Writing my book was one of the hardest things I have undertaken in life. I am a dreamer, a poet. My friends call me a fairy, and it is true. I have a tenuous footing on the earth, and feel more connected to the stars. I love kid’s movies and art. Having the pull in my soul to write a book fused in stark reality, stripped of fairy-tale nuances has been hard. A big message within the pages is to never let anyone measure your worth. Whether they be the flatterers or the persecutors, they have an angle and it is skewed. I have tried to allow my worth and merit to bubble up from a well deep inside my soul. Yet, upon reflection, there are myriad ways I, and many others, sabotage that clear spring filled with self-belief and self-worth. The fears that come up at night. The coffee I drink when I am already jittery. The choice to drink that extra glass of wine that leaves me feeling retched the next day. Not putting aside time to meditate, to exercise or even breathe deeply into my lungs. Picking up junk and ingesting it when my body needs nourishment in the form of a decent meal I actually sit down to eat. So many unconscious acts which pollute that spring. I am tired of sabotaging my energy, my clarity and health. I don’t wish to go through life habitually. I shall do what I can to make the best choices for my body. Despite everything, despite the wounds rained down on this body, I still believe in it and the soul it houses. I have to start proving it.