, and at Yellowstone National Park, is that there were few guardrails in the high places. I was shocked. One slip of the foot, one veering too far to the right or to the left, and the fall is long.

For as long as I can remember, I have sought the approval of men. Like many daughters, I longed for the praise and attention of my father growing up, but for whatever reason, the approval he gave was never enough. As a young child, I giggled in delight when Charlie or Nick or Jason would chase me around the playground. Shrouded in the fog of extreme shyness, I developed massive middle school crushes, and from the age of 13 until I turned 20, there was never less than a month of time between one long-term boyfriend and the next. My self-worth was tied up in both what I could show off in a fatherly approval trophy case and what I could win in affection and attention from my boyfriend.