Why the F- am I Writing a Book?

The messy middle of writing a book

You wouldn't know it interacting with me, but I'm in the messy middle of writing a book. People closest to me have heard whispers. I've been avoiding sharing because I feel like such a fraud.

The thing is, I know too many successful writers, my husband Tiago included. I'm in a WhatsApp group with New York Times bestselling authors discussing their book cover designs and launch strategies. I've read all their retrospectives about writing processes, launches, revenue, and book deals. I feel delusional trying to do this because I'm not one of them.

I don't have a book deal or agent. I don't have a large audience. I'm writing about a niche topic - How to Apply to Grad School.

It's common knowledge that you don't make money from writing books (unless you're James Clear selling a million copies). Tiago has sold over 250,000 copies of Building a Second Brain in 25 languages and has yet to receive royalty checks. The money comes from services, speaking gigs, clients—except I have no desire to run a business anymore.

I want to end my grad school admissions coaching. Let me be real: it's not really a business but an expensive hobby where I break even without paying myself. I decided last year to close shop, but I need closure. I want to capture everything I've learned helping over 500 people get into elite universities before I close this chapter.

I watched Tiago write a book and saw how hard it was. I didn't think I could do it, but his belief gave me courage. Having a bestselling author husband is both a blessing and curse. I imagine it's what friends with parents in their field feel—having an inspirational model showing you the ropes but also someone too close and honest, trying to prevent mistakes. Not to mention being a complete amateur comparing yourself to someone who's made it. Your ego takes some blows.

Six months in, I've just completed my first chapter. What I've discovered is that every week unlocks a new fear I have to move through to keep showing up.

The Emotional Journey of Writing a Book

The first stage is confronting the belief in myself: Can I write a book?

Tiago started self-publishing in college. He launched his first newsletter at 14 while living in Brazil. Teachers always praised his writing. By the time he reached out to agents, he had already drafted Building a Second Brain. He gets up and writes, even on weekends. It's his happy place.

I was regularly told I was a bad writer. I had to take remedial writing at Berkeley after failing the entrance writing exam. A boss once insisted I take writing classes. Initially, I committed to improving my writing to survive my career and grad school. But I've come to value writing as a way to process thoughts, express myself, and document life.

My writing—from blogging to research reports—has opened doors: job offers without having applied, friendships, features in the LA Times and SF Chronicle, and over $3.5 million in grants for my projects.

Yet I've never thought of myself as a writer. I've never had a consistent habit. I've had this Substack for five years with only 38 posts and about 600 subscribers.

My writing emerges in structured environments with external accountability. The idea of writing a book alone felt impossible. Then a friend told me about his experience with a book coach.

Meeting her was like having a fairy godmother sprinkle magic dust over me. Here was someone I could pay for structure, accountability, motivation, and the hard admin parts—liability sign-offs, managing editors, book design, launch campaigns. I was sold.

But my belief wavered when signing a $35,000 contract and committing to 18 months. Most authors I know have invested tens of thousands (sometimes six figures) on editors or ghostwriters, but they have book advances or businesses covering the investment. Tiago's faith faltered too when reviewing the contract. I'd never invested this much in my business—or myself. This contract exceeded my debt from completing two master's degrees. But grad school has a clear payoff; this book doesn’t.

Tiago and I spent weeks working through a challenging fight. His concerns made me feel like he didn't believe in me. Coming from three generations of single mothers on both sides, my trauma response kicked in: "F-you. I don't need you or your money. I'll do this alone." Through journaling, I realized my fear of having his trust, financial investment—and failing.

I had to define what failure and success meant. Was success making back the money? How would I feel if after 18 months and $35,000, the book sold only hundreds of copies? I had to envision a future where the book failed financially and know I could emotionally survive that.

I defined success as writing an authentic book I'm proud of. My definition of failure: never having the courage to write a book at all.

When my defenses dropped, I understood Tiago's concern. He worried I'd overextend myself and neglect our family. We realized the book coach would actually help me stay present as a mother, letting me pick up the kids at 2pm. He convinced me to pause my Grad App Academy program to avoid the burnout he experienced (which he beautifully documented in The Psychological Toll of Writing a Book).

By May, I officially started with my coach, reviewing all my content and creating a solid outline and timeline.

I felt prepared and supported, but then came the next stage: Actually writing.

I have never had a consistent writing habit in my life. Somehow whole days would slip away. I always had excuses: doctor appointments, bad sleep from kids waking up, low energy from my moon cycle, family visits.

I had many false starts—almost finishing chapters, then abandoning them because they felt wrong. Months passed with little progress. Tiago reminded me that most authors have writing and publishing habits before attempting books. "It's taking longer because you're building the habit while doing something really f-ing hard: writing a book."

