Lifelong Learning with Christina McDowell

What the D.C. native and author of THE CAVE DWELLERS has discovered about surviving family betrayal, reclaiming identity, and choosing fearless storytelling

Hi - it’s me. Crawling out from under the covers where I’ve been hiding, tentatively peeking my head out to say, “Hello. I’m alive. What the #?!$ is going on with the world? Are we OK??”

For the past two weeks, I’ve been ruminating in online silence as my city navigates a whiplash of terrible news. Several times, I’ve tried to sit down and pen some inspiring (or at least helpful) words for those of us whose new year has gotten off to a turbulent start, but each time, I find myself staring at the blank screen, overwhelmed and tongue-tied. Like many, I’m struggling to make sense of the current moment, which is to say, my most essential act of service right now is self-preservation: learning to manage the anxiety of so many unknowns, being especially intentional about the news I consume, and making sure not to numb myself to small moments of joy and gratitude throughout the day.

Truthfully, I’m skeptical of anyone who positions themselves as an authority in navigating these difficult times. From the fires that ravaged California to the MAGA takeover of Washington and last night’s tragic air collision, grief is abundant, and comfort is scarce. We are all learning as we go.

What’s true about brain injury seems to be equally true for 2025: it’s a marathon, not a sprint.

My own lack of wisdom is one reason I’m especially grateful to fellow Washingtonian and writer Christina McDowell, the subject of this month’s lifelong learning profile. If anyone is intimately familiar with whiplash - the experience of having the rug pulled from underneath - and learning to reinvent one’s identity, dreams, and sense of safety in the world, it’s Christina.

A native of McLean, VA, Christina was just 18 when her father was arrested for fraud in connection with Jordan Belfort (the white-collar criminal fictionalized in The Wolf of Wall Street). What came next was nothing short of the utter transformation of her former existence. In losing everything - money, family, identity - Christina temporarily lost herself. Her memoir, After Perfect, is the story of learning to reclaim, reframe, and rebuild a life ravaged by deception and abandonment.

I love Christina’s writing (you’ll also learn about her fiction debut, The Cave Dwellers, in our interview), but I’m in extraordinary awe of Christina the person. In part because of how earnestly she ruminates on the same issues I do (the clash of wealth and privilege in our deeply inequitable city, the struggle to attach ourselves to something real in a society driven by materialism and image, the purity of motherhood amidst all the noise), and because she is a model for living life on one’s own terms.

Christina is a brave, independent thinker, and her writing reflects the same reverence for honesty. The wisdom she shares here is an invitation to us all to live better.

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Like other memoirists, your personal journey is one of profound reinvention many times over. What has been the most unexpected lesson you've learned about yourself?

The most unexpected lesson I’ve learned about myself is that reinvention isn’t about erasing who I was, but about learning to embrace every version of myself. For a long time, I thought reinvention meant running away from my past or wishing I could re-write it, but the older I get, the more I’ve realized that healing and growth come from integration, not rejection. And in this realization, there is more room to lead an authentic and honest life.

How did your personal transformation (and feel free to share a bit about your backstory) influence your journey to becoming a writer?

My personal transformation is rooted in navigating the aftermath of my father’s arrest, his stealing my identity when I was a teenager (he left me in nearly one hundred thousand dollars of debt), and the loss of the life I had known. When our house of cards fell, I was forced to confront hard truths about privilege, identity, family, and love. That experience not only transformed me emotionally but fueled my need to process and make sense of it through storytelling. I had always been drawn to storytelling. When I was little, I wanted to be an actress, but as I was experiencing the unraveling of the truth, I didn’t want to say someone else’s words anymore, I wanted to say my own. Writing became a way for me to reclaim my voice in the face of feeling shame about my father’s incarceration, and the uncertainty I was experiencing, as well as the injustices around the world I was becoming awake to. Writing allowed me to examine the ways our past shapes us while also shedding light on broader issues like greed and systemic corruption. Writing After Perfect was transformative in itself; it taught me the power of honesty and connection through shared human experience. It became a turning point for me, as cliché as it sounds, about turning pain into purpose. And I’m not sure that will ever leave me.

Reinvention often requires letting go of parts of our identity. As you sat down to craft After Perfect, how did you navigate the process of shedding the past while imagining a different kind of future for yourself?

Writing After Perfect required an honest reckoning with my past— the shattering of our family unit, the consequences of both my mother’s and father’s choices, and later, my choices. The ways I had lost myself in the process. I wasn’t equipped with enough tools to do it alone. Sobriety and therapy played a profound role in this transformation. Sobriety forced me to face emotions I had been running from for years and gave me the clarity to see myself and my past more honestly through the written word. I began to understand the patterns of self-destruction I needed to break, and in doing so, I found a feeling of hope and the freedom to create a different kind of future for myself. But it wasn’t easy. It required letting go of the life I thought I was supposed to have and embracing something I didn’t fully know yet. Walking through the grief was important. Writing became a bridge between the person I was and the person I was becoming—a way to process pain, find forgiveness, and rediscover my strengths so I could build a more authentic and honest life moving forward.

Learning to define ourselves outside of the values and conditions in which we are raised often challenges societal norms and expectations. How do you think your story speaks to the broader challenges people face when trying to redefine themselves?

