“You’re better than this sh*t.”

About a year ago I was working out at the gym. It was a Friday night, all four kids were in the kids club, and I was one of probably three people there. The muscle in my chest matched perfectly with the pounding of footsteps against the belt of the treadmill, with quick inhales attempting to keep pace as sweat ran in torrents down my cherry cheeks. As a fierce, depression battling young woman in my thirties, let’s just say I was feeling it.

Intro our main antagonist of the story, who disguised himself in the form of a very good friend of mine that I’ve known since we were 12. My slippery fingers fumbled over the knobs of the machine as he flashed those pearly whites and offered, you bet, a fist bump.

“Hey!”

We exchanged….which was then followed up by the usuals. You know, the how’s it going, how’ve you been, how are the kids, etc as I’m trying to not have a heart attack from the 15 minute speed walk I just endured.

Then came the dreaded question…So what’s up with your Instagram account? That stuff is pretty weird. Do you really think you can write a book?

“You’re better than this shit”

I kid you not, it felt like my stomach fell out of my butt. I must have heard him wrong, there’s no way he would say something like that.

Nope.

He said it.

He then continued to lecture me about not only the downfall of the patriarchy, but also the pureness of society as a whole because women have decided to pick up ‘porn’ in the form of those romance books.

You’re husband must be so disappointed.

You should be ashamed.

Aubrey, what are you doing?

Friends….do you feel that in your chest? The tightness. The shame curling in the gut of your stomach, the one that’s been whispering in your ear since you were a child. The one that has always told you to be smaller. To be less. To water yourself down or you might make someone uncomfortable.

Because I do. It’s been over a year since this encounter and I still feel the emotional weight settling deep within my core as his words rush through my veins, filling me to the brim with a shame I thought I had gotten under control ages ago.

You’re better than this shit.

Be better.

Do better.

Be what they want you to be.

And these thoughts? They’ve dug their way into my skin, festering there like a disease hellbent on seeing me destroyed. I think one of the worst things about it is how much it hurt. This man, who I viewed as a loyal friend, approached me during a vulnerable time and sought to tear me down. And it hurts.

But there is a silver lining in this pain. In the last year, do you want to know what I’ve done? I finished the first draft of my debut novel. Then I finished the second draft. Then the third. I commissioned beautiful character art. I booked the next editor. And the next. I worked with a cover/book designer who is going to make the outside of the book even more beautiful than the inside. I set a release date. I bought the isbn’s. I’m growing a following (slowly…sos). I began outlining the next book.

Somewhere along the way, his words gave me what I needed to push myself harder creatively than I ever have before.

And the result has been beautiful.

I’m so proud of the progress I’ve made in the last year. I’m actually doing it.

I know I should end this with some type of motivational saying about chasing your dreams, or ignoring the haters, or reaching for the stars. But that doesn’t feel right, so I’ll leave you with this:

Don’t you dare make yourself smaller so you’re easier to swallow. Let’s make them choke.

xo,

Aubrey