Tag: life

Writing, Motherhood, and The Pace of Nature

Categories Words by Britt

Being a writer with two young children is intense. Before having kids, writing was my life. I wrote to get published, to craft and polish The Pace of Nature, and to make it the best story it could be, which I now believe it is. Taking two years off from writing, although painful at the time, was probably the best thing I could have done for this story. Returning to it with fresh eyes, after becoming a mother of two, gave me perspective I didn’t have before. This story, based on true experiences, has always been incredibly close to my heart. Coming back to it as a different person, with a whole new lens shaped by motherhood, made it stronger than I ever could have imagined.

Before having children, writing was my main priority. My first son changed everything. I loved becoming a mom and had waited my whole life to hold him in my arms, yet I felt defeated for not having the time to continue building my writing career. Writing had always been my first baby. The Pace of Nature felt like a child I had created and nurtured, and stepping away from it felt impossible at first. But the distance allowed me to return with clarity, to strengthen the story, deepen the characters, and shape it into the novel I am proud of today.

Finishing the novel this past July through October was amazing but completely exhausting. As a mom of two young boys, I had read about moms waking up at 5:00 am to write their books and wondered how that was even possible. Experiencing this firsthand, writing from 5:00 to 6:30 a.m. and grabbing twenty minutes whenever I c ould, I quickly realized how hard it is to balance the chaos of motherhood with the focused demands of creating a story.Getting two young boys ready in the morning is a full-time job: getting them dressed, fed, shoes on, cleaning up after breakfast, handling laundry, making lunch, cooking, and cleaning again. Writing consumes your imagination, and during those months, I often found myself not fully present with my children. A new line or scene would pop into my head, and my attention would drift away from them. I didn’t like that.

This experience taught me something important: I want to be fully there for my boys. Those months of writing were incredible, and I believe The Pace of Nature was created with magic. But I am happy to be done with the intense creation phase. My boys are so young, and they are growing so fast. I don’t want to miss a beat. That said, The Pace of Nature is finished. I am submitting to agents and publishing houses while my four-year-old is at school and my two-year-old takes his daily three-hour nap. But I am no longer waking up at the crack of dawn to create or to market. I am exhausted and want to have energy to keep up with my two wild boys.

For now, I’m grateful for the quiet gift of three days a week – time to submit, to write, to share pieces of the work, and to search for the right marketing partner who can help carry The Pace of Nature into the world when the moment arrives.

If the novel does not find a home in traditional publishing by Fall 2026, I plan to self-publish no later than January 2027, trusting the story to meet its readers in its own way.

Thank you, as always, for your steady support. Sending much love to you all in the new year.

The Transformation from Hyde to Forge Academy

Categories Words by Britt

Why Hyde Became Forge

The first time I understood how Hyde really worked, I was sitting across from my best friend in the dorm’s common room. The overhead lights buzzed, too bright, making the shadows under her eyes stand out. She had been gone for hours, pulled into an interrogation I knew little about. Now she sat hunched forward, hands tangled in the drawstrings of her sweatshirt, twisting and twisting until the cord was frayed.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. I could hear the hum of the vending machine, the muffled footsteps of staff pacing the hallway just beyond the door. Finally, in a voice that cracked halfway through, she told me she had turned me in. Not because she wanted to, but because they had cornered her, threatened harsher punishment if she stayed silent, promised her a way out if she confessed and gave up someone else.

It was like watching the air leave her body as she said it, her shoulders collapsing under a weight neither of us could carry. In that moment, I learned what Hyde thrived on: fear that seeped into every friendship, pressure that bent loyalty until it snapped, and betrayal recast as “character building.” Trust was dangerous. Silence was punished. And the walls were always listening.

When I began writing The Pace of Nature, I thought I would keep the school’s real name: Hyde. After all, it was where the story unfolded for me. But as the pages built up, Hyde transformed into Forge Academy.

The change was partly necessary, due to legal caution, privacy, the truth that no single account can ever capture the whole story. But it was also intentional. By renaming the school, I gave myself room to blend fiction with lived experience. Characters could be merged, events reshaped, and the narrative could hold not just my memories, but echoes of many. Forge became the crucible where it all burns down and takes shape again.

