People often ask why I wrote Things That Break Us. Sometimes I give the short answer: that I sat down in front of my computer during the pandemic and the story simply poured out of me. But the real reason runs deeper — it has to do with the part of me that was always searching for direction, even when it looked like I knew where I was going.

For most of my life, I’ve heard my inner GPS — that quiet voice nudging me toward what felt true. But for years, I tuned it out. It’s the voice that whispered, this isn’t enough to fulfill you. The voice that followed me. The one that sat with me in the courtyard on my lunch break from my first job as a family nurse practitioner — when I was feeling overwhelmed, questioning my path, brainstorming what else might be possible. It would remind me: it’s not too late to try something new.

The Real Roots of Things That Break Us

Things That Break Us is a work of fiction, but like many novels, parts are rooted in true experiences and emotions.

In 2001, my dad, an infectious disease physician at the University of Pennsylvania, founded the Botswana-UPenn Partnership (BUP). The mission of the program was to help deliver free HIV/AIDS care within Botswana. At the peak of the HIV crisis, twenty-five percent of Botswana’s population was infected with the disease. But in the past twenty years, partly due to BUP, Botswana’s annual AIDS-related death rate has fallen to under 5,000.

Because of my dad’s work, in my early twenties, I was extremely fortunate to travel to Botswana four times. I fell in love with the culture and developed a lasting affection for the people I met. On one visit, I spent several weeks as a nursing student working on the wards of Princess Marina Hospital. Like Tessa, the protagonist in Things That Break Us, Princess Marina Hospital was the first place I saw anyone die. During my first week, I witnessed four deaths. The suffering of the patients was immense, the resources limited, the line between life and death so unbelievably thin.

The revelations Tessa has on safari are also based on my true feelings (although the character of Corey–her love interest–is, perhaps sadly, fictionalized). I was mesmerized by the elephants and the freedom of the animals living in the bush. Being in the wilderness, combined with seeing death in such dramatic form, revealed what truly mattered in life.

What I Learned — and Lost

Back in America, I went on to complete a master’s degree, got married, had two kids. Swept up by the hectic “American Dream,” the crucial lessons I’d learned in Botswana slowly slipped away.

During the pandemic, I found myself exhausted — emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Like so many healthcare providers and parents, I was doing my best to show up for everyone who needed me. But inside, I felt something missing. The pace was relentless. I realized I’d stopped listening to the part of myself that once felt most alive.

I didn’t want to leave nursing — I’m proud of the work I do and the patients I care for — but I needed a space that was mine. A way to make sense of the grief, beauty, and contradictions of being human.

Writing gave me that space.

Since my teens, I’d loved writing but was never brave enough to share my work. It always felt too vulnerable — a piece of myself I hid away. But one day in April 2022, I sat down at my computer, and this story came out.

In writing it, I found a way back home.

The Inner GPS, Recalculated

Being in the African wilderness taught me something I’ve never forgotten, even when I lose sight of it: stillness isn’t wasted time. Quiet is not laziness. And life will always reroute you toward what truly matters — if you listen.

My inner GPS had been whispering to write, to be brave, to put myself out there. I just had to stop running long enough to hear it.

Ultimately, Things That Break Us is a love story — but really, it’s a story about coming into yourself. About accepting that life is too short to worry about how things look. That you should never be afraid to follow your gut. That the only explanations you ever owe are to yourself.

What I’ve Come to Believe

1. Inside, each of us is a broken mess. It’s not a sign something is wrong with you — it’s part of the human condition.

2. Pain and grief, which I once feared, are actually profound teachers. When we’re open to them, they show us what truly matters. (Rumi said it best: “The wound is the place where the light enters you.”)

3. Most of the noise of modern life is just that — noise. The important things are usually simple, quiet, and already right in front of us.

So why did I write Things That Break Us?
Because I needed to remember what it feels like to listen to my inner GPS — and to trust where it leads.
And maybe, if I did it right, this story will remind someone else how to listen for theirs too.

Prompt for Readers

Have you ever followed a quiet nudge that changed everything? What did your inner GPS lead you toward?