Two Weeks After Launch: What I’m Learning Already
Reflections on gratitude, vulnerability, and hearing from readers who feel like I’m “right there with them.”
It’s been just over two weeks since The Long Way Here stepped into the world, and I am still taking quiet moments each day to absorb what is unfolding. As a leadership coach and now a first-time author, I’ve learned that stories have a way of finding the people who need them most. When you work on something for years — in early morning hours, late-night stretches, and pockets of courage — you imagine what it might feel like once it’s finally out there. But you can’t fully prepare for the moment your stories become someone else’s companion.
What I’ve learned already is this:
The book is no longer just mine. It belongs to the people who find themselves in its pages.
Over the past two weeks, I’ve received messages, photos, handwritten notes, and unexpected voice texts from friends, clients, colleagues — and people I haven’t spoken to in years. What they share with me is profoundly humbling. Many say they can hear my voice as they read, as if I’m sitting beside them, telling the story directly to them. Others say certain chapters made them pause, reflect, or cry in ways they didn’t expect. Some found themselves thinking differently about their own journeys, their families, or the choices that shaped their lives.
This week, one message in particular touched me deeply. A male friend shared that while he initially thought the book might be geared mainly toward emerging women leaders, he found himself moved on both a personal and professional level. As a father of four daughters, he told me he plans to give each of them a copy for Christmas — a gesture that truly warmed my heart. He also shared that the story Tony’s Gifts resonated profoundly because he, too, lost his brother Tony earlier this year to cancer. Reading his words brought tears to my eyes and reminded me again that our stories often find their way to the people who need them most, sometimes in the most unexpected and tender ways.
Readers — emerging leaders, women in leadership, long-time colleagues, and people discovering my work for the first time — have all shared how the stories invite them into moments of honesty and reflection. And that, to me, is the real magic of storytelling.
Stories invite us into the tender spaces we often overlook.
They soften something inside us.
They remind us we’re not alone.
They help us gently turn toward the places where growth is waiting.
I’ve also learned a great deal about vulnerability. Publishing a memoir on leadership, filled with personal stories about family, sorrow, love, leadership, and the winding path that brought me here, is an act of being seen. Two weeks in, I’m realizing something I didn’t expect:
Being seen isn’t as scary as staying hidden.
The more I open my heart, the more others open theirs in return. It’s as if the book has created a bridge of honesty — and people are walking across it willingly.
I feel immense gratitude for every person who has reached out, purchased a copy, shared a photo, or handed the book to someone they thought might need it. About 200 copies are already in the world — tucked into nightstands, briefcases, kitchen tables, and quiet early mornings. I love imagining where these personal growth stories will travel next and what doors they will open inside the hearts of the people who read them.
For years, I dreamed about writing this book. Now the dream has shifted into something even bigger:
A conversation — between me and you,
between you and your own life,
between all of us navigating our path forward with courage, clarity, and hope.
My hope has always been that The Long Way Here would offer not just stories, but moments of resilience, clarity, and growth — the kinds of insights that help us lead ourselves with authenticity and heart.
Thank you for welcoming The Long Way Here into your homes, your hearts, and your reflections. I am deeply honored.
A Gentle Journaling Prompt
Where in your life right now are you being invited to show up with a little more openness or courage — and what might become possible if you let yourself be more fully seen?
