In April of 2017, I gleefully declared I was going to write a book. Not just any book, a self-help book. After all, I’ve been a writer since I was a little girl, and I’ve lived through a lot. Surely all my years of therapy, self-help books and more TED Talks than I can count must have done something for me. I believe I have wisdom to offer.
The first couple months were terrifying. What if these words actually become a book? And people read it? What if they hate it? What if no one reads it? Would I rather no one read it or people read it and hate it? These are all questions I asked myself.
I had to check my motivation a time or two. Why am I writing this book? To help people. To help myself. To connect with others. To share my hard earned wisdom. To earn enough money to be able to keep writing.
I was trucking along when my life, as I knew it, fell apart.
I spent months working through some of the principals laid out in the book. I quit writing the book several times. My life was in shambles. I had always doubted myself, now I was convinced that I had nothing to offer the world.
Everything I thought I knew about myself and the world around me was challenged. It ended up breaking my heart into pieces. I was shattered. Left for dead. I never thought I would get up.
I had no choice. If I wanted to live, I had to get back up. So I started. Slowly.
I looked around at the wreckage. How could I make sense of this mess? How could I put myself back together when everything was blown to smithereens?
I realized I was naked. And covered in dust and shrapnel wounds.
I began to scrounge for anything recognizable, rummaging through the pieces of my broken heart.
“Nothing fits!” I would exclaim as I slammed down another rock, breaking it even further.
I threw myself to the ground and cried out in desperation, “HOW WILL I EVER GET BACK TO THE WAY I WAS?????” Only to be met with a gentle nudge to take a closer look at myself.
My heart isn’t broken. It’s whole.
The rocks and dust around me where the cave I put my heart to protect it.
For the first time since I can remember, I was me. Fully me. Not the me who had to armor up again and again, starting from a very young age. I was finally the me I was meant to be. I was still dirty, tattered and lost. But in the midst of this devastation, I found myself.
It took months of work before my wounds could begin to heal, plus months of metaphorical rehab, but I like to believe the worst is behind me. I’m now ready to be the person I want to be. Live the life I want to live. Chase my dream. Share my battle scars with those still in the trenches.
As I recovered from the destruction, my book began to take shape. What I went through caused me to be a better writer. A more transparent soul. My struggles made the book better. They made me better.
And now, nearly two years after my declaration, I am thrilled and nervous to announce that I wrote and published a book!!!
If anything I’ve written, here or elsewhere resonates with you, I would love nothing more than you (yes, you) to share this with your network.
Friends, one thing I do not have is an advertising budget. I am hoping to use the money from my first set of sales for promotion, but I need your help getting that first set of sales. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.