Helen Knott

Long-listed for the 2020 RBC Taylor Prize A memoir of addiction, intergenerational trauma, and the lasting wounds of sexual violence Helen Knott, a highly accomplished Indigenous woman, seems to have it all. But in her memoir, she offers a different perspective. In My Own Moccasins is an unflinching account of addiction, intergenerational trauma, and the wounds brought on by sexual violence. It is also the story of sisterhood, the power of ceremony, the love of family, and the possibility of redemption. With gripping moments of withdrawal, times of spiritual awareness, and historical insights going back to the signing of Treaty 8 by her great-great grandfather, Chief Bigfoot, her journey exposes the legacy of colonialism, while reclaiming her spirit.

When matriarchs begin to disappear, there is a choice to either step into the places they left behind, or to craft a new space. Helen Knott’s bestselling debut memoir, In My Own Moccasins , wowed reviewers, award juries, and readers alike with its profoundly honest and moving account of addiction, intergenerational trauma, resilience, and survival. Now, with her highly anticipated second book, Knott exceeds the highest of expectations with a chronicle of grief, love, and legacy. Having lost both her mom and grandmother in just over six months, forced to navigate the fine lines between matriarchy, martyrdom, and codependency, Knott realizes she must let go, not just of them, but of who she thought she was.     Woven into the pages are themes of mourning, sobriety through loss, and generational dreaming. Becoming a Matriarch is charted with poetic insights, sass, humour, and heart, taking the reader over the rivers and mountains of Dane Zaa territory in Northeastern British Columbia, along the cobbled streets of Antigua, Guatemala, and straight to the heart of what matriarchy truly means. This is a journey through pain, on the way to becoming. Through writing, reflecting, and dreaming I found my way to the real lessons. I found permission to become whoever I needed to be. I found permission to live a life and not just endure it. I found permission to belong deeply to myself. I found permission to lay to rest the sorrow of the women before me and to cultivate joy for us in its place.