These books are what I wish someone had handed me when my life was falling apart. It’s every quote I underlined, every seminar I attended, every piece of advice given to me, every post I saved and every uncomfortable truth I’ve had to face. 
 
Somewhere between losing my shit and repeating life lessons, I started writing. I wrote this childhood trauma memoir because I was tired of self-help books that either sugar-coated everything or made you feel like shit for not having your life “together” whatever the hell that means. I didn’t write these books because I have it all figured out. I wrote them because I don’t. I’ve hit rock bottom and then realised it has a basement, and you probably have too.
 
Consider this the literary equivalent of being dragged into the smoking area for the chat you didn’t want but definitely needed.
 
These books are not gentle, nor are they sycophantic. But, if you’re ready to be honest with yourself, genuinely, you’ll find insights that make the next ten, twenty, thirty years of your life easier.
 
I’m dragging my trauma across these pages in the vain hope that one of you will close the book and whisper, “fuck, I finally feel seen”. The work is ugly, it truly is. No soft lighting, no trigger warnings, no foreplay. If you aren’t ready for that, I suggest you put this down and come back when you’re truly sick of your own shit.
 
Wisdom isn’t found in the healing; it’s found in the messy middle.
 
Or as I call it: the Accidental Wisdom.