The Lost Book, the Hidden Shelf, and the Library Inside Us All

THE FIRST STORY I COULDN’T FIND

Before I ever stepped into a library, I lived inside stories.

My grandmother with 5 of her grandchildren

There was a big red book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales on her lap—and for years, I thought she was reading from it.

Then came first grade. The year I learned to read. I remember racing home, breathless with anticipation, pulling that red book off the shelf, ready to find the stories that had rocked me to sleep for as long as I could remember.

But they weren’t there.

One by one, I flipped through the pages. No sign of the kabouterjes (Dutch for gnomes) who lived in mushroom homes. No elves gathering moonbeams to weave them into dreams. None of it.

When I asked her, my grandmother smiled gently and said, “Oh, sweetheart. I made them up.“

My world cracked open.

I had assumed stories came from books. That they lived in ink and paper. But in that moment, I realized: stories come from us.

And when told with love, they don’t just pass time—they plant seeds.

FROM LISTENER TO KEEPER

That revelation didn’t just spark my love of reading. It lit the match for something deeper: a desire to create. To become someone who could not only tell stories — but craft them so vividly that someone else might someday mistake them for something ancient and sacred.

And yet, somewhere along the way, I lost my place.

Not from lack of trying. I read constantly. I wrote. I listened. I learned. I chased every credential that could prove my legitimacy. Coaching certifications. NLP, Positive Psychology, Tapping.

But under all of that? A single, unspoken fear: What if I’m not enough unless I prove it?

That’s the paradox of self-trust. You can be brilliant, well-read, deeply caring—and still question whether your voice is worth hearing.

I didn’t realize it then, but I was still trying to find my grandmother’s stories. Still hoping someone else had written the truth I longed to hear: You’re not here to recite someone else’s script. You’re here to write your own.

BECOMING THE STORYKEEPER

Healing didn’t happen all at once. It came in small moments:

• Tapping through the inner critic who kept moving the finish line.
• Reframing the belief that I had to earn my place in the world.
• Listening—truly listening—to the parts of me I used to silence in the name of “professionalism” or “readiness.”

It came in writing again—not perfectly, but truthfully. It came in remembering that stories don’t just entertain or teach. They restore.

That’s when my coaching changed. It stopped being about performance and started becoming about reclamation.

Now, I help changemakers, nonprofit leaders, and big-hearted seekers reconnect with their own stories. Not just the polished bios or the grant-ready narratives. I mean the real ones:

• The one you buried when the world told you to be more practical.
• The one that got interrupted by burnout, by grief, by guilt.
• The one that still flickers under the surface, waiting for breath.

In our sessions, we tap. We talk. We rewrite. We laugh. We cry. We don’t hustle for clarity. We remember it.

Because under the layers of proving, there is always a voice saying: I knew who I was before the world told me otherwise.

That voice? It’s not gone. It’s just waiting for you to listen.

THIS IS YOUR BOOKMARK MOMENT

If you’ve ever:

• Felt like your story has been hijacked by expectations
• Wondered whether you’re too late or too messy to begin again
• Yearned to live with more meaning, but felt lost in the noise…

Then this is your sign.

You’re not broken. You’re not behind. You’re just overdue for a return to the shelf you thought was lost.

Maybe no one wrote your story down yet. Maybe it was whispered, not published. Maybe it’s hidden under layers of service, sacrifice, and shoulds.

But it’s still there.

You don’t have to become someone new. You just have to come home to the person you’ve always been.

Let’s find that lost shelf. Let’s get your story back into your hands.

Let’s light the lantern, trace the margins, and uncover the chapters you forgot to write.

Together, we’ll find it. And together, we’ll begin again.

For every child who believed the stories were real — and every grownup who’s finally ready to live like they are.