Sitting on the nightstand in my room is Taramul Viselor, the book released at the start of this year. It’s a story that took me a long time to research and caused me to grow in a lot of ways. It’s the story of children trapped in Romania’s orphanages behind the Iron Curtain. Perhaps it’s because I’m knee-deep into the writing of River’s Rowan, and my heart is aching with what the characters in that book are going through, that the subtitle for Taramul Viselor is striking a raw nerve.

Home of the Unsalvageables. That’s what the worst of the worst of the orphanages were called in Romania during Ceausescu’s rule. They were called that because the children who were relegated to these particular orphanages were usually mentally delayed, disfigured or, in some way, malformed in such a way that officials did not have hope that they could grow to become productive citizens for the Motherland. In other words, there was no sense, it was thought, trying to educate or even care for these children; it was seen as a waste of effort and time. Hopeless. These kids were deemed hopeless.

Between a host of ailments–seizures, missing limbs, speech impediments–these children were thought to be a waste. And yet, in Taramul Viselor, they find ways to survive: the one missing an arm is a clever thief, the one who stutters is a strategist, the blind girl is the most determined, the one who rocks is the group’s peacemaker. When they escape the home, they make their way across terrain they’ve never seen, following a map they don’t know is real. And the amazing thing is: these are the kids who meet the white lion, who experience the magic of a land whose name, Taramul Viselor, translates to: Dreamland.

Behind the Iron Curtain, they sat tied to cribs and suffered terrible physical, emotional and sexual abuse. Behind the Iron Curtain, they were abandoned and forgotten. They were left with nightmarish pasts and no reason to believe in tomorrow. Behind the Iron Curtain, they knew only intense hunger and pain. They rocked to comfort themselves and failed to cry when they were hurt. Behind the Iron Curtain, they were hopeless. Behind the Iron Curtain, they were weak and defenseless.

And, yet… stories. Stories suggested there was a land beyond the Iron Curtain.

Alizabet told stories, stories of a land that had to be too good to be true, a land where they could roam free, safe and do more than survive one breath at a time. It was enough to inspire them to chase a far away, unlikely distant dream. Beyond the Iron Curtain, in Taramul Viselor, they were whole. Beyond the Iron Curtain, magic was theirs to experience and believe. Beyond the Iron Curtain, they were imaginative, curious and creative. Beyond the Iron Curtain, they were strong and protected.

As I write River’s Rowan and flesh out the complicated characters of the girls with their fears, insecurities and pain, I think, what is their Taramul Viselor, what is their “dreamland”? Do they even have one? In the end, Taramul Viselor is whatever we want it to be. For me, my dream has been to be a mother and to positively impact the life of a hurting child. My daughters move me beyond the Iron Curtain every single day; teaching moves me beyond the Iron Curtain; writing moves me beyond the Iron Curtain. In my Taramul Viselor, there’s soaring mountains like in Switzerland, oceans like in Greece; there’s huge trees and fireflies and enclosed forests. More than a landscape, though, these represent what I’ve always hoped to find beyond the Iron Curtain. Switzerland represents peace, oceans are adventure, nature’s forests and animals personify protection.

My entire life has felt like a walking contradiction. My mother, sister, and teachers told me that I was smart and invested in me–but the lies whispered by sexual abuse prevented me from stepping fully from behind an Iron Curtain. Instead, I wavered: doubt plagued me, made any success I found feel fake, believed my only worth was in writing. I was meant to obey, not chase dreams… and I tried so hard to be good, to be what was expected of me… and yet, the pull of my “dreamland” was too strong. I didn’t believe my writing was good… but I didn’t care, it was fun, and it made me happy. I didn’t think I was smart… but I was determined and stubborn to not disappoint my teachers, so I learned how to study, and that introduced me to world-class teachers that challenged me to push myself further when I otherwise would not have done so. I didn’t believe I was worthy of being a mother…. and, yet, God gave me two perfect daughters. I dream in nightmares… but I stubbornly refuse to believe that that’s all there is to life. I’ve decided that I can walk on rainbows–all I have to do is do it. The Iron Curtain is constantly in my vision, threatening to knock me backwards… sometimes it does a really good job of interrupting me, of throwing me off balance.

But, in the end, I believe in hope. I believe in kindness. I believe in chasing big visions. I believe in Taramul Viselor. I believe that dreams can be made real. I believe in a life beyond the Iron Curtain.

You can read the story of these kids here