Q&A with Tabitha Bailey, Standing Up by Mary L. Devine

Your memoir takes readers through harrowing experiences of domestic violence. What made you decide to share your story so openly?

I never set out to write Standing Up so openly. The story took on a life of its own, evolving into something far different from what I initially envisioned. At first, I wrote to heal, but shame and fear of judgment kept me from telling the full truth. As I considered publishing, I softened the details, hesitant to expose the raw reality of what I felt I had let happen.

For years, I struggled to shape my story, setting it aside again and again. But as I revisited my past—examining the abuse, how it unfolded, and the emotions I experienced—I realized that what I felt most wasn’t sadness or pain, but accomplishment. I had survived. I refused to see myself as a victim, and I didn’t want others to see me that way either. The story changed, and with it, my purpose.

I no longer wrote just for myself—I wrote for the women still trapped in the cycle of abuse, the ones who feel powerless, afraid, and alone. My goal became clear: to help them see their own strength, to encourage them to take even the smallest step—toward the door, toward freedom, toward a future where they are in control. I know how overwhelming that first step can feel. But once I glimpsed the possibility of something better, that hope became my driving force.

Looking back, what were some of the key moments that helped you realize you needed to leave your abuser?

Over a few years, he slowly cut me off from the people who mattered most. He convinced me to quit my job to help with his business, sold my car so I couldn’t go anywhere without him, and moved us over an hour away from my family and friends. Little by little, he took away my independence until I felt completely trapped.

What finally pushed me to leave? Angels—real ones, here on earth. After one especially violent attack, where he injured my eye and left a deep cut between them, he carried me into the emergency room. That’s where I met Sarah, my first earthly angel. She convinced me to let her call my brother, Russ—my second angel. That phone call was the first real step toward getting out, even though I didn’t fully realize it at the time. Looking back, it was the moment everything started to change.

You describe discovering a reservoir of resilience within yourself—what were some of the biggest factors that helped you survive and heal?

Accepting help was a huge obstacle for me. I was ashamed to need it and dreaded having to explain why.

My next angel was my favorite, funny Aunt Ruth. She was diagnosed with cancer around the same time I found myself homeless, and I moved in with her for the final six months of her life. Helping her helped me. As I spent those last months by her side, I started to feel more in control of my own life. She taught me about living, even as she was dying.

When she passed, she left me what she called “money for karate classes so I could defend myself in my next relationship.” By then, I had started recognizing those angel moments, so when I began hearing commercials on the radio for martial arts training, I took it as a sign and signed up. I became physically stronger and, more importantly, regained my confidence.

Your second marriage brought new challenges, despite initial hope. How did your past experiences shape how you approached those difficulties?

I still hadn’t taken a hard look at my role in the struggles of my first marriage, so I made plenty of mistakes in my second.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much experience with addiction—aside from what I had learned from my first husband, and that was short-lived. My second husband was great at hiding it, so I had no idea he had fallen off the wagon as early as he did.

By the time it became painfully obvious, he had already been arrested. I was in my final year of college, working toward a degree in criminal justice, while he was headed in the opposite direction. I wasn’t willing to accept the lies, the infidelity, or keep making excuses for him. And when I was done, I was done.

What inspired you to become a detective, especially in the domestic violence unit?

I met Mary Friswell at the martial arts studio. She was incredibly talented—she had even earned a wildcard spot for the Barcelona Olympics. Everyone respected her, including the male competitors, who practically revered her.

Mary was also a police officer, and when I shared my story with her about how I ended up there, she took me under her wing. One night, she invited me on a ride-along while she was on patrol. I was hooked the moment our first call turned out to be a domestic complaint.

How did your personal history influence the way you approached cases? Did it make the work more difficult, or did it give you a unique sense of purpose?

My past experiences gave me a unique advantage. I understood the challenges from a victim’s perspective and had a different way of framing potential solutions. I also faced the same frustrations as my coworkers when victims refused to file charges or show up in court. But one thing I would never ask was, “Why don’t you just leave?”

