Because people often ask, I’ll say it here directly: I have no intention of running for office, ever. I’ve never been a fan of politics, and my experience over the last ten years has done little to change that. I continue to be put off by the nastiness—the tribal segregation of red and blue, this idea that we’re supposed to choose one side and stick to it, unable to listen and compromise, or sometimes even to be civil. I do believe that at its best, politics can be a means for positive change, but this arena is just not for me.
That isn’t to say I don’t care deeply about the future of our country. Since Barack left office, I’ve read news stories that turn my stomach. I’ve lain awake at night, fuming over what’s come to pass. It’s been distressing to see how the behavior and the political agenda of the current president have caused many Americans to doubt themselves and to doubt and fear one another. It’s been hard to watch as carefully built, compassionate policies have been rolled back, as we’ve alienated some of our closest allies and left vulnerable members of our society exposed and dehumanized. I sometimes wonder where the bottom might be.
What I won’t allow myself to do, though, is to become cynical. In my most worried moments, I take a breath and remind myself of the dignity and decency I’ve seen in people throughout my life, the many obstacles that have already been overcome. I hope others will do the same. We all play a role in this democracy. We need to remember the power of every vote. I continue, too, to keep myself connected to a force that’s larger and more potent than any one election, or leader, or news story—and that’s optimism. For me, this is a form of faith, an antidote to fear. Optimism reigned in my family’s little apartment on Euclid Avenue. I saw it in my father, in the way he moved around as if nothing were wrong with his body, as if the disease that would someday take his life just didn’t exist. I saw it in my mother’s stubborn belief in our neighborhood, her decision to stay rooted even as fear led many of her neighbors to pack up and move. It’s the thing that first drew me to Barack when he turned up in my office at Sidley, wearing a hopeful grin. Later, it helped me overcome my doubts and vulnerabilities enough to trust that if I allowed my family to live an extremely public life, we’d manage to stay safe and also happy.
And it helps me now. As First Lady, I saw optimism in surprising places. It was there in the wounded warrior at Walter Reed who pushed back against pity by posting a note on his door, reminding everyone that he was both tough and hopeful. It lived in Cleopatra Cowley-Pendleton, who channeled some part of her grief over losing her daughter into fighting for better gun laws. It was there in the social worker at Harper High School who made a point of shouting out her love and appreciation for students each time she passed them in the hall. And it’s there, always, embedded in the hearts of children. Kids wake up each day believing in the goodness of things, in the magic of what might be. They’re uncynical, believers at their core. We owe it to them to stay strong and keep working to create a more fair and humane world. For them, we need to remain both tough and hopeful, to acknowledge that there’s more growing to be done.
There are portraits of me and Barack now hanging in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, a fact that humbles us both. I doubt that anyone looking at our two childhoods, our circumstances, would ever have predicted we’d land in those halls. The paintings are lovely, but what matters most is that they’re there for young people to see—that our faces help dismantle the perception that in order to be enshrined in history, you have to look a certain way. If we belong, then so, too, can many others.
I’m an ordinary person who found herself on an extraordinary journey. In sharing my story, I hope to help create space for other stories and other voices, to widen the pathway for who belongs and why. I’ve been lucky enough to get to walk into stone castles, urban classrooms, and Iowa kitchens, just trying to be myself, just trying to connect. For every door that’s been opened to me, I’ve tried to open my door to others. And here is what I have to say, finally: Let’s invite one another in. Maybe then we can begin to fear less, to make fewer wrong assumptions, to let go of the biases and stereotypes that unnecessarily divide us. Maybe we can better embrace the ways we are the same. It’s not about being perfect. It’s not about where you get yourself in the end. There’s power in allowing yourself to be known and heard, in owning your unique story, in using your authentic voice. And there’s grace in being willing to know and hear others. This, for me, is how we become.
Acknowledgments
As with everything I’ve done in my life, this memoir would not have been possible without the love and support of many people.
