If she could see me now
So many people have contacted me to congratulate me on publishing the book Trauma Informed Parenting in Action. Friends from years ago. Old colleagues. Parents we have supported over the years. Family. They have been so kind. At my daughter’s swimming club the parents all made a fuss, commenting and praising me. It is so kind. I never expected this; I hadn’t foreseen it. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. My face flushes and I don’t know how to respond. I find myself swatting these compliments away and minimising this achievement. As I often have in life, I find myself surprised not to feel the way I expected to feel when something happens.
It feels laughable to me when people call me a published author. Seeing my name on a book. It might have felt differently if it had been chosen by a publishing company and they had done this. I wonder whether being chosen would have brought me a level of legitimacy? But I self-published. As I often have in my life, I didn’t wait for permission from someone else. I forged ahead. Working with the awesome Sarah Lathan, author of Creating a Trauma Informed Classroom, inspired me. She had made a casual comment to me about how she wished she had just self-published her book. It triggered possibility in my brain. Was this allowed? Could a person do this? But on meeting my mentor Bryan Post and being offered the chance to join his exclusive group for professionals, his teachings gave me the tools to do this.
The book content was already there. The workshop material was tried and tested. That was the easy bit. But as a dyslexic human there was a lot of fear. Would it even be legible? I read it and read it, but my brain can’t see the errors. I put it through rigorous spell check, but that’s not always enough when your brain makes words that don’t actually exist. Others checked over it. At some point we just had to take a leap of faith. So I added it to Kindle Direct Publishing and announced a publication date: 31st January 2026.
I am actually more proud of the self-publishing than anything else. It wasn’t an easy process. It took many steps to get the cover created, the manuscript transcribed, and all the information input into the KDP website. I was sure that on the day of release something wouldn’t be right and I would be inundated with complaints. But it was fine. Within the first week the book reached No. 3 on the bestseller list in the category Raising Teens. The feedback was beyond anything I could have imagined. It couldn’t have gone any better. So why was I so conflicted? Flooded with embarrassment and discomfort when anyone mentioned it?
I arranged some appointments with our trauma coach and dear friend, Christianne. She always helps me when my imposter comes up. I told her how I couldn’t get my head around it. How funny it seemed. I told her how I often found myself laughing about the ridiculousness of it, crying with laughter with Steven at the reality of teachers asking me for my autograph on their copy. Seriously!!!! Teachers. Wanting my book. With my name signed inside!!!! Me??? My writing is illegible. It’s like a four-year-old’s. A spider crawling across a page. Let’s hope no one ever asks me to write more than just my signature. I feel sick at the idea.
As she often does, Christianne helped me to see my younger part. That little girl who was made fun of, ridiculed and shamed by teachers. If only she had known, sitting in those classrooms, that one day this could be happening. Christianne suggested that when I recall these moments I insert her into the background, waving the book and smiling with a goofy smile. This was a lovely image. To insert a safe adult into that memory felt comforting. As if my algorithm could read my mind, that night an old photo, shared on social media by a school classmate, popped up of the school teachers. So I added Christianne, popping out with the book. The words “if they could see me now” ringing in my ears.
Since then I have been complimented and able to accept this somewhat more gracefully. I’m working on it and may be for some time. Those not good enough beliefs run deep. Maybe when I publish my next book it will feel differently.
Or maybe the work isn’t about feeling differently at all, but about letting pride and discomfort exist side by side. About allowing the younger parts of me to catch up with the reality of who I am now. A woman who wrote a book, published it anyway, and dared to be seen. And perhaps, just perhaps, that is more than enough.