It’s been a whirlwind diving back into The Pace of Nature these past six weeks. I had put the novel on hold after my second son was born, due to being stretched too thin. And honestly, these past weeks have felt the same: pulled in every direction, between running a business, raising my boys, and now pouring myself back into getting this book ready for publication.

The days start at 5:00 a.m. and often end at midnight, every free minute crammed with edits, proposal drafts, blog posts, research. It’s exhausting. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because now is the time for my story to be heard.

I want to expose Hyde’s harmful “Brother’s Keeper” policy and their warped version of discipline that caused so much pain. Since the lawsuit was filed, countless people have reached out with their own stories.

Their voices are the fuel that keep me moving forward.

The more we speak, the more we refuse to be silenced, the more change can finally take root. We survived their system. Now we’re dismantling it. One story at a time.

Hyde Lawsuit: The Damage of “Brother’s Keeper”

Categories Words by Britt

Hyde Lawsuit: The Damage of “Brother’s Keeper”

Hi there! I wanted to share an update regarding the recent lawsuit against Hyde School—especially since I left this out of my last post and received a lot of feedback and interest.

What I Know

  • A federal class-action lawsuit (Fuller v. Hyde School, Case No. 2:25-cv-00354) was filed in July 2025 by former student Jessica Fuller.
  • The complaint alleges:
    • Forced child labor
    • Emotional abuse
    • “Attack therapy”
    • Compulsory physical punishment (known as “2-4”)
    • Public shaming rituals
  • All of this was framed under the guise of “character development.”
  • Since the suit was filed, dozens of alumni have come forward with similar stories.
  • Hyde has denied all allegations.

What troubles me is Hyde’s complete denial. I understand wanting to protect a legacy—but when that comes at the expense of truth and student well-being, it’s dangerous. Too many people have been hurt.

And this isn’t Hyde’s first lawsuit.
You can read more about that here.

You can hear Jessica and other’s story here.

The Damage of “Brother’s Keeper”

One of Hyde’s five core ethics, “Brother’s Keeper,” is based on the idea that students should hold each other accountable and report one another when they break a rule or “ethic.”

In theory, it sounds like integrity.
In practice, it was a tool for shame, control, and psychological harm.

Here’s how Brother’s Keeper typically played out:

  • A student breaks a rule.
  • Another student reports them to the Dean’s Area.
  • The Dean interrogates the student and demands names of anyone else “dirty.”
  • Those students are then interrogated.
  • In some cases – often a few times a year – a full school bust would be declared.

Then came the public spectacle:

  • Students are called on stage in front of the entire school.
  • They’re forced to “come clean” and confess deeply personal acts—often involving sex or drugs.
  • The Dean would sometimes ask for explicit details in private sessions.

If you weren’t called on stage, you may be sitting in the audience, sweating, terrified, wondering if your name was next.

And if your name did come up? Your parents were often contacted immediately and manipulated into believing you weren’t “ready” for the real world.

Meanwhile:

  • Students were divided – you were either “dirty” or “on track.”
  • Seniors who seemed “on track” were often revealed to be breaking the same rules behind closed doors.
  • The system bred hypocrisy, fear, and mistrust.

Recently, someone reached out to share that after they graduated from Hyde, their former roommate, who was still enrolled at Hyde at the time, turned them in for an ethic violation they had both been involved in. A staff member later contacted this person at college, shamed them, and asked them to return their diploma.

This was after they had already graduated from Hyde, moved on, enrolled in another school, and were doing well.

This person was thriving, focused on their future, working hard. And yet, Hyde couldn’t let it go.

How dare you graduate dirty? That’s the message they sent.

There were also cases where seniors were accused of being “dirty” – whether true or not – and Hyde would decide to hold them back, even when they had the grades to graduate. At any other school, they would have walked. But Hyde expected total rule-following, and if you didn’t meet their definition of “ready for the real world,” they convinced your parents to keep you another year. It didn’t matter that you were a teenager, learning and making mistakes like any young person does. What could have been a milestone moment – graduation – was taken away. At Hyde, they called it character development. But really, it was another year of control, and another year of your parents’ tuition.

