1. What was it like to be a woman before the so-called “feminist movement” and near-passage of the Equal Rights Amendment?

Girls were not supposed to be athletic or strong, they weren’t supposed to be better or smarter than boys or to talk too much. They were supposed to recede into the background, letting boys take the leadership roles. They weren’t supposed to sweat or get dirty or have a competitive or ambitious streak. Education and career opportunities were very limited: you could be a teacher, a secretary, a nurse, or maybe a medical technologist. But most people believed that if you had children, you couldn’t also have a career. And all girls were expected to be heterosexual, to marry, to have children, and to take a backseat to their spouse. Many colleges – Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Brown, and others – were exclusively male; no matter how good a student you were, no matter how gifted, you wouldn’t be eligible, as a woman, to apply. When I went to Lawrence University in Wisconsin, there was a dress code for women: the dining hall wouldn’t serve women unless they were wearing skirts, even when it was minus fifteen degrees out! Women had curfews, though men did not. When I transferred to the University of Michigan, I was informed by the admissions officer that they had higher GPA requirements for women transfer students than for men, and fewer spots available. Women weren’t allowed to use key sports facilities. My first job as an attorney, I made 45% less than the male hired from a lesser law school who started at the same time. If we had an Equal Rights Amendment, much of that discrimination would become illegal.

2. What was it like to be a woman in law school in the 1970’s?

Only 5% of the students were women, and there were no women faculty members. They had the same 5% unspoken quota for black applicants. Many of the professors were hostile toward the female students – we were not wanted there. One professor called us all “Mister,” refusing to acknowledge that there were women in class; another called on women only to discuss rape cases. Although about half the male students were neutral to positive, there were those who were nakedly resentful. The first thing anyone said to me, first class, first day, first minute, was when the student I sat down next to said, “You should be ashamed, taking a place away from a man who needs to support his family.” There were so many stares the first time I walked into the law library that I actually thought I’d forgotten to wear some crucial piece of clothing. And many of the male students formed study groups that excluded women. It was tough.

3. Why did you want to be a lawyer?

I wanted a flexible professional degree that would open doors for me and overcome some of the disadvantages of being a woman, and I wanted to become a legal advocate for abused and endangered children and victims of abuse of power. I dreamed of a more equal playing field for women, blacks, and children. What I got was a solid education in how to think analytically.

4. Why did you leave law?

I realized that a court order doesn’t really change peoples’ behavior. It doesn’t make good parents out of bad ones, and it doesn’t reliably put an end to abuse or other toxic conditions for kids. You can’t repair broken parents by court order. And being in court every day, in such an adversarial arena, made it hard to come home to my kids in the evening and be the parent I wanted to be.

5. Why did you become a clinical psychologist?

I was attracted to the idea of being able to bring about long-term change in people’s behavior by understanding why they behave as they do and having some tools for helping them to change. I liked the idea of alleviating suffering and helping each generation not pass on the "sins of the father," repeating the same damaging mistakes made by their parents.

6. How did you get interested in helping abused children and abusing parents?

My mother struggled with mental illness throughout my childhood, and it made things difficult for my two younger brothers and I. And my father flew into unpredictable rages at times and became physically and emotionally abusive. I know how it affected us, what a lifetime impact it has, and I wanted to save other children from it if I could.

7. Do you have a family?

Jacob and I have blended our two cultures, languages, extended families, and religions, to say nothing of genders. We were fortunate enough to have twin boys and another son sixteen months later, after having almost given up on having a family. We’ve had dogs, cats, birds, fish, a rabbit, gerbils, hamsters, and guinea pigs. Now we have three great daughters-in-law and five busy, fascinating grandchildren. There’s never a dull, or quiet, moment.

8. Why did you want to be a writer?

First of all, I learned to read when I was three, and books were my salvation growing up. They reduced the isolation I felt from my mother’s illness and helped me deal with the trauma of my father’s rages. They connected me to others and the larger world. They sparked curiosity and imagination and provoked thought. Second, I’ve always been fascinated by languages and our ability to connect with and understand each other through the use of words. I learned Latin, German, French, Hebrew, and a smattering of Swedish and Spanish – languages are like beautiful, poetic codes. Third the stories have always been there, in my head, whether I write them down or not. They press to be told. And once in a great while, when I’m writing, I enter a wonderful feeling of bliss, where everything just seems to flow and fit. I like my writing self.

9. What is your writing process?

I don’t really have a process. I don’t write every day, but in spurts. I don’t write in any particular place or at any particular time. Other things interfere and make demands. But I do try to jot down the nuggets of ideas when I have them, I try to write in more than one mode or genre regularly, I try to pay attention to my experiences and be observant, I read a lot and I’m part of a writing group that meets to offer support and friendly critique. I’m not as disciplined as I probably should be, given that life is short. And, as I suspect is true for most writers, I am often filled with self-doubt and the notion that nothing I can write will ever be good enough to be true to it’s subject or will ever make much of a difference and I should really just go make a decent dinner for once, instead.