I’ve been dwelling on what I lost. But a three-sentence note showed me what I still have.

At 26, I never thought I was old enough to get one of those life-shattering phone calls. But my phone did ring, and I already know that nothing will ever be the same again.

From the tender age of four, rampant masturbation was my secret shame. It took an awkward sex ed class at a Christian private school to inadvertently teach me I wasn’t alone.

My mom and dad were fun-loving lounge singers with endless energy and outrageous perms to match. Then they became parents, Nashville became “cool,” and we all started to...