There are moments in life when something you once dreamt of in the quiet recesses of your mind actually happens. Often, these moments don’t arrive loudly or dramatically, but they tend to creep up slowly, gently. And then suddenly, all at once, they manifest in a way that takes your breath away. My book launch was one of these moments.

Over the last year and a bit, this dream lived quietly inside me. It existed in scribbled, barely legible notes, half-finished verses, and late-night bursts of inspiration when everyone was asleep but insomnia plagued me. It existed in prayers, hope, and even doubt, because after you’ve been through loss, you learn how fragile everything is and you get scared to hope again.

But here we are. My very first book is now out in the world. People are holding it, reading it, seeing themselves in its pages. Somehow, my dream found its way out of my head and heart, and into other people’s hands and hearts. Just one of the meanings behind my book title: From One Heart To Another.

I’ll admit, it was a strange moment after my book launched. It was already a bittersweet moment having launched on what should have been Dorian’s 2nd birthday. But more than that, it was a moment where reality started to sink in; where I realised that this was real. My book, my words, my heart – they now belong to the world. To strangers; readers I may never get to meet. To mothers and people holding grief who may read my verses in the early hours of the morning or at the end of a hard day and whisper, “That’s me.”

If I wasn’t quite prepared for this reality, I was even less prepared for the reviews. I thought I was. I had prepped myself and told myself over and over again that it didn’t matter if nobody liked my book – it was a huge accomplishment and a dream achieved, and that was sufficient. But nothing truly prepares you for someone else (who isn’t your partner or your parent!) seeing your vulnerability and your heart laid bare, and then responding with love and kindness.

I won’t lie. There were plenty of moments where I doubted myself. Where I questioned if my words were too raw, too honest, maybe even too much. There were so many moments where I wondered if anyone would even want to read something born from pain – after all, grief is such a deep and heavy topic that nobody wants to talk about. And even when I had finished writing my book, I was coming up with excuses as to why I shouldn’t publish it, or why it wasn’t ready yet.

But the feedback that I got reminded me of something powerful; something my business coach has been drilling into me from day dot: When you write (speak) from truth, it will find its way to the right people. When you allow yourself to be seen, you give others permission to feel seen too. I’m not here for myself; I’m here to serve. And now, I can finally see her advice and words of wisdom in action. My book, my dream – it was never just about me.

The reviews undid me. Some readers shared how my book saw them in their grief and made them feel understood. Others told me how it helped them process feelings they hadn’t known how to put into words. And there were also some who weren’t grieving at all, but simply wanting to understand more so they could support their loved ones in their grief.

Each message, each review, each “thank you” carried something sacred. I didn’t care about the praise; it was the validation. It was a kind of “I feel less alone now” deal. And as I sat there in tears (if I’m honest, I think “bawling my eyes out” might be a more accurate description), I was reminded that this is one of the reasons why I wrote my book. Not for money, not to become a best-selling author, but to make an impact. To help others who were like me, even if it was only just one other person.

Once you’ve walked through grief, success no longer looks the same. It’s not about applause, popularity, or even recognition. It’s about meaning, depth, and purpose. For me, success looked like a mother finally feeling seen and understood in her grief; a reader saying that for the first time, they could tangibly feel words; a family member’s heart softening as they finally realised what grief looks like and how it lingers no matter how much time has passed.

Success looked like knowing that the hardest season of my life has somehow been transformed into something beautiful that can shine light onto other people’s darkness. It’s a kind of success that I will never take for granted. In fact, it’s a success that comes with a deep gratitude. Gratitude for the readers who trusted me with their hearts. Gratitude for the courage and resilience to keep writing even when it hurt too much to continue. And most of all, gratitude to God for making my dream happen, and turning some of my ashes into beauty.

Don’t get me wrong. This book launch certainly hasn’t healed me. And it most definitely hasn’t erased my pain. But it did confirm something I needed to know: Our story – mine and Dorian’s – is worth telling. And most importantly, you can turn pain into purpose.

So I just wanted to encourage you today. Maybe you’re like me and you’ve been walking through seasons of pain and grief. Maybe you’ve been hiding in the shadows, afraid to hope and dream again, just in case history repeats itself and they’re dashed into pieces. Maybe you’ve felt lost and heartbroken for what seems like an eternity now, and you think there’s no point in trying anymore. But I want you to hear this:

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do – sometimes the best thing you can do for your healing – is to simply take the next small step. You don’t need certainty to begin. You don’t need perfection to be ready. You don’t need to know what the end picture is. You just need to keep going, and believe in yourself. Because you are not alone, my friend. And the right people will find their way to you, if you let them.