It’s never that simple. But unless the abuser and victim seek professional help, leaving is often the only real solution. I understood that many victims were financially dependent on their partners, had children to consider, and were emotionally drained from years of abuse. The weight of it all made leaving feel impossible.

With every victim I spoke to, I planted seeds of hope—the one thing they were missing. Ironically, hope is also what keeps many victims stuck. They hope things will go back to how they were in the beginning, before the abuse. They convince themselves it’s just the circumstances—money struggles, family stress, or even their own fault. I shouldn’t have…

I made sure they knew they weren’t alone. I connected them with victim advocates, safe housing options, financial aid, and other resources to help them take that first step toward leaving a violent relationship.

When you encountered a case that mirrored your own experience, how did you navigate the emotional and professional challenges?

When I was assaulted, I didn’t know I was pregnant. I was only about seven or eight weeks along, and because of the attack, lost the baby. It was a devastating time. So when I met the victim who was my age, and learned her boyfriend had dragged her off the couch, shoved her against the wall, and choked her my stomach lurched. Our experience was eerily similar. She lost her baby, too.

When I heard the details of her case, I felt queezy. I sat across from her, sweating through the entire interview, reliving my experience. But what really got to me was that she didn’t want him prosecuted—even though this was the second child he’d killed this way. I felt so many emotions at once: anger at her, frustration at the system, shame for not pursuing justice when I had the chance in my own situation.

During that time, running became my escape and it helped me stay grounded through the tough times. I ran my way through it, burning through a couple of pairs of running shoes, trying to outrun the demons until the day of trial.

In the end, he took a plea deal—Abuse of a Pregnant Female, a felony. The prosecution was relieved, since she refused to testify against him, but I wasn’t. Two babies had died at his hands, and his sentence was 18 months in prison and a year of supervised release. And then? They’d be back together.

I watched her as she left the courtroom. She didn’t look relieved. She looked tired—completely drained. And I knew that look too well. I had worn it myself more times than I could count. It was the face of someone who had fought battle after battle and had nothing left to give.

That’s when my anger faded, and my heart went out to her. I bit my lip, feeling something I hadn’t expected: compassion.

How do you think law enforcement and society, in general, can better support victims of domestic violence?

That’s the million dollar question. Abuse hides in the dark. Shine a light on it for what it is—cowardly. Abusers don’t usually pick fights with their bosses, neighbors, or coworkers. They choose their wives and partners—people they see as easy targets – a sure thing. Stop blaming the victims and start holding abusers accountable for their actions. 

Domestic violence is cyclical. Abusers are often exposed to violence in their own homes, which teaches children how to behave—whether to submit or to become abusers themselves. More programs are needed to stop abuse at its source: the abusers. Teaching anger management and conflict resolution skills at a young age can help reduce the number of kids who grow up to use their fists, guns, or words to hurt the people they love.

Writing a memoir about trauma can be emotionally exhausting. What was the hardest part of putting your story on paper?

The shame of allowing it to happen to me – of having to admit that I stayed when I ‘should have’ left. Being honest leaves you wide open to ridicule. I condidered keeping some parts out of it, because it was embarassing and I struggled with the question, “Does it really need to be in there?” Some people will be hurt when they read my book, but there are amazing life savers in it, too, and both stories deserve to be told. 

What do you hope readers—both survivors and those unfamiliar with domestic violence—take away from Standing Up?

One in three women and one in five men will experience abuse in their lifetime, and nearly everyone knows someone who has been affected. If you or someone you love has been a victim, the most important thing you can do is start the conversation with compassion. Ask gentle, open-ended questions, and let the conversation unfold naturally. Be mindful of your own emotional limits—only take in what you’re able to handle, and remember, the victim should never have to comfort you.

