This isn’t my usual update on my usual day because I didn’t something unusual this morning.
I sat down to write a chapter I’ve been scheming for MONTHS and instead, decided to snap a selfie. I wanted to document the moment and share what writing actually looks like.
When I went to post it to my instagram, instead of crafting a quippy, light hearted caption, a poem came out of me.
And writing it brought me to tears.
So I wanted to share it here as well not only to commemorate it but in the hopes that it may resonate with someone else currently in the trenches of creating something.
So here it is —
This is the woman writing the novel
This is the woman writing the novel.
In the early mornings before responsibilities beckon.
Between the cracks of to dos now and to dos later.
The story goes everywhere: drop offs, haircuts, play dates, vacations, upstairs, downstairs.
Her laptop is never more than 10 feet away.
And just like her first draft, she isn’t polished.
The words seem to prefer her disheveled and unshowered.
This is the woman writing the novel.
She is learning to sit with her imposter syndrome who tells her daily.
“What are you thinking?”
“This is crap.”
“No one is going to read this.”
“Why do you think you can do this?”
“Just give up.”
The same mind diving deep into a fantastical world and forging a story from nothing is the same thing telling her to stop.
Battling a toxic narrative is exhausting.
This is the woman writing the novel.
Who is bearing the weight of the unseen work that goes into the pages.
The guilt of prioritizing the story.
The despair of self-doubt.
The incessant temptation to quit.
This is the woman writing the novel.
She’s writing it for her.
The younger her.
Who coveted blank pages of a notebook, filling them with plots and characters.
She’s always been a romantic at heart.
And when the schedule gets busy and when the imposter syndrome gets loud, that young girl seems to take her by the hand and say, “I think your story will be great once you finish it.”
This.
This is the woman writing the novel.


🤍 That’s all for today 🤍
This is so real Gabs. You've captured beautiful, doubtful, difficult moments in a poem. ❤️
"And just like her first draft, she isn't polished"--oh this hit me in the heart in the most lovely way.