But beneath the excuses lay fear. I developed morning rituals to clear my head. I started leaving the house so I wouldn’t feel distracted by the dishwasher needing to be unloaded. I didn't bring chargers to create time pressure to write. Each session began with morning pages to purge fears: my writing sucks, nobody will read this, Tiago will resent the money spent, our marriage will crumble. I wrote until naming the fears let me laugh at their absurdity. Then I’d drink a decadent lavender latte and read a few pages from books on the writing process like Bird by Bird or The War of Art. Finally, I could write without overthinking. Sometimes I'd submit ten pages with only three usable paragraphs. But hey, I was sitting my ass down and writing.

After months finding my flow, Tiago said something triggering: "I'm just preparing myself for you to never finish this book." I spiraled back to doubting myself, angry at him for A) encouraging me to write and B) not being supportive enough. But we've done enough personal growth work to navigate triggers. Earlier this year, Joe Hudson's program taught me to release emotions physically instead of storing them. I told Tiago how his words hurt and asked him to hold space while I processed my fear.

I lay on the couch expressing my deepest fears: never publishing and wasting time and money; relying on AI and creating something hollow; having no marketing reach; Tiago never investing in my ideas again; throwing myself into business to prove myself; distancing from family; divorce; my kids hating me. After shaking and crying in his arms, the fear lifted—for a few days at least.

Every morning my rituals continue. I have a gratitude practice tea ritual to center myself. I took an excellent class called Nervous System Mastery, where I developed better internal awareness of my sensations to preemptively calm myself down before I burn out. I learned healthier ways of managing my energy, now using more walks, breathing techniques, and keeping my phone blocked on downtime from 9pm until 12pm. I’m watching way less TV and removing distractions to stay focused.

Tiago and I got in another fight recently. I shared feeling unsupported, writing at 6am on no-school days. I confessed my jealousy of his publisher, book deal, and eager fans. I admitted my loneliness, ignoring friends' calls, and turning down social invites to keep my focus and energy on writing and the family. I voiced how hard it is continuing when no one else cares about this book but me.

Tiago finally got it. He shared his own jealousy of my freedom from external pressure. I understood his perspective on our competing needs for family time. We emerged from our fight feeling healed and connected, rearranging our lives to support both our processes through weekly date nights and taking turns as lead parent during deadlines.

I turned a corner after my birthday ritual to manifest myself as a writer. To own it: I am a writer. I committed to weekly newsletters. In the last six weeks, I’ve done six posts between my two newsletters.

I miraculously with Tiago’s support, completed my first chapter this month, finishing it despite the kids' week-long school break and a family trip. I'm finding that writing flow where I read back my work thinking: How did I create this? I’m falling more in love with myself in the process of writing, unearthing discoveries about my life journey as I share my story in my book.

But just when I thought I was turning a corner, I made the mistake of browsing Amazon's books in my niche last night. New Fear Unlocked. The reviews showed such a small audience. The average book in my niche has a handful of Amazon reviews. It echoed Tiago's suggestion the other day that I broaden the scope of my book to be about what my life journey is actually about: being at a crossroads in life. I liked his idea, but I don’t want to start over. Not after finally finding my groove. Maybe that’s my next book.

I couldn’t sleep and knew I had to get out of my head and into my body. At 12:13 amd I was dancing in my living room to Florence and the Machine's "Dog Days Are Over," reminding myself it's all meaningless and my life is amazing. Sometimes that's what it takes—music, movement, whatever breaks the fear spiral.

Because every time a former student—first in their family to attend college, now developing life-saving technology or helping climate refugees—tells me "Thank you for changing my life," I let it sink in. This is why I write.

Every fear I face in believing I can write, mirrors my students' fears about grad school. Every tool I use to tap into my motivation becomes their tool for finding theirs.

A big theme in my book is teaching the readers to find pleasure in the process of applying to grad school, and see it as a personal growth journey to gaining clarity on their life purpose and building their confidence to go after big things, regardless of the outcome of whether or not they get in. That's exactly what writing this book is teaching me.

I'm writing this book for me. Through this process, I'm becoming a writer. Through this process, I'm becoming someone who is capable of writing a book.

I'm documenting the messy middle for my future self, to remember what it took and who I became. The way I now think giving birth wasn't so hard. I'll forget and want to write another book, just like I want another baby.

I know there are future fears waiting: marketing the book, going back into content creation mode to build my email list, confronting whether I'm a fraud writing this book while not using my graduate degree. But I'll face those when I get there.

For now, I'm sharing this journey because I need community. I need to practice what I preach. I won't get through this process alone.

So I'm asking: If you've been through this journey of creating something bigger than yourself while battling self-doubt, what advice would you give to your younger self? What helped you keep going when the fears got loud?

I need your wisdom. I need your stories. I need to know I'm not alone in this messy middle.