Educate yourself about domestic violence. Learn about the services available so you can offer informed support. If you’re unsure whether what you’re experiencing is abuse, I’ve included a self-assessment guide at the back of this book that may help. You’ll also find resource pages with numerous support options for people from all walks of life.

No one should have to face abuse alone. Help begins with understanding, and change starts with compassion.

This is no longer just my story—it belongs to every woman who has been told she’s not strong enough, who has been made to believe she has no way out. You do. And when you take that first step, no matter how small, you are already standing up.

About Standing Up by Mary L. Devine:

For true-crime fans, a gripping memoir of a domestic violence survivor who becomes a police detective in the domestic violence unit and is forced to face her demons when her first major case mirrors her own violent assault.

Standing Up invites you on an exhilarating journey with a woman who refuses to be defined by her scars. A pulse-pounding chronicle of survival against all odds, this memoir takes readers along on a plunge into the chilling depths of abusive relationships.

At the tender age of twenty-three, Mary Sweeney-Devine unwittingly stumbled into the clutches of her abuser, igniting anguish and despair. With each heart-wrenching trial, including a hospital visit, she unearthed a reservoir of resilience she didn’t know she possessed. But just when she thought she had weathered the storm, a second marriage to a recovering alcoholic unleashed a tempest of secrets and unforeseen challenges.

Yet Devine emerged from the darkness, fueled by an unyielding determination and a fierce spirit. With the help of unexpected allies, determination, and a sprinkling of humor, she navigated the treacherous terrain of her past—and reclaimed her life with courage. Offering hope to those ensnared in the vicious cycle of abuse, Standing Up is a riveting testament to Devine’s indomitable spirit and a gripping saga that will leave you breathlessly rooting for the victory of the human heart over adversity.

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Q&A with PS Conway, Life Sucks: Memories and Introspections During the Great Covid Lockdown

What made you decide to document the lockdown in this way—through essays soaked in satire and cynicism?  

The lockdown didn’t feel like a chapter in a memoir. It felt like a fever dream that needed to be exorcised in real time. Essays soaked in satire and cynicism were my way of screaming into the void while hitting it in the face with a pie. The world had turned absurd, and writing straight wouldn’t cut it. I wasn’t trying to document history. I was trying to survive it with my sanity (mostly) intact. Satire gave me a pressure valve. My cynical voice gave me a shield. And together, they let me say the kinds of things I couldn’t admit in a grocery store, whispering “Rosebud” in the mango aisle, without getting arrested.

You describe your style as “literary comedic nihilism.” How did that voice evolve during the lockdown, and did it surprise even you?  

People have always told me I’m funny, sometimes a little childish, sometimes just absurd, but in the lockdown, literary comedic nihilism came out of nowhere like a late-night infomercial. I invented this new subgenre of Humor for the book because, honestly, there was no other way to make sense of what was happening. With LCN, you learn a little, laugh a lot, and then forget about it all - because it never really mattered anyway. It was the perfect fit for surviving a pandemic: find a truth in the chaos, toss it in a blender with some laughs, and hit “purée.” Who needs meaning or truth when facts are now just science’s opinions?

These essays originated on your blog Life Sucks. Laugh Here. What made you decide to gather them into a book? And why now?

The essays didn’t exactly ask to be a book. They kind of elbowed their way in. Life Sucks Laugh Here started as a way to cope with the absurdity of the 2020 lockdown. There was nostalgia, social commentary, politics, and, yes, some truly absurd bits (hello, Moby's Dick). But it wasn’t just about the chaos of COVID or the insanity of that time. It was about laughing at all of it. And why now? Well, I never thought it possible, but half the U.S. seems to have gotten more selfish and stupid since lockdown. And with Trump still hanging around like an angry, orange dingleberry that refused to drop, it felt like the right moment to refresh these essays. Can you spell “sequel”?

Your reflections skew toward the absurd, but there’s truth and sharp insight underneath. What role do you think satire plays in helping us cope—or confront—societal dysfunction?  

