In this moment, I am consciously vulnerable. I am moments away from pressing send and allowing 7 people in my life to read my memoir.

Unexpectedly, I am also feeling very calm. And I am surprised that I haven’t had any big “holy shit” moments.

I’m waiting for them, don’t get me wrong. I’m just not sure exactly when they’re going to come.

They didn’t happen when I started writing. Or when I wrote the words that have come together to form the end of my book. The ones that I didn’t see coming.

There were even only a handful of times that tears fell while I was writing. I found that I was more emotional as myself and my editor got closer to the end of my first final draft.

Jug Island Port Moody

She would send me back each chapter as she edited and as I read her comments, re-reading what I had written, I found that I was unable to read though almost any chapter without crying.

Obviously, the process itself has been therapeutic. And emotional.

But what is it about the final form of my book being my trigger?

Modesty aside...

I think I have created something beautiful.

I’ve already accepted that I might be the only one that thinks that. Because I am who matters in this story. I set out to write this for me. I wrote it as an account of everything that I have overcome in my life and everything beautiful that has come of it in the process.

All that aside, I sincerely hope you all like it.

I am doing my best to put positive thoughts out into the universe, trusting that they will stick.

Try it sometime. You might be surprised.

Emotional clean up, Aisle 11,


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