Anticipating

I have always loved to write. Since I was a little kid, writing short detective stories about a girl named Zoe, I haven’t been able to keep myself from putting fingers to keys to provide a narration of my internal world

Today, my writing looks a little different than it used to. My stories no longer just belong to myself or my family and friends, and they are out there for anyone to read. In just days, my second book will be coming out for anyone to read, and I’m scar-cited. My story will be out there—at least, the part of my story that I’ve told in the book, concerning my relationship with that super-loaded, religious word, “forgiveness.” It’s deep. It’s intense. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever been.

Anticipating the book’s release holds the tension between fear that NOBODY will snag a copy and the fear of what will happen if EVERYONE snags a copy. I remind myself that expecting either extreme is a cognitive distortion. At the same time, I can’t pretend I’m not nervous about how the book will be received.

Truly, I offer this writing as a gift to those who have felt alone in their own stories. There is nothing more debilitating than silent shame. I hope that by opening windows into my heart, others may come into the light as well.

If I can do that, I’ve succeeded.