Writing My Own Ending: Why We Need to Become the Authors of Our Lives

If you had told me years ago that life would hand me a blank page and say, “Good luck. No edits allowed,” I probably would have laughed, tucked it away, and waited for someone else to write the story for me.

No one came.

Life kept handing me chapters I did not expect. Loss. Health battles. Heartbreak. Moments that cracked me open and dared me to move forward.

I used to think I was waiting for permission. Permission to call myself a writer. Permission to dream bigger. Permission to believe that the words I carried mattered.

What I have learned, mostly by stumbling forward, is that no one hands you the pen. You have to pick it up yourself.

You do not get to skip the hard chapters. You do not get to edit out the heartbreak. But you do get to decide what comes next.

For me, “next” looked like opening bookstores that became safe havens for readers and writers. It looked like launching a foundation to help others tell their stories. It looked like standing on a stage and finally saying, “This is who I am.”

It looked like writing The Winberie Journals, a young adult series shaped by grief and resilience. It looked like building a life focused on more than just surviving the plot twists. I wanted to create a life that turned every hard moment into a reason to keep going.

We do not always get to choose what happens to us. We do get to choose what we create from it.

If you are holding the pen, do not wait for the perfect time. There is no perfect chapter. There is only the story you are brave enough to tell.

Pick up the pen. Start writing.