I’m in total ‘push it out into the world’ mode as I prepare to launch my new book end of the next month. I’m thrilled to have a local arts center where I live to hold my book launch celebration on Feb. 28th, 2013. For those of you who can’t physically attend, I’m working on a special edition of my book that I will release on or around Feb. 16th, 2013. I’m putting the final touches on that now.

As I get ready to share my story with all of you I recently had pangs of fear rise up in me. They have since dissipated, but I have a feeling they may resurface as I near the actual date of my launch. I follow Linda Hoye’s blog called, A Slice of Writing Life. In a recent post called Owning Our Own Stories she hit it on the head of what this feels like, as she has gone through it herself.

She said, “” I began to feel as if I was about to discard my clothes and stand naked in front of the world. Publishing my book meant allowing myself to be vulnerable– a terrifying concept to someone who had lived under a shroud of shame and secrecy for much of her life.”

I can relate. But as I move through the final preparations I find myself more excited than ever to see where this book leads. It is also reminding me once again, to remain open to what standing in our truth can bring into our lives. I’m ready for the ride!

Owning our story and loving ourselves through the process is the bravest thing that we will ever do. -Brene Brown

And now for the excerpt!

Chapter Two:  A Nagging Ache

’ll never forget the morning of September 11, 2001. I was working from home that day, and was alone when I learned that terrorists had flown two planes into the World trade Center and another into the Pentagon. A fourth plane, its target unknown, had crashed into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, killing everyone aboard. I remember sitting in front of the TV, terrified; I really thought the world was going to end. I desperately needed to talk to someone, but I wasn’t able to get a hold of John. I called my mom, and although she tried to comfort me, she couldn’t assure me all would be okay. No one knew if, and when, something more would happen. Mom and I talked a little more, said our I love yous, and hung up.

I was in shock and could not concentrate on working. Frankie was curled beside me on her pink pillow. She always hung out with me as I worked. Having her near me always made my days lighter, no matter what was going on. I picked her up, hugging her tight and telling her how much I loved her. But I wanted to be with Cassie too, and I found her in the bedroom, curled on the bed, oblivious to what was happening. I snuggled close to her, with Frankie still nestled in my arms. I tried to tell myself that everything would be fine. But I had never felt so scared and unsure about anything as I did in those moments. I thought our world would never be the same again. It was an eerie and lonely feeling.

Like millions of other people that day, I remained glued to the TV, watching the attack being played over and over again. Everyone was desperate for answers. Later that morning, John came walking through the back door, his face pale and slightly dazed. He looked as shocked as I felt.

With my voice shaking, I said, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but this is not good.”

We didn’t say anything else, just hugged each other. Someone had deliberately attacked the United States, and thousands of lives were lost. We mourned their deaths, as well as our country’s innocence.

Two days later, I returned to my part time job at the other construction business. When I arrived, I found an angry note the owner had left for me. He had found an error in the spreadsheet that detailed his expenses and income, which I maintained for him. It stung to read his strong words on the page. I was still reeling from the horror of 9/11 and feeling a new appreciation for how dear life truly is. I couldn’t understand why he would leave a note like this, instead of talking to me face to face, and so soon after our country had been attacked. How could he be so cold? I thought.

I tried to figure out how the mistake occurred, but I couldn’t think straight. I did know that I didn’t feel it was right to respond to his lack of consideration with another note. So I called him and asked if we could talk about it. He agreed, and when he returned to the office we sat down to what I thought  would be a discussion of how we could  improve our procedure moving forward. However, as we spoke, I had the overwhelming feeling that he wanted me to leave, but didn’t have the courage to fire me. I tried to reason with him, suggesting we look at new ways of doing the report to avoid future mistakes, but to no avail. He wouldn’t listen. With my lip quivering, I felt I had no choice but to leave. My face felt so hot, and I was trying not to cry.

I said, “Okay, I guess I’ll just get my things.”

He didn’t say a word as I walked out of his office. I was so humiliated. It took everything in me not to burst into tears, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. I loaded my things into my car as fast as I could, then I got in, slammed the door, and sped off. Once I was safely away the tears finally came and I cried all the way home. I couldn’t wait to hug my dogs and talk to John.

I’ve always had a strong work ethic. To be let go from a job was incredibly hard to deal with. More salt was added to my wound when I tried to claim unemployment a few weeks later. My former boss fought it, saying he didn’t let me go, but that I had walked out. This only added to my feelings of inadequacy. I felt like a huge failure.

Interestingly enough, for the past year, I’d often questioned what it was I truly wanted for my life. I’d silently ask myself, “What does Barb want?” But I didn’t know the answer. Losing this job only added fuel to the fire. What was this thing called life all about? Was this all there really was? Little did I know that being fired would be a blessing in disguise.