Written from the inside.

Her story. The wound explained.

There is a little girl in this book. She is three years old. Her parents are on other continents. Above her, a ceiling fan that turns. She doesn’t have a word for what she feels.

I wrote this book to share, from my rawest form, how much we perform for love, for happiness, for belonging. And how underneath all of it we can become the parent we never had.

If this book found you, it was meant to.

Your story. The wound questioned.

This book holds the questions you may have never thought to ask yourself. About the armor you built. The running you did. The child underneath who never stopped waiting.

A companion to It All Starts With Me, moving through the same ten chapters. But this time, the story is yours to tell.

There are no wrong answers. Only honest ones.

Everyone’s story. The wound felt.

Where there is charge, there is a wound. Some are obvious. Underneath are the hidden ones. Quieter. Older. Harder to see. They live in everyone.