Tenderly Embracing Being a Nobody

Once I nearly completed my book in February, I began querying agents—submitting to over 100 strangers after an initial round of edits. It’s rough trying to get a book published while applying for jobs at the same time. The last three months have been filled with a lot of rejection.

Like a lot, a lot of rejection.

But the publishing world offered something the job market rarely does: feedback. A few agents took the time to respond with thoughtful notes on my pitch, which I genuinely appreciated. One of the most consistent? I don’t have a strong enough following. If I want a shot at traditional publishing, they said, I need to build an audience, then come back.

Essentially, I’m a nobody.

But here’s the thing: being a nobody is exactly the point.

Years ago, I left social media on purpose. Hell, it was even ON my bucket list. I knew it might hurt my career. I knew it might close doors. But the cost of staying online, of living in a society that values performance over presence, was greater. Logging off preserved my mental health, my sense of self, and ultimately, gave me the space to live a life worth writing about.

I’m not young and hot. I didn’t do something extreme like quit my job, sell my house, and travel the world to “find myself.” I’m a middle-aged woman living in the suburbs. I come from privilege, sure, but not wealth. I have debt. I have gray hair and my pants stopped fitting a year ago. Like Adele, I’m not here for the Tik Tok audiences. Through it all, I’ve tried, imperfectly and relentlessly, to live with intention.

That’s the story I wrote.

This book, and the bucket list that inspired it, was built in the in-between. Written during naptimes and commutes, while job-hunting and parenting, while absorbing a world that often feels too heavy. It wasn’t born from a retreat. It came from a real life.

So maybe I’m not the kind of writer the publishing world bets on. Maybe I don’t fit the mold of a “marketable” author. But I believe in telling stories without waiting for permission. I believe in the power of saying something honest, even if nobody’s watching.

And here’s what else I believe: this book will find a home.

Maybe not with a traditional publisher. But somewhere, whether through independent publishing, a small press, or one curious reader who sees something of themselves in my words, this story will land. I didn’t write it for algorithms. I wrote it for the people living real, messy, meaningful lives in between the milestones. For those who don’t often see themselves in glossy memoirs.

This book wasn’t written by somebody.

It was written by a nobody—and that’s exactly why it matters.