About That Book I Was Supposed to Write…

“I hope you are writing a book!”

This was a message that came through in my Instagram DMs a few weeks ago.

Over the years similar messages came through in emails, in DMs, in sessions, in conversation.

Some people write to inquire whether I have already written a book and where they may find it; others express hope that I will write a book one day; still others insist: “you really should write a book!”

I haven’t written a book.

I am not currently writing a book.

I don’t know if I ever will.

I’ve played with the idea over the last several years. I’ve connected with editors, authors, made appointments with writing coaches.

I never followed through.

I mean, I’ve kept the appointments. I’ve left most of them thinking that I’ll probably write a book one day. But that was it. There hasn’t been enough inspired energy to help me get to the next step.

The truth is: the calling to write a book is not something that I experience.

(I feel the need to add “yet” here)

Writing a book still feels more like a “should” to me. Similar to a PhD that a well-meaning relative told me I “should” get to add to my MBA.

Identities we collect to fit into some idea of how life should unfold.

I feel quite fulfilled writing in shorter bursts, as I have been doing so far: when the inspiration comes to me in the form of a persistent need and I quench it right then and there by expressing.

The woman who messaged me about writing a book a few weeks ago was someone I met last summer at a retreat. I follow and admire her and her work. She added to her message something that immediately resonated however:

“I think it’s already written, Galina.”

It’s already written!

Yes, and: I will continue writing it. Probably for as long as I breathe.

Living in the 21st century, I have a unique opportunity to share and disseminate my stories in ways that weren’t available to my predecessors.

The first article I dared to share with the world was published in a digital magazine on a different continent from where I was living at the time.

Since that fateful event in May of 2016, my articles have been read by hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world.

I am not sure that a book written by a “nobody” could have had the same reach.

In 2018 I started posting daily on Instagram.

In 2022 I started sending out weekly newsletters.

I’ve tried sharing my stories in videos. That does not seem to stick. Writing does. Writing comes naturally. Expressing myself in writing satisfies a need. It feels good.

My stories document my journey of death and rebirth.

In the last 12 years everything I’d believed myself to be has unraveled and I have been rebuilding myself from scratch as a mother, a woman, and a human.

Staring death in the face was terrifying. But it is not so much the idea of dying itself that terrorized me – in fact, I wished to die so many times through the agonizing ordeal of my un-becoming.

The most frightening experience was the unraveling of my self-concept, of my beliefs, of what I thought were my values, of certain structures of my life.

The pain and suffering came from fighting what was happening. It came from resisting the process of dying.

It was when I stopped clinging to my obsolete identity and allowed myself to become a nobody, that I was able to begin rebuilding myself.

The rebuilding wasn’t about adding anything new. It was a re-membering: I was coming in contact with and integrating back the limbs and parts of myself that I had sliced off and suppressed as a child in order to survive by fitting into other people’s ideas for me.

No longer using other people’s opinions as indisputable truths nor guided by outer authorities, I came into my own truths, formed my own principles, re-evaluated what was of value to me, all while being guided by my own inner knowing.

Mine is a path of unlearning everything I used to think love was – all the inherited untruths about it.

It is a story of learning to love: learning to love my self, learning to love my children, learning to love my life partner.

I’ve been wanting to join Substack for a while now.

On this 9-year anniversary of releasing my first article out into the world, the time feels fitting.

The purpose of my Substack account is to be my book: it will house my current and archived articles, everything that I feel is valuable in my expression over the last ten years on my journey of learning to love.

And this feels satisfying and also fun.

if you are curious, please join me there! Read, follow, subscribe – this is my current answer to writing a book: it is already written!