It seems like a simple thing, doesn’t it?

Just start writing the words down on the page and keep writing until there is nothing more to say – for now.

I knew there would be times when I would wonder if what I had to say was really worth the paper and ink.

I knew there would be times when it would feel scary to allow the often unsaid part of me to be there in black and white, to have no control over who heard me or saw me.

I knew that I would spend a lot of time trying to get it perfect and that I would never manage that.

But the relief of having loved myself enough to write that book, the relief of having allowed myself to be encouraged and the feeling of knowing myself so much better than before – these things I had not expected.

What if it’s never really the final physical thing which holds the gifts, what if it’s what we realise along the way?