Foremost, since I'm asked this quite regularly, publishing My Special Force doesn't drive me to relive my trials. I'm fortunate to have landed head first into a position that affords me the ability to use writing as my outlet while engaging other humans. To have my life story with Ryan shared with the world...well, let's just say that I thoroughly understand how lucky I am to have the opportunity to keep Ryan alive in some small way. Trust me when I say that we can all use a little Ryan Means in our lives.
Parts of me feel secure about publishing because I know that my accounts are raw and honest and I think most people can appreciate the validity of my efforts. However, I am secretly mortified by the prospect of being judged as a mother, writer and person. I have this firstborn syndrome of wanting to be a perfectionist, dwelling on each detail of every decision that I make in a day. I am realizing, or maybe just accepting this notion now, at age 35, because I see it in my firstborn, who is the product of two Type-A's. She wants to be the star student, wants everyone to love her and most of all, what I see of myself in her, is that she never wants to disappoint anyone. That last one is the trickiest, my friends. If you aren't the smartest in the class or some people don't like you- you're the only one who is disappointed. But if you disappoint or hurt someone you genuinely respect and care about- that prospect is nothing short of heart wrenching and likely to cause a good deal of irreparable damage to the psyche.
Therefore, the only thing I was truly concerned about when deciding to release my story to the world was how Ryan and the Means family would feel about me sharing our family's love story. My mother-in-law, Mary Jo, was behind me from the start. She understood how important piecing together our story was for my daughters and for the whole family. I've felt so much love and support from the Means family and my own. The response thus far has been overwhelmingly positive and encouraging, which makes me excited (yet almost totally consumed by anxiety) for the Oct 15th release to the masses. All is right with the world as far as supportive family and friends.
Why have such anxiety over something that so far, has been seemingly directed by divine intervention? Because I know someone is going to be disappointed. I know I'm not the best person to tell Ryan's life story. His parents and brothers would be better suited, and so this is not what My Special Force is about. I can only show what I knew of Ryan as his long-distance girlfriend, the wife of a Green Beret, the mother of a faithful soldier's children. And no matter how incredibly supportive our family and friends, I will always wonder in the back of my head if I let one of them down. Did I portray someone not as they see themselves, but rather as I see them? Worse, did I portray Ryan in a way that they didn't know him? Probably. That's the perspective I write from in this book. Hopefully, I'm obsessing too much as usual and everyone is proud.
That said, I'm going to veer off on a slight tangent here and share a new story.
Even though I've received all 5 star reviews (which satisfies my star student personality), there was one lonely review that only had only a single star. I imagine the marketing team may discourage me from making a spectacle of this one poor review but the words have hit the screen, so to speak, and I cannot backspace. This is exactly why I feared placing some of my most important life memories into the hands of total strangers. Ryan would have advised me to have no fear, only faith- that is what got me this far. But now the fear is returning. How could one person read something and interpret it so differently from the rest? I want to understand. Clarification: I DESPERATELY want to understand. The reader had two general comments to validate her one star which did not appease my need to accept or understand her argument. #1: She felt that it was "an exercise in personal therapy" and #2- "adding the title 'author' is a stretch". In essence, what I read is that she doesn't think I'm anything special as a writer. Well, neither do I on most days. So, I'm not crushed. But, I still don't understand why the book itself gets only one star.
So what does the straight 'A' student do when she gets an 'F'? She goes to the teacher and asks what she did wrong on her paper and how she can fix it. In this case, I can't (at least shouldn't) stalk the reader and beg her to let me explain my thought process and try to change her overall experience. Ergo, I gracefully concede.
