$500 bucks.

That’s all I’ve made from my books.

And I’m okay with that.

Because I didn’t write them for the money.

I wrote them to survive the harder days.

I wrote them as a form of therapy.

I wrote them for my kids.

I wrote them for other women.

I wrote them because I wanted to and I needed to.

12 reviews.

That’s all they’ve gotten.

And I’m okay with that.

Even if most are from family and friends.

5 stars.

That’s what two out of the three have been given.

And, yes, again, from family and friends, but still…

I have every right to feel proud.

Of myself.

Of my creative works.

Of my effort.

Of my willingness to share my truths with the world thinking that, maybe, just maybe any disclosure of mine could be of help to another.

Help them laugh.

Help them smile.

Help them find strength or their way or another way.

Help them along in some way, shape or form.

But then I remember I didn’t write a bestseller.

I didn’t even write a book that’s selling a lot.

But then again, I’m not “selling” it.

I’m not selling anything.

And I’m sure as heck not “selling” me, a brand or a way of life.

I’m just doing me and being me and working every gosh darn day on trusting that that is invaluable, AND ENOUGH,

today,

tomorrow

and always.

And I write this tonight for the person sitting on their couch

thinking they’ve failed.

Thinking they aren’t enough.

Thinking that all that they do isn’t enough.

Thinking that need to work harder.

That they need to do better.

That they need to make more money or be noticed more.

To the you who doesn’t give yourself enough credit, I’m here to do it for you.

To remind you of this if this one frickin’ thing you must always remember:

A person isn’t defined and made more worthy by what they do, how much they make and who knows of them.

People will forever be defined by how they love, how the love they give makes others feel and how they work to spread theirs far and wide.

So, just do it, spread love and don’t give a damn about anything else.