I have a problem. It’s a problem a lot of people have, especially those who struggle to believe in themselves. The strange thing is that confidence isn’t something I lack. It’s something I buried. I buried it a long time ago. As a child, I learned that confidence could make you a target. Joy could make people resent you. Strength could attract the wrong kind of attention. So I did what many survivors do: I hid the brightest parts of myself.

What the actual #%*¥.L Seriously, UPS? Seriously? Why is everything so hard right now? This past week has felt like a cosmic joke with terrible timing. My shipment of books for an upcoming book fair arrived soaked—UPS left the boxes sitting in a puddle on my porch. Half the inventory? Ruined.