Society is a trainwreck. We’re one power failure away from cannibalism. Satire is the fire extinguisher for the dumpster fire we’re living in. It doesn’t fix anything, but it makes life’s burnt marshmallows a little easier to stomach. Satire lets us laugh at things that are too messed up to face directly, because if we didn’t, we’d be hoarding toilet paper for the next apocalypse. Society itself is an illusion — a false construct built to control the mob with bread and circuses. Satire pulls back the curtain, showing us the absurdity while we’re too busy laughing at the clown. It’s not about ignoring the chaos. It’s about laughing so hard at it that you forget to be terrified, and for a moment, you realize: we’re all just part of the same Big Top culture.

You take shots at everything from politics to “Manopause.” Was anything off-limits for you when writing these essays?  

Off-limits? Pfft. There were no sacred cows. Only the excoriation of those lowing in the fields of conformity. If something felt untouchable, it was probably the first thing I aimed for. Politics, aging, idiocy, nothing was safe. The one thing I didn’t make light of was the 1,100,000+ Americans who died during COVID. Many unnecessarily. That was my line in the sand. But I didn’t hold back when it came to the "Covidiots" who defied every protocol, questioned vaccines, and made the rest of us pay for their selfishness. Those people? Brutal death wished upon them, figuratively, of course. Kinda.

How do you balance dark humor with emotional resonance without tipping too far into either?

Balancing dark humor with emotional resonance is like juggling chainsaws while riding a unicycle. Lean too far into the dark, and you’ll drop a chainsaw straight into the tire and break your neck. Go too light, and you end up juggling rubber chickens - awkward, pointless. No one’s impressed. The trick is knowing when to toss a sharp one and when to let the weight of the moment hang there, like talking over each other on Zoom during your lockdown Thanksgiving dinner. If you make someone laugh and then feel uncomfortable about it, you’ve nailed it. If not, well, you’re probably just going to need better insurance.

Fans of Seinfeld and observational humor will feel right at home in your work. Who are your humor or literary heroes?

While I’m flattered by some comparisons to Jonathan Swift and Dennis Miller, I’m also heavily influenced by the weird, the dark, and the absurd. Seinfeld, for example, is the gold standard for finding comedy in the mundane, like dealing with the aftermath of "Soup Nazis" or becoming "master of my domain." In literature, Vonnegut’s dark humor and Orwell’s sharp, allegorical insights are huge influences. Both tackle the bleakest parts of humanity with humor, yet depth. If a piece of writing can make you laugh and think, then it’s doing its job.

About Life Sucks: Memories and Introspections During the Great Covid Lockdown

Discover PS Conway's deeply cynical yet comedic reflections on the Great COVID Lockdown in this collection of satirical essays, perfect for fans of Seinfeld's humor about "nothing" and skeptics of society's enduring absurdities.

What happens when a poet with a darkly literate soul turns his attention to the absurdity of a global pandemic? You get PS Conway's unique brand of "literary comedic nihilism." Written during 40 weeks of lockdown, this unapologetically irreverent collection of essays is more relevant now than ever. Originally shared on his (now-defunct) blog, "Life Sucks. Laugh Here," Conway's essays serve as both a nostalgic reflection on a "troubling period in history" and a cautionary tale about society's cyclical absurdity.

A two-time Pushcart Nominee, Conway is the author of over 50 poems published across journals and anthologies, including two Amazon Best Sellers. He released his first poetry collection, Echoes Lost in Stars, in March 2024 to critical acclaim. With Life Sucks, Conway brings his trademark wit and dark humor to the page. From the existential significance of a colonoscopy to that of baseball and the overlooked reality of "Manopause," he fearlessly skewers lockdown life, politics, and the human condition.

By the time you finish Life Sucks, you'll understand what Conway meant when he wrote, "My intention was for readers to learn a little, laugh a lot, and then forget about it all, because none of it ever really mattered anyway. The good news? It happened before, and it'll happen again. You never had to worry. Ever. Facts are just science's opinions."

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