During my senior year, in the midst of a school-wide bust, I remember gripping the edge of my seat while another student stood on stage, sobbing as she confessed things that never should’ve been anyone’s business but her own. I stared at the floor, barely breathing, praying my name wouldn’t be called next.

I was terrified. Afraid of what my family would think. That everything I had done to change, to earn back their trust, would be erased. I was terrified they’d believe Hyde over me. That they’d see me as a failure all over again. That they wouldn’t let me come back home.

Why Does Brother’s Keeper Trump Everything Else?

At Hyde, the message was clear: coming clean about breaking a rule, especially when someone else turned you in, mattered more than almost anything else.

Your academic progress, emotional growth, family relationships – even your leadership on the field – none of it mattered once you were labeled “dirty.”

So why?
Why did Hyde treat rule-breaking, and the public confession of it as the pinnacle of character development?

At Hyde, confession equaled transformation, regardless of the damage it caused. Integrity wasn’t measured by your values or growth over time, but by whether you confessed, turned in others, and accepted consequences without resistance. Loyalty to the institution mattered more than loyalty to yourself. And if you resisted, even quietly, you were seen as manipulative, dishonest, or not ready for the real world.

So when a student:

  • Kept something private because it was personal…
  • Refused to expose a friend out of loyalty…
  • Struggled to “come clean” in a public setting…

They weren’t seen as someone with boundaries or quiet integrity.
They were labeled as dishonest, untrustworthy, or not ready.

They didn’t just want you to follow rules.
They wanted you to confess, collapse, and rebuild yourself – under their terms.

The Cost of That Thinking

Students who had worked hard to earn trust, repair family relationships, or stay committed to schoolwork could have everything torn down in one day, simply because they made a mistake and didn’t report themselves first.

It wasn’t about accountability.
It was about reinforcing Hyde’s grip on your identity.

And if you resisted?
If you felt ashamed but didn’t want to share your private life on a stage?
You were told you were hiding, manipulating, not ready for the real world.

In Hyde’s eyes, you were only as good as your last confession.

Hyde, the world doesn’t need more control disguised as character.
It needs compassion, accountability, and growth. It’s time to break the cycle.

Where I Go From Here

I want to share that I’ll be self-publishing my novel, The Pace of Nature. I’ve spent the past week diving back into the manuscript, and I know now – this is the time to tell my story from beginning to end.

  • How did I end up at Hyde Boarding School?
  • What happened while I was there?
  • Why were my parents so desperate to send me to a place like that?

These are the questions my novel will explore.

Starting next Sunday, I’ll be posting weekly updates to walk you through the journey leading up to the book’s release.

Thank you for your continued support.

To my fellow Hyde classmates:
I’ve received countless messages this week from people sharing their stories. If you have something to say, anonymously or not, please email me.

I’m here to listen, and I’m here for you. Always.
📧 BrittDiGiacomo@gmail.com

How You Can Help

If you’re reading this and wondering how to support those affected by Hyde or similar institutions, here are a few ways:

  • ✅ Believe survivors. Even when their stories are hard to hear.
  • 📣 Share this post to raise awareness about abusive “character-building” systems.
  • 🧠 Educate yourself on trauma-informed practices and coercive control.
  • 🗣 Speak up if you see similar systems of shame or manipulation in your own schools or communities.
  • ❤️ Offer compassion, not correction to those who are still healing.

Hyde School Lawsuit: It’s about time

Categories Words by Britt

Hyde School is a college-preparatory boarding school in Woodstock, Connecticut, known for its intense focus on character development and family involvement.

Here’s My Story.

Hyde School changed my life in many ways – some of which I’m still grateful for, and others that left deep emotional scars. My experience isn’t black and white. It’s layered, complicated, and painful to revisit, but now, with a lawsuit finally bringing long-overdue attention to what so many of us went through, I feel compelled to share it.

