My debut novel, Things That Break Us, publishes on September 30. People keep saying, “You must be so excited!” or “What an accomplishment!”

But here’s my truth: publishing this book has not been enjoyable. At all. In fact, it has been mental torture. For much of the past months, I have tried to pretend it doesn’t exist. My sleep has suffered. My happiness has suffered. My mind has spun with compulsive doubts—Am I good enough? Why do I feel like such a failure? Imposter syndrome has roared.

The Rollercoaster of Reviews

In July, I released my book on NetGalley, a site where readers can request advanced copies. From the moment I pressed publish, a crater of fear swallowed my stomach. My first review came at 2 AM—five stars, glowing praise. My adrenaline calmed; my fears retreated. Maybe I was worthy. Hours later, another five-star arrived. Maybe this book could be something. Maybe I could be something.

Then came the first three-star review: “A lightweight romance full of cliché phrases and ideas.” Ouch. That single review sent me spiraling. Suddenly I was on a rollercoaster—soaring from praise, crushed by criticism. My worth felt tied to every star. All the good I’d brought into the world seemed to vanish in an instant.

By the time the one-star review landed, I was drowning in shame—convinced not only that I was a bad writer, but an unworthy human.

Losing My Grounding

Before publishing, I was steady in my spiritual practice. I’ve battled anxiety most of my life, and in addition to therapy and medication, I rely on presence-based teachings. Pema Chödrön, Michael Singer, and Eckhart Tolle have taught me to return to the moment. Not to get lost (as much) in the past or future. To realize my own thoughts aren’t very valid. To let them go. To focus more on the being and less on the outcome.

But the second I put my book out into the world, that grounding evaporated. Instantly. My ego roared to life—desperate for validation, destroyed by criticism.

I eventually set up an email filter to block reviews. That helped a little… but…I was still chasing external validation. Still trapped in a prison of my own making. Because as hard as it felt for strangers to read my work, it was even harder when it came to people I knew. What if they assumed it was all true? Some desperate cry for help? A judgment on my marriage, career or childhood? Worst of all—what if they said nothing? Or hated it? Wasn’t that the ultimate rejection? 

Of course none of it was rational. But art isn’t rational. It’s your soul laid bare. The most naked truth you can deliver. 

Coming Back Home

Last night, I went to see Eckhart Tolle speak at The Met Philadelphia. The timing was uncanny—so close to my book’s release, almost two years since my mom’s death.

Sitting in that room reminded me of what I’d forgotten: 

• Publishing had pulled me onto what Tolle calls the horizontal plane—a future-based placed of always waiting for the next review,  the next big thing. Of saying, “I’ll be happy when this happens…” Except I wasn’t happy. I was always waiting for something else. I wasn’t living a single moment of the now.
• What matters is my inner journey—the “deep I,” the place of wisdom and presence. The only step that matters is the one I’m taking right now. And the reason I’m taking it.

I remembered why I wrote this book: to tell the most powerful story I could. Not to please anyone. Not to chase worthiness. If a reader connects, great. If not, I have to learn to be okay with that, too. Because I didn’t write it for them. I wrote it for me.

Reframing the Challenge

Tolle spoke at length about the difference between intelligence and wisdom. AI, he said, is excellent at intelligence—at thinking. But our ultimate job as humans is to transcend thought. To find something more. Something deeper. You can have four PhDs but no wisdom. 

Because wisdom requires stillness, presence, heart.

And I’d been so wrapped up in my mental chaos that I’d lost all stillness. All wisdom.

Last night, I realized that publishing itself—this excruciating experience—is part of my inner-journey. My learning. Because challenges are opportunities for growth. With obstacles, come evolution. So yes, publishing has activated every insecurity inside my brain. But it has also taught me to look inward. To remember that belonging and worth don’t come from reviews, sales, or stars.

As Tolle said, “Don’t allow the world to tell you the significance of your life. Don’t allow the world to tell you if you are successful. The world doesn’t know a thing.”

What Breaks Us Can Grow Us

My book is my attempt to distill the wisdom I’ve gathered from life. And now I see that the act of publishing it—painful as it has been—is teaching me just as much.

Because the things that break us? They are also the things that make us. That force us to grow. That make us who we are. 

Publishing has felt like emotional warfare, but it has also deepened my practice of self-compassion. It has vacuumed me up into despair and pushed me back out with a wider lens. With a new eye for wisdom.

My purpose is simple: to leave a mark on the world in the only way I know how—through my voice.

And that’s enough.

xo,
Lisa