Finally

Today on Threads I scrolled across this post…

… and I paused. Not to read anyone else’s response, but to share my own:

Under no other circumstances would I talk about turning in my manuscript like this. “Bragging.” I’ve let out a deep exhale to my close circle to say I turned it in. Finally. I’ve answered “yes” when asked if I finished. Smiled, laughed, even cheered. Finally. But none of that was self-celebratory. I had just completed a huge (contractual) task. Finally.

For whatever reason, seeing this post today, I allowed myself to actually celebrate myself. Finally.

I’ll share more about the book in the new year, but let’s just say: she did not come easy. Induced at least two identity crises. Asked to be written in ways unfamiliar. Hurt my feelings and did not apologize. Told me the truth I didn’t ask for. And now requires that I share it with you. I haven’t even finished sharing it with myself.

Sure, I include myself in most of my work. I start with me. And yes, I’ve shared a lot of my life—publicly, on paper, in conversation. But this book feels like “my business,” as The Blacks would say. And I’m anxious about it.

Anxiety hasn’t left much room for pride or joy. So even though I know this is a big deal, and even though I sincerely receive and appreciate the congratulations, I don’t think I’ve been fully present in the reality of what I’ve done. Of what I’ve accomplished.

Then a few days ago I received notes from my editor. I opened the manuscript. Started making my own notes. And reading it again — out loud — I fell in love with my own voice. With my own words. With my own humanity. My own story.

It’s my story. Mine to share. And now I might be a little excited to do that. Out loud. In public.

That was just yesterday.

Today I saw this post on Threads. And today I let myself brag on myself. Celebrate myself.

Congratulations, Yaba. You did it, Sis.

Finally.