One year ago today, I was standing at the water’s edge, crying, breathing, exhaling.
My fifth book, Soul Shift, had been released one week prior, and based on book industry expectations, I should have been busy hustling, promoting, and touring.
Instead, I was here, doing just what I needed to be doing.
It may have taken me four book launches to finally get it right, but late was better than never.
Right before Book two released, I was hospitalized to address a persistent pain I’d ignored for months.
After Book three, two friends drove hours to put eyes on me after something I wrote sent off warning bells.
After Book four, Scott found me in a self-destructive state and urged me to get help.
Someday I might talk about where I ended up after Book one, but that story is for another day.
Suffice it to say, I came to associate a “successful” book launch with the inevitable aftermath that came from sacrificing myself for months surrounding each book release date.
But book five was different. First of all, writing about the topic Soul Shift – reclaiming your true self – had forced me to actually do so.
Second of all, because my younger daughter was struggling mightily with mental health issues, everything else became secondary, including my typical determination to adhere to my schedule for writing and finishing on time.
Instead, whenever I had the bandwidth – whether it was thirty minutes or three hours – I plotted my chapters in a more relaxed way by spreading out notes across the family ping pong table.
Using construction paper, colorful markers, and sticky notes, Soul Shift came to life in bursts, supported by a posture of trust, curiosity, and self-compassion.
Never have I felt so connected to my true self than when writing this book. Holding my hand throughout the entire creative process was my eight-year-old inner child, my Dreamer Girl, who said:
“Rest when you’re tired.
Eat when you’re hungry.
Cry when you’re sad.
Write when you’re inspired.
Live life when you aren’t; trust the words will come.”
When I was in the final stretch of the 65,000-word manuscript with the deadline looming, my daughter, Avery, who’d been isolating herself throughout this difficult period asked if I’d take her to see the ocean.
I immediately put down my pens, closed my laptop, and assured myself the book would get finished; there was something far more pressing at hand.
During that quick trip to the beach, I made a point to stand beside the ocean and mark a promise I'd made to myself. I vowed not to lose myself in the promotional period of the book launch, a grueling process that begins eight months out from the release date.
As I made that promise, the song Cool Change, which hit its peak of popularity in the early 80’s, played in my earphones.
“If there's one thing in my life that's missing
It's the time that I spend alone
Sailing on the cool and bright clear water…”
I had this vivid childhood memory of riding in my dad’s comfortingly worn pick-up truck, the Little River Band playing on 8-track tape.
“I was born in the sign of water
And it's there that I feel my best
The albatross and the whales, they are my brothers…”
I didn’t know the first thing about sailing, and I’d never seen the ocean, but the imagery from this song painted the most beautiful picture in my eight-year-old imagination. I would go there one day, I promised myself then.
Hearing the song and recalling that promise in that moment in time resonated in my adult body. The chorus which I could never quite grasp as a child suddenly made so much sense.
“Now that my life is so prearranged / I know that it's time for a cool, cool change…”
Boy, did I understand the meaning of the song now! But instead of the word change, the word reclamation seemed more fitting.
Standing on the beach I’d once dreamed of seeing reconnected me to what was beautiful, powerful, and worthy within me. I felt certain I could keep this adult promise to myself; I would not allow the pressure to sell books require selling my soul.
Fast-forward to April 5,, 2023. I honored that promise – even choosing to return to the water’s edge the week after the launch of the book. It was my daughter’s spring break, and I kept our yearly tradition of traveling as a family. For the first time in my career as an author, I did what was best for me, not what was best for the sake of book sales.
As the cold water ebbed and flowed over my feet, I thought, this is true success – the completion of a difficult endeavor without sacrificing my health, my relationships, or my integrity.
The book was now out there in the world, ready to touch lives. Who it would touch and how many people it would touch was out of my control. I had done my part.
My tears flowed freely, and I didn’t wipe them away.
I felt assured by that emotional response because it represented who I am at my core. From my fourth birthday on, I was told I was “too sensitive.” I couldn’t just stop being that way, so I learned to hide my deep-feeling heart. I’d probably still be futilely trying to be “tougher” had my daughter Avery not come along.
Learning to see Avery’s highly sensitive nature as a gift to nurture, rather than a problem to squelch, helped me see it as a gift in myself.
Until very recently, it had never occurred to me that this gift would also come with limitations. This passage from Social Justice for the Sensitive Soul by Dorcas Cheng-Tozun shifted my whole perspective.
“Like an ice shelf that suddenly collapses into the sea after years of unseen melting and fracturing, my breakdown had actually been a long time coming. I had spent years trying to be an idealized version of myself working long hours, pushing myself in challenging roles, never saying no, and regularly placing myself in contexts that petrified me. When my body communicated stress, I ignored it; I didn't listen to my heart when it ached from pain, sorrow, and exhaustion. I had taken hold of all the traits I liked most about being sensitive, without paying attention to any of my limitations.”
This sounded like a page out of the story of my life! With a sense of validation that I’d never felt before, I eagerly kept reading.
