Confessions of an Author

From embarrassed author to resolved champion

In 2019, I published my first book.

I had worked on it for two years. Early drafts were called Shit My Zen Teachers Says, and it was basically that: all of the awesome things I had learned from my Zen teacher over almost a decade of meditation practice.

Then it started to change shape, find a new soul. It became softer, warm-hearted. It became the hug I wanted to give myself when life felt shaky, and offer to others. Rooted still in my meditation practice, yes, but it found a simpler form. A few key concepts that had the biggest impact on my personal growth journey. The things that enabled me to start the long path of making self-love a practice.

And so, The Magic of Well-Being was born, A Modern Guide to Lasting Happiness. 

I remember editing the final draft and feeling so at peace. The book had found its fullest expression and I couldn’t have been happier. 

Thus, I became an independently published author. It was a dream come true.

Early reception was wonderful. Hearing from friends and readers meant the world to me. My high school principal and his wife wrote me a letter, and a review on Amazon. An author I greatly admire reached out and said how much she appreciated the book. After years of work, it felt incredible putting something out into the world that was more permanent than a social media post, more curated than an email.

I was an author. I couldn’t wait to build my creative empire.

Until everything changed. 

I started to feel embarrassed by my book. Ashamed. I continued to grow, and it didn’t, stuck in a capsule in time. 

I wondered if it was good enough.

I’ve always struggled with insecurities, and nowhere are they more present than my writing. Writing is the thing I loved the most growing up, and also never felt good at. I always wanted to be an author and I spent so many years thinking it was out of my reach. That I would never be talented enough.

It’s funny how insecurities take root in your life, and they’re hard to shake. Like a bad tattoo on a drunken escapade. 

These negative thoughts became affixed to my first book, the proof, already out in the world, that I had accomplished my dream. 

I didn’t mention my book in conversation. I didn’t share about it online. But secretly, when people continued to reach out after having read it, it meant so much. I saved their messages in folders titled “love.”

There’s a local bookstore in my town. For years now, I’ve provided signed copies of my book for them to sell. To be honest, they sell out pretty quickly, but I wasn’t good at restocking. I felt like I was inconveniencing the owner when I asked for a check for the books that already sold. I felt like he was doing me a big favor by selling my books, even though he makes money from them, too. I was afraid, too, that I would walk inside…and all of my previous stock would be sitting on the shelf, laughing at me.

For the last year and a half, I hadn’t been inside, and I shuffled past when walking downtown, averting my gaze in an attempt to avoid the piercing eye of that glass door.

All in all, I was a terrible champion of my own creation. It really hurts to admit that.

Fast forward to 2023. I gave birth to my first child, and shortly thereafter, I had a stark realization: I didn’t want my son to see me walking into my local bookstore with my head low, apologizing for something I had made with my whole heart.

I never wanted him to see me apologize for my dharma.

It was an abrupt 180. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I became invested in honoring myself, and my work in this world. And it’s all starting with The Magic of Well-Being.

For the last few months, I’ve been designing a new book cover to breathe life–and new opportunity–into The Magic of Well-Being. In one week, I recorded the audiobook that will launch soon, because I always imagined these words read out loud. 

I designed a display for the local bookstore where my work now proudly sits, on a separate table, as a local author.

I have taken my son into the bookstore with me after a year and a half of absence–carrying new stock, reaching a hand out for the check–with my head held high. 

I want him to know the importance of having a dream, and I want him to know the importance of not only pursuing that dream, but celebrating when you achieve it. 

Dreams are woven into the very fabric of our being. They actualize the longing we feel as humans in a slightly off-kilter world.

Dreams matter.

I might always struggle to some extent when my creations are finished. When a project is released, it’s no longer yours. It belongs to the world. It finds its way into other people’s hearts, to be interpreted through their lens, and will go on to do its own work. 

That is healthy. That is appropriate. 

But with that, there is an element of separation. The project that was embedded in your cells is shifted to the outside of your body, then launched far and wide. When this happens, it’s easy to judge that part of yourself. To pick it apart. To worry that it’s not good enough.

That is my internal work. And you know what? I’m happy to do it. It’s worth it for the feeling of seeing a vision come to fruition. I honestly can’t imagine doing anything else with my short time on this earth.

I have immense gratitude for my first book. It has taught me–and gifted me–a lot. And it’s bringing me a tremendous amount of joy now as I redesign the cover and launch the audiobook. 

I am working to be a better champion of my own work. They deserve it. And you know what? I do, too.

Check out a video of me dropping book copies at the bookstore with my little one!

Cover photo by Amanda Podesta Photography