The other day, I remembered something I did while writing my first book. At that point, I felt rather battered and bruised. It was my first book. I didn’t really know what I was doing. (Please know that there are times now when I also feel that I don’t know what I’m doing, but it’s a ta higher level. I can feel that and then laugh. I have that back-up experience now that I’ve done it before. I can do it again. I can feel the story calling to me. But that wasn’t how it felt when I wrote my book.)
At that point, I really didn’t know if I could do it. I felt the wind against my face. I doubted myself. I was full of criticism about my book. And then I stopped and took a breath. I pulled out my notebook, and I wrote a letter to my book. I apologized to my book for putting it down. I told my book that I would show up for it. I promised that I would give my all. I said that I couldn’t promise always to be kind because I wasn’t always kind to myself, but I would try my best. And that changed everything. It made me realize that this wasn’t a relationship with me and others in the world. This was a connection between me and my book, and I had to keep my head straight about that. Maybe this will be helpful to you, too. I hope so.