I think my story reflects the universal struggle of untangling ourselves from the values and narratives we inherit. Growing up in a world of power, privilege, appearances, and expectations, I internalized an identity that was tied to wealth and status as a young kid. When that world was no longer my reality, I had to confront who I was without those external markers and redefine myself on my own terms. Redefining oneself often means questioning the systems we’ve been raised in and rejecting the narratives or burdens that no longer serve us. My journey speaks to the courage required to live authentically and to define oneself from within rather than relying on the external world to do it for us. I am not impressed by what country club you belong to, or what kind of car you drive.

You published a memoir and then a novel, The Cave Dwellers, which, for those of us who know Northwest Washington, D.C., feels almost like autofiction. What inspired you to pivot to fiction, and what role does storytelling play in helping others unpack the themes of this book (namely privilege and family)?

I felt compelled to move beyond my own story and explore the broader societal forces that shaped the world I grew up in. While writing a memoir allowed me to process my personal experiences, fiction provided the creative freedom to ask deeper, more universal questions like the one I ask in The Cave Dwellers: What, if anything, are those with power and wealth willing to sacrifice for a more equal world?

Setting the novel in my hometown of D.C., a city steeped in privilege and power, allowed me to examine this question from multiple perspectives. Through the characters and their stories, I was able to challenge the systems that uphold inequality and delve into the moral compromises made to preserve status and family legacy. Fiction allowed me to go beyond my personal experience and interrogate collective responsibility. In that way, it became a way to hold up a mirror— not only to those who might see themselves in these characters but also to readers. To reflect on their relationship with privilege, family, and societal norms. For me, it was about expanding the conversation, asking difficult questions, and exploring the often dark truths of what it means to be a human within social constructs that were built on an inequitable history.

How do you approach learning as an ongoing process in your life and career? Are there particular practices or habits that help you stay open to growth?

I’m naturally a curious person, so I think it’s this curiosity and my willingness to sit with discomfort that helps me grow. I have always been obsessed with The Why of things, which is a blessing and a curse. It’s why I like leaving a reader with more questions than answers. My experience has been that growth often comes from staying open to confronting the parts of myself that feel uncomfortable or unresolved. I see my personal life and career as a writer as very intertwined. There is always more to uncover, whether it’s through therapy, a good book, conversations with friends from different backgrounds, my husband, or just observing the world around me. I like to surround myself with people who inspire and challenge me—who are unafraid of self-examination and truth, even if it’s hard to swallow. There’s freedom and real empowerment on the other side of it.

We first met shortly before you became pregnant with your son, Ethan, and I've watched from a distance how motherhood has sparked a new sense of vitality within you. How do you think motherhood has redefined you? Has it changed the way you reflect on previous chapters of your life?

Ethan has brought me a sense of fun and joy I think I had forgotten about. I spent so many years in the aftermath of what happened to my family of origin with a level of intensity and focus on exploring what makes life deep and meaningful that I think I was missing out on the levity and fun of what it means to be alive. Ethan came out of the womb with a sense of humor as if he knew I needed more fun in my life! I know that motherhood has brought a deep sense of clarity, almost like my life has narrowed and expanded all at once. He has restored great balance within me. He is my greatest gift. And so motherhood has absolutely had an impact on how I reflect on my past. I was quite hard on myself in After Perfect. There’s a tenderness I feel now toward the younger version of myself. I am much nicer to her today!

After living in L.A. for many years, the Pacific Palisades is an especially sacred place for you. Can you share a little bit about why and how you're making sense of the unfolding tragedy of the wildfires?

Well, without getting political, I’ll keep my thoughts on how this has impacted me personally, having lived there during both the darkest time in my life and the most healing. I write about the Pacific Palisades in After Perfect as being the place where my father laundered money in my name (the former Wells Fargo bank), as well as the place we lived when my father left for prison. So, for a long time, I never wanted to go back there. A town that was considered very privileged and picture-perfect and had an indelible mark on the trajectory of my life just by being its setting (for clarity, we moved from the Washington, D.C. area to Pacific Palisades after my father’s conviction). But the Pacific Palisades also ended up being the place where I got sober. Where I met dozens of incredible women who loved me until I could learn to love myself. It was the beginning of the new life I began to build. And it was also the place where I celebrated the life of my late mentor, author Jill Schary Robinson, just months before the fires burned it down. So, how I’ve been processing the fires is twofold: the bad memories and the good memories. It was a lot to hold, and it will continue to be an ongoing process as I go back to Los Angeles next month to visit friends and family who still live there. But right now, my main focus is being there for my friends who lost their homes and businesses and making sure they are doing okay. There is a long road ahead.

What are you learning now?

On my “having more fun” note, I am learning a lot about the CIA for my next book. I am fascinated with this kind of power. A lot of people don’t know this about me, but I grew up next to the CIA. I mention it briefly in the description of my neighborhood in After Perfect, but I didn’t realize how much this unconsciously had an impact on my imagination as a child once I discovered what it was. So, while I continue to write about themes that challenge power, this is one where I get to have a lot of fun with my research.

You can connect with Christina at her website // Instagram // books