In 2017, I walked across Spain on the Camino de Santiago, a 500-mile journey marked by reflection, learning, and its fair share of setbacks. Every day, I followed bright yellow arrows indicating the path to follow. Along the way, I encountered helpers of all kinds: friendly fellow travelers brimming with stories and helpful information, innkeepers with welcoming beds for weary feet, and invaluable advice. I met a woman with warm hazel eyes and soft gray hair tightly twisted into a bun at the back of her head. In my stumbling Spanish, we managed to connect with one another because we have granddaughters of the same age. There was the 80-year-old nun on her 10th Camino, radiating grace and wisdom, and the blind man in a tiny chapel who took my face in between his warm hands and said, “Gaupo,” making me feel more seen than I ever had before.

When I reached the journey’s end, I was not the same person who had begun.

In January 2020, I set out on a different, even more arduous journey: writing a memoir. This time, there were no trail markers to follow. I tripped and stumbled along my way without helpers, meandering in the wilderness of self-revelation. Though my background in technical writing gave me a place to start,  creative nonfiction felt like navigating a foreign country, trying to comprehend a language I didn’t understand. Determined, I read all I could about the craft and even attended a memoir class at the local library. I longed for fellow travelers and trustworthy