Books like this don’t just tell stories — they invite us to examine power, silence, and survival. And in therapy, that’s where healing often begins.

Graham does a remarkable job bringing The Home Children to life — a part of Canadian history that many of us were never taught in school. When I later read about the author, I learned this was intentional: to restore a silenced history and give voice to children whose stories were erased.

What stood out most to me was Graham’s ability to portray deep social issues without being explicit — especially in Mary’s storyline. As a therapist, I appreciated the way readers are invited to piece together what happened rather than having it spelled out. For those who struggle with heavy topics, this approach is both powerful and protective. It mirrors how trauma often sits in the body and mind — fragmented, implied, and felt more than spoken.

The background characters were just as compelling. Mistress Renfrew, in particular, reflects a pattern I often see in therapy: preserving reputation over protection. Many women are conditioned to uphold an image at all costs — even when safety is compromised. Her attempt to limit harm by managing her husband’s proximity fails, reminding us of a painful truth: when harm is tolerated once, it emboldens further abuse. There is no “off switch” for unchecked power.

What struck me most was the duality in how women like Mistress Renfrew and Mistress Adams treated Mary and Winny — moments of compassion intertwined with cruelty. It reflects how systems of harm are rarely black and white; they’re layered, confusing, and deeply human.

Books like this don’t just tell stories — they invite us to examine power, silence, and survival. And in therapy, that’s where healing often begins.