This Is My Becoming
I am waiting. I am waiting for this book. The book that has had me raw and embarrassed, in so very many ways. It’s my most flawed version, the one in Becoming. The story is personal, and humiliating, and upsetting. And I think that’s why I’ve clung to the details for as long as I could. My publisher would email: so, when do you want to do the big cover reveal, Laura? And I’d recoil at my screen, folding into myself, thinking, not yet. Do not make me share it yet. Let’s not tell people they can pre-order it, or read more about it, just now. Let this story belong to me for just a wee while longer. People – friends, family, readers who I have met, and who I haven’t - are going to know deeply personal, shameful, and upsetting moments of my life, and only now is that truly sinking in. I wrote myself out of a debilitating heartbreak and into liking myself, I think for the first time ever, when I worked on it. I like myself because of what happens in this book, not in spite of it. And yet, I