When I arrived at Hyde, I was fifteen and only knew two things about myself:

         1.      I was a fast runner and a strong soccer player.

         2.      I was “stupid” because I had been in an accident at age seven that affected my ability to learn.

Hyde challenged that belief. Through its grueling structure and relentless push for self-reflection, I learned I wasn’t stupid. I was capable. I was strong. I learned how determined I could be. I came to understand that I had value beyond my accident. These are things I still carry with me today – I’ve graduated at the top of my class in both my undergraduate and master’s programs. I am now a mother, a wife, and a woman I’m proud to be.

But here’s the truth: none of this justifies the harm that was done.

There are things Hyde gave me – yes, like a deeper bond with my family through facilitated group sessions – but there are also things it took from me. Things that took years to reclaim.

The structure of Hyde was militaristic: 5:30 a.m. workouts, “24s” (24 hours of isolation, cleaning, and forced self-reflection when you got in trouble), intense peer and faculty evaluations. I could handle those. In fact, they made me stronger. But it was the Brother’s Keeper philosophy that broke something in me.

At Hyde, if you broke one of the Five Ethics – no smoking, no sex, no lying, no stealing, and being your “brother’s keeper” – you were labeled dirty. When someone was considered dirty, an announcement would go out. Classes, sports, and all daily activities would shut down. We’d be herded into the theater for hours without food or water while students were pulled onstage to name others who were also “dirty.” If your name was called, you were forced onstage too – humiliated, terrified, and powerless.

This wasn’t accountability. This was public shaming.

After the theater came the interrogations – one-on-one sessions with faculty who would pressure you to confess to things. If they thought you were withholding, they would keep pushing until you gave them something. And there was always the looming threat: Tell the truth or stay another year. And they meant it.

It felt like prison. We lived there. We couldn’t escape. And we were repeatedly told our parents were on board, fully supportive, even brainwashed. That was the most terrifying part – believing there was no safe way out, no one to believe us.

Senior year was supposed to be the highlight of my high school experience. I had worked so hard to get there, to rebuild my life and relationships with my family. But a series of these “school busts” events turned it into a nightmare. The emotional toll of being trapped, silenced, and threatened left deep trauma I carried for years. I’ve since undergone EMDR therapy to deal with recurring nightmares and panic that I didn’t fully understand until I faced them in therapy.

There were some faculty at Hyde who left a meaningful mark on me. Mr. Murphy showed me unexpected kindness and opened my eyes to the beauty of writing and English literature. Mr. Edwards taught me what it meant to be tough in a way that didn’t break me. And Mrs. Dubinsky was all heart – someone whose warmth and sincerity stood out in an otherwise harsh environment.

But not all faculty interactions were positive. During my time there, the dean of students demonstrated deeply inappropriate behavior that the school seemed to ignore or quietly dismiss. He was power-hungry and manipulative, often saying unsettling things and showing up unannounced in our dorm rooms when no one else was around. He would take students on strange, unexplained drives, and there were countless rumors circulating about his behavior – particularly toward the girls who babysat his children. These were not isolated whispers; they were persistent, deeply uncomfortable stories that were never properly addressed. Looking back, it’s clear that many of us were left vulnerable in ways we never should have been.

If you never felt unsafe at Hyde – if your experience was wholly positive – I am happy for you. Truly. But many of us had a different reality. We’re not just jumping on a bandwagon. We’ve been carrying this pain for years, often in silence.

In 2010, nearly a decade after I left Hyde, I wrote a book about my experience called The Pace of Nature. I entered an MFA writing program with one goal in mind: to become the best writer I could be – not just to tell my story, but to tell it well.

Life, motherhood, and time have kept the manuscript on hold. But with this lawsuit now shining a long-overdue light on the school, I’m seriously considering self-publishing. Not for recognition. Not for revenge. But for truth.

It was always my dream to traditionally publish The Pace of Nature – and as a professional writer who invested deeply in my education, I believed that was the path. But right now, what matters more is the purpose behind the book: to share my story in the hope that it helps others. The cycle of abuse must stop – and Hyde needs to change its methods, because they’re not realistic, and they’ve caused real harm to many.

This is my story. I wrote a book to tell it fully – and if there’s an audience that needs to hear it, I’ll be ready to publish.