Imposter syndrome is a funny thing. It sneaks in quietly, like a shadow, and before you know it, you’re questioning everything. Today, as I dust off the rough draft of my fourth children’s book, “Growing Honey,” I can feel that old familiar doubt creeping in. Writing a book is hard enough, but writing and illustrating? Some days it feels downright impossible. Add in the fact that I’m squeezing this work into the smallest pockets of time, early mornings, naptimes, the rare quiet moments of the day, and the mountain feels even steeper. About 4 years ago, I started writing about James, a boy who gardens with his family and ultimately creates meals and community with his endeavors. I love James and so believe in his journey, but to pretend that being an artist is all joyful creative expression would be a lie.

What makes it harder is that I’m entirely self-published. I chose this path because I saw a gap in the market: I wanted books that taught kids about gardening as a necessity to eating, but in a fun, engaging way. Stories that showed the magic of planting seeds and watching them grow, and the quiet lessons that come with tending a garden. But now, with AI image generators making art faster than ever and a constant flood of polished books on the market, it’s easy to feel like I’m not enough. My art doesn’t feel polished or perfect. It feels personal, even rustic. Vulnerable.

Still, there’s something about this story that won’t leave me alone. Growing Honey has been on my heart for a while now, and even when the doubt feels loud, I know I need to keep going. I think about my kids, how I want them to see what it means to follow through, even when something feels hard. Especially then.

Every time I sit down with my ipad and a maple syrup latte, the house quiet in the early morning light, I remind myself why I started. I wanted to create stories that I couldn’t find anywhere else. Books that plant seeds, not just in garden beds but in little hearts. I wanted to share the lessons I’ve learned through gardening, patience, perseverance, the beauty of tending to something that grows slowly over time.

The truth is, perfect is the enemy of done. If I wait until I feel ready, this book will never exist. So I’m picking up my pencil and getting back to work. One page at a time. One morning at a time. One naptime at a time. It might not be perfect, but it will be mine. I’m dedicated to completing this little world I started with this book series, and I even see one more book after this one in Jame’s backyard garden.

So friends, here’s to quiet courage. To creating even when it’s hard. To growing honey.