I’d like to say I’ve landed elegantly on the other side of Kid Lit Vic, but it’s not so much like that for a fluid soul, like me. There have been tears, and there will be more. I couldn’t be more pleased about that.
The tears are built upon a little hill of many things. Pride. Exhaustion. Worry. Frustration. Care. It’s nice to feel the release, and finally…rest.
I wanted to tell a little story about an experience I had at Kid Lit Vic, because although the day was utterly satisfying, there were moments that had the potential to bring me down. I hope I can help others by sharing it.
During one of the panels, where some very robust opinions were being shared, I felt a dense and really sort of unexplainable energy move into my orbit. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Autistic, which I now know explains these sort of moments…but I really had to focus in order to stay ‘okay’ throughout the rest of the panel discussion.
I had a pitch with an agent and publisher in less than an hour. As I sat through the rest of the panel, I thought of all the work I’d put in. The hours. The days. The time away from my kids and I thought: please don’t tell me it is all going to be derailed by this.
And so when the panel was over, rather than staying and chatting with friends over lunch, I left the building and sat on a beautiful park bench on the riverside. The wind was warm on my face. I closed my eyes, and I breathed. All the beautiful breaths.
Within minutes, my energy returned to its natural state. No longer was I ‘feeling the room’ and its dense energy. I was feeling me. And so I was able to spend the rest of the time preparing for my pitch, which went well (apart from the fact that nervous, frantic gibberish became a new language.)
I share this because it has been a journey of self discovery to find myself here. In the past, I would have felt the feeling, pushed it down, chatted with all the friends, and suffered enormously as a result.
But I saw what was. I saw what I needed, and did what I needed. Not what I thought was expected of me.
I am a healthier and happier version of me, because of it.
Not perfect. Just better.

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