I would not be who I am today without the steady hand and unconditional love of my mother, Marian Shields Robinson. She has always been my rock, allowing me the freedom to be who I am, while never allowing my feet to get too far off the ground. Her boundless love for my girls, and her willingness to put our needs before her own, gave me the comfort and confidence to venture out into the world knowing they were safe and cherished at home.
My husband, Barack, my love, my partner of twenty-five years and the most lovingly committed father to our daughters, has been a life partner I could only have imagined. Our story is still unfolding, and I eagerly await the many adventures left to come. Thank you for your help and guidance with this book…for reading chapters carefully and patiently, and for knowing exactly when to give a gentle steer.
And to my big brother, Craig. Where do I begin? You have been my protector since the day I was born. You have made me laugh more than any other person on this earth. You are the best brother a sister could ask for, a loving and caring son, husband, and father. Thank you for all the hours you spent with my team peeling back the layers of our childhood. Some of my best memories of writing this book will be our time together, with Mom, sitting in the kitchen reliving so many old stories.
There is absolutely no way that I could have completed this book in my lifetime without an incredibly gifted team of collaborators whom I simply adore. When I first met Sara Corbett a little over a year ago, all I knew about her was that she was highly respected by my editor and knew very little about politics. Today I would trust her with my life not just because she has an amazing and curious mind but because she is a fundamentally kind and generous human being. I hope that this is just the beginning of a lasting friendship.
Tyler Lechtenberg has been a valuable member of the Obama world for more than a decade. He came into our lives as one of the hundreds of hopeful young Iowa field organizers and has been with us as a trusted adviser ever since. I have watched him grow into a powerful writer with an incredibly bright future.
Then there is my editor, Molly Stern, whose enthusiasm, energy, and passion instantly drew me to her. Molly kept me buoyed by her unwavering faith in my vision for this book. I am forever grateful to her and the entire Crown team, including Maya Mavjee, Tina Constable, David Drake, Emma Berry, and Chris Brand, who supported this effort from the beginning. Amanda D’Acierno, Lance Fitzgerald, Sally Franklin, Carisa Hays, Linnea Knollmueller, Matthew Martin, Donna Passanante, Elizabeth Rendfleisch, Anke Steinecke, Christine Tanigawa, and Dan Zitt all helped make Becoming possible.
I also want to thank Markus Dohle for putting all the resources of Penguin Random House behind this labor of love.
I would not be able to function successfully in this world as a mother, wife, friend, and professional without my team. Anyone who knows me well knows that Melissa Winter is the other half of my brain. Mel, thank you for being by my side through every step of this process. More importantly, thank you for loving me and my girls so fiercely. There is no me without you.
Melissa is the chief of staff of my personal team. This small but mighty group of smart, hardworking women are the folks who make sure I’m always on point: Caroline Adler Morales, Chynna Clayton, MacKenzie Smith, Samantha Tubman, and Alex May Sealey.
Bob Barnett and Deneen Howell of Williams and Connolly were
invaluable guides to the publishing process, and I am grateful for their advice and support.
A special thanks to all those who helped bring this book to life in so many other ways: Pete Souza, Chuck Kennedy, Lawrence Jackson, Amanda Lucidon, Samantha Appleton, Kristin Jones, Chris Haugh, Arielle Vavasseur, Michele Norris, and Elizabeth Alexander.
In addition, I want to thank the incredibly resourceful Ashley Woolheater for her thorough research and Gillian Brassil for her meticulous fact-checking. Many of my former staff also helped confirm critical details and time lines throughout this process—there are too many to name, but I am grateful to each of them.
Thank you to all the amazing women in my life who have kept me lifted up. You all know who you are and what you mean to me—my girlfriends, my mentors, my “other daughters”—and a very special thanks to Mama Kaye. All of you have supported me during this writing process and have helped me become a better woman.
The hectic pace of my life as First Lady left little time for traditional journaling. That is why I am so grateful to my dear friend Verna Williams, who is currently serving as the interim dean and Nippert Professor of Law at the University of Cincinnati College of Law. I relied heavily on the roughly 1,100 pages of transcripts resulting from our biannual recorded conversations during our White House years.
