What no one tells you about writing a book

“I want to write a book one day.”

I want to share with you the journey of writing my book, "Be You, Be Okay" Here is the—raw, real, and full of detours. Because if you’ve ever thought about writing a book, maybe this will help you feel less alone.

Back then, I had no idea what it would take to turn that dream into reality. I just knew I wanted to write.

Someday...

My father was an educationist, a thinker, and a writer. He passed away before he ever saw his words in print. That loss etched something deep into me. I was very young, but I made a silent promise: one day, I’ll fulfill his dream.

But life happened. And somewhere along the way, I lost that dream.

Even though I spent years in academia and later in the corporate world, where my work revolved around researching, writing, and training… writing a book felt different. It needed courage. And at the time, I didn’t have it.

Then one day, while helping a friend through a personal struggle, something shifted. It wasn’t the first time—I’d been doing this for years.

Listening. Guiding.

I realized I had intuitive abilities. I could read people, sense the undercurrents, and see what lay beneath the surface.

And that day, a light switched on: We’re all stuck somewhere.  

I needed to understand why.

So, I began digging. Reading. Researching. I got certified to explore the deeper psychological layers of human behavior. It felt like a revelation.

Why didn’t I know this?

Why don’t we all know this?  

No one teaches us how to navigate our inner world.

That’s when I started writing. But knowing a problem and crafting a solution are two very different things. I had clarity in my head but putting it on paper felt like walking through fog.

I spent two years immersed in research, drafting, rewriting. And then I hit a wall. I was frustrated.

Overwhelmed.

I had so much to say, but I didn’t want to lose the reader.

I didn’t want to bore them.

I missed deadlines.

I’d wake up in the middle of the night, wondering how to explain complex ideas in simple, relatable ways. I tried using real-life stories to make it easier but sometimes, my brain just shut down.

I thought maybe I shouldn’t write at all.

People don’t read anymore, I told myself.

But then came the deeper truth: I want to share what I’ve learned.  

If even one person finds clarity through my words, it’s worth it.

So, I picked up the pen again.

It wasn’t glamorous. I read 70–80 research papers, over 100 books. My brain felt fried. I’d take walks, watch stupid funny reels just to blow off steam, and then come back to write.

Slowly, it started taking shape.

Draft after draft. Rewrite after rewrite.

And then—one day—I finished it.

I stared at the final page. I couldn’t believe it.

I felt grateful. Relieved. Proud.

It was worth every moment.

After I finished the book, I sat in silence.

Not because I was tired—though I was—but because I couldn’t believe I had actually done it.

For years, I had carried this weight. The unfinished promise. The fear of not being good enough. The doubt that maybe my voice didn’t matter. And now, here it was—on paper. Real. Tangible.

But finishing the manuscript wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of a whole new challenge.

I had no idea how publishing worked. I didn’t know where to start.

Should I self-publish?

Should I find an agent?

What if no one wanted to read it?

I spent weeks researching the publishing world.

I joined forums, read blogs, watched videos. I realized that writing the book was only half the journey. Getting it into the hands of readers was a whole different game.

And then came the emotional part—sharing it.

Letting people read something so personal felt terrifying.

What if they didn’t get it?

What if they judged it?

What if they judged me?

But I reminded myself why I started. This wasn’t about being perfect. It was about being honest. It was about helping someone feel less stuck, less alone.

So, I took the next step. I started editing. I reached out to people w for feedback. Some of it stung. Some of it helped me grow.

And slowly, the book became sharper. Clearer. Stronger.

I learned that writing is not just about putting words on a page. It’s about facing yourself. It’s about showing up even when you’re scared. It’s about trusting that your story matters.

And now, as I prepare to share it with the world, I feel something I didn’t expect peace.

Because I know I’ve honored the promise. To my father. To myself. And maybe, to someone out there who needs these words.

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