In Chapter 7, Cheng-Tozun addresses the importance of asking yourself what kinds of jobs or responsibilities will cause too much stress. She offers some specific roles sensitives should avoid, including ones that “focus on getting quantitative results, like hitting numbers and sales targets.”
My mouth hung open.
The very thing that is kryptonite to my sensitive soul is the measuring stick constantly used in the publishing industry! And during book launch seasons, it is difficult to escape it.
Cheng-Tozun’s insights sparked a huge ah-ha moment for me. My breakdowns during book launches didn’t happen because there is something wrong with me; they happened because my gift of sensitivity has limits. And if those limits are not honored, my body will let me know.
In other words, I am not built for this job!
And still…
I brought Soul Shift into the world without sacrificing myself in the process.
Looking back now, with what I’ve learned about myself, this achievement feels quite miraculous.
During the week of last spring’s launch of Soul Shift, I received a keeper message from a reader named Kate.
“Dear Rachel, I opened Soul Shift this morning, read the first three words, 'welcome, weary human,' and burst into tears. This book is so timely for me, and I'm sure many others… please know, from the bottom of my heart, that your work is absolutely life changing. Sending you so much love and gratitude. I hope this recent book release was everything you ever dreamed.”
Kate, if you’re out there, I want you to know that Soul Shift was the book release of my dreams because I based its success on meaningful measures: the real people this book has touched and continues to touch, even one year later.
The strength of our connections, the positive impact of our actions, the courage to pursue our heart’s calling while staying true to ourselves – that is real success.
I achieved that with Soul Shift – and I know many of you are achieving this with your own heart-led endeavors.
Do not let societal standards discourage you from enjoying the cool, cool reclamation you are so worthy of in this life.
It’s not too late. We are just getting started.
In the comments, I welcome you to share what success looks and feels like to you. Do you struggle to focus on meaningful measures? How to do celebrate true rewards in your life and in your family’s life?
My friends, to mark my one-year “bookversary” of Soul Shift, I am offering a special 6-week Spring Edition of the transformative online Soul Shift series based on the book. In a safe, non-judgmental space, you can learn how to identify and prioritize your own needs – and make real efforts to meet them.
Starting April 22, just imagine what giving yourself a six-week period of intentional gentleness and supported self discovery could do. It could bring oxygen to the parts of yourself you’ve neglected, so you can get closer to the vitality you seek. Lessons are self-paced, and you have lifetime access to the content.
Because spaces are limited in this special session, I’m offering Rachel’s Treehouse community the first opportunity to sign up with early-bird pricing available now. Click the button below to grab a spot. Together we’ll move from winter’s heaviness into spring’s promises… and prepare for a summer of presence and peace.
Dear Rachel,
I have been thinking about you this week. I have a one-line-a-day journal, and I noticed a year ago was your book launch. I was so thrilled to receive an ARC for Soul Shift.
The thing about it is, your words are timeless.
As a fellow writer and highly sensitive person, I understand the toll it takes when you're traveling and listening to people's heart-rending stories and you want to give the entire world a hug and a makeover.
Sometimes carrying all of that just gets too heavy.
I was a high school counselor once, before I became a writer. I remember sitting in my on-site supervisor's office working on my thesis, and she opened up to me about how demanding her job was - but how lucrative the pay was (she was treated and paid as a school administrator).
Every day she came to work crying, because she never saw her two young boys, never was home in the evenings, didn't get to see friends often, and was on the brink of a divorce.
I glanced at the photo of Ben and me - we were newlyweds then, just starting our life together - and I silently committed to not allowing any career to steal my joy or my life. Or my relationships.
Now I'm in a season in which my body and mind require an immense amount of rest. I grow discouraged, because my heart wants to do all these great things! But I can't. I have degenerative disc disease in my lower back, two autoimmune conditions, and, well, I'm just worn out.
So the last year or so, especially after reading your book, I chose to slow down and give my mind and body what they needed. Some think what I do is indulgent, because I focus on avoiding certain triggering foods and substances, walk my dog almost every day, lift weights three times a week, get a monthly massage and quarterly facial, go to dinner with a friend or two every month. I read a lot. I write prolifically.
But I'm doing it to restore myself. I'm doing it so that I can be prepared for whatever is coming next in my life, so that I can appreciate each moment and love my kids from a place of harmony and gratitude rather than a frenzied and frazzled chaos.
That's what your post reminded me of today, all of what I just wrote. I'm sorry it's so long. There's just so much to say. Thanks for listening. I am grateful for you, every day. ❤️
Rachel, I am so happy to hear about your journey towards true "success." I was reading the Almanack of Naval Ravikant the other day, and he writes "All real success is internal and has very little to do with external circumstances." What a mind job that phrase can be if we really internalize it. We live in a society and a system that puts value on accomplishments and reaching external benchmarks. You decided to prioritize your own internal wellbeing, and I love that so much. I almost feel like doing exactly what we want in life can be such a curse because many times we love doing what we do so much that we sacrifice everything for more success. Idk if that makes sense, I hope it did. I'm really happy I found you here on Substack.