I am so proud of all that we accomplished in the East Wing. I want to thank the many men and women who dedicated their lives to help our nation, the members of the Office of the First Lady—policy, scheduling, administration, communications, speechwriters, social office, correspondence. Thank you to the staffs, White House Fellows, and agency detailees who were responsible for building each of my initiatives—Let’s Move!, Reach Higher, Let Girls Learn, and, of course, Joining Forces.
Joining Forces will always hold a special place in my heart because it gave me rare exposure to the strength and resilience of our outstanding military community. To all of the service members, veterans, and military families, thank you for your service and sacrifice on behalf of the country we all love. To Dr. Jill Biden and her entire team—it was truly a blessing and a joy to work side by side with you all on this very important initiative.
To all of the nutrition and education leaders and advocates, thank you for doing the thankless, everyday hard work of making sure all our children have the love, support, and resources they need to achieve their dreams.
Thank you to all of the members of the United States Secret Service, as well as their families, whose daily sacrifice allows them to do their jobs so well. Particularly to those who have and continue to serve my family, I will be forever grateful for their dedication and professionalism.
Thank you to the hundreds of men and women who work hard each day to make the White House a home for the families who have the privilege of inhabiting one of our most treasured monuments—the ushers, chefs, butlers, florists, grounds crew, housekeeping, and engineering staffs. They will always be an important part of our family.
Finally, I want to thank every young person I ever encountered during my time as First Lady. To all the promising young souls that touched my heart over those years—to those who helped my garden grow; to those who danced, sang, cooked, and broke bread with me; to those who remained open to the love and guidance I had to give; to those who gave me thousands of warm, delicious hugs, hugs that lifted me up and kept me going even during my most difficult moments. Thank you for always giving me a reason to be hopeful.
Photograph Credits
ENDPAPER PHOTOGRAPHS: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: Courtesy of the Obama-Robinson Family Archive; 6: (left) Courtesy of the Obama-Robinson Family Archive, (right) © Callie Shell/Aurora Photos; 7: (left) © Susan Watts/New York Daily News/Getty Images, (right) © Brooks Kraft LLC/Corbis/Getty Images; 8: Photo by Ida Mae Astute © ABC/Getty Images
INSERT PHOTOGRAPHS: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12: Courtesy of the Obama-Robinson Family Archive; 13: © Public Allies, courtesy of Phil Schmitz; 14: Courtesy of the University of Chicago Medicine; 15: Courtesy of the Obama-Robinson Family Archive; 16: © David Katz 2004; 17: © David Katz 2004; 18: © Anne Ryan 2007; 19: © Callie Shell/Aurora Photos; 20: © Callie Shell/Aurora Photos; 21: Courtesy of the Obama-Robinson Family Archive; 22: © David Katz 2008; 23: © Spencer Platt/Getty Images; 24: © David Katz 2008; 25: Photo by Chuck Kennedy, McClatchy/Tribune; 26: © Mark Wilson/Getty Images; 27: Official White House Photo by Joyce N. Boghosian; 28: © Karen Bleier/AFP/Getty Images; 29: Official White House Photo by Lawrence Jackson; 30: Official White House Photo by Samantha Appleton; 31: Official White House Photo by Samantha Appleton; 32: Official White House Photo by Chuck Kennedy; 33: Official White House Photo by Pete Souza; 34: Official White House Photo by Samantha Appleton; 35: Official White House Photo by Lawrence Jackson; 36: Official White House Photo by Samantha Appleton; 37: Official White House Photo by Chuck Kennedy; 38: Official White House Photo by Pete Souza; 39: Official White House Photo by Pete Souza; 40: Official White House Photo by Chuck Kennedy; 41: Official White House Photo by Lawrence Jackson; 42: Official White House Photo by Amanda Lucidon; 43: Official White House Photo by Pete Souza; 44: (left) Official White House Photo by Pete Souza, (right) Official White House Photo by Samantha Appleton; 45: Official White House Photo by Pete Souza; 46: Courtesy of the Obama-Robinson Family Archive; 47: Official White House Photo by Amanda Lucidon; 48: Official White House Photo by Lawrence Jackson
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