HOWEVER, do you know what was interesting about getting over the first bad review? Let me tell you. Instead of crushing my spirit and causing me to cancel all book signings and retreat into a hole in the earth (as I envisioned), this experience led me to think about Elizabeth, my 5 year old people pleaser. I'm the only one in my immediate family with this compulsion, never being understood until age 27 when Ryan Means understood me and helped me 'fix my broken self'. Now, I want to make sure I know how to help Elizabeth grow and thrive while being so sensitive to other people's reactions. How would I suggest she get over the feeling that she let someone down or deal with her all consuming anger that she didn't get all five stars? I need to start by setting a good example. There's a good chance this blog will still be floating in cyberspace when she is old enough to 'google' and read. I want her to know how to deal with her feelings in a healthy way. And one way I can think of is to write it out- as if you were writing to the disappointed reader. "Take the high road, always take the high road," Ryan would say.
Hence, my heartfelt response to the reviewer:
First, this book has a powerful message and I'm genuinely sorry that you didn't receive it, but I want to share it with you now. I intended to give you an honest glimpse into the life of a soldier who joined the Special forces after 9/11, someone that wholeheartedly believed that one person could make a difference in the world and that he could be that one person. I meant to show you that even when you do everything right, everything can go wrong but it is not the end of your story. The indelible mark that one person, one special force of nature, can make on another, who in turn, impresses another and so on, is more than your thoughts can grasp, even when you open your mind and just let yourself imagine the possibilities. We all need a reminder that as mortals, we are here on this planet for a short time and that it won't hurt to set aside our pride and selfishness and put a little more effort into showing undivided attention and love for each other.
Furthermore, writing this book WAS the best exercise in personal therapy. I've stated that very thought in interviews and I really don't understand how this is a negative in your opinion. I hope by reading My Special Force other people can see that writing can heal and consequently pick up a pen or a laptop. The American Widow Project refers us to a book by Psychologist James W. Pennebaker, Writing to Heal, which cites studies that show that "people who wrote about traumatic events, and wrote regularly, made 43% fewer doctor visits and exhibited better health than those who did not. When writing, heart rates slowed, blood pressure dropped and immune systems strengthened." It's okay to write to grieve and it's okay to share what you write with others who may benefit from your experience.
In concluding remarks to the aforementioned review, I want to share with you yet another of my (I'm sure 'personally therapeutic') anecdotes: When I arrived at my first final in Interior Design school carrying a portfolio of concept boards and a history of practicing Physical Therapy for seven years, I somehow nailed the presentation but ignorantly wrapped up my deal with a self-depreciating remark that I was a Therapist, not a Designer (poor defense mechanism, right?). My teacher looked at me with disdain and pointed out what should have been an obvious concept. I had just spent 46 hours designing my client's dream bedroom. It was functional for her needs, aesthetically all that she had dreamed, and made her feel that she was sleeping in her own home, not a house. I hadn't treated a patient in over 9 months. So, why the hell would I call myself a Therapist and not a Designer? Because that's what my current diploma read?? It is a biodegradable piece of paper. Nothing more.
We are what we do, quite simply. Readers read. Writers write. An author is, per Merriam-Webster, "one who originates or creates; the writer of a literary work". What part of this obligation did I not fulfill in this reader's eyes? I'm not fresh out of grammar classes, my punctuation use quite frankly blows, sometimes I even make up new (erroneous) ways to punctuate my feelings which may undermine my credibility (we have people that correct that before it goes to print) and I honestly wouldn't say I am a phenomenal writer- THAT might be a stretch. But, I had the material, I created a work and placed it into the hands of strangers in the hopes that my words would reach their souls and minds in a way that might make our world a little smaller and a little better. Mostly, it is having that desired effect. We aren't quantifying or qualifying the term here, but that does make me an author. Fair and square, not stretching the title in the least. The end.
I might consider paraphrasing this impassioned diatribe so that it doesn't read that my motive is to shove this book down her throat until she sees the light. Even though my hurt feelings have led me off on a rant, the point remains that I have mixed feelings about publishing but if we had to list the pros and cons, the benefits far outweigh the risks. That's how I ended up here in the first place. I've made most of my life choices by a rather subjective risk to benefit analysis and by 'being' whatever it is that I am doing at that moment and I don't regret a single decision. So fear be gone, faith prevail and October 15th get here soon.
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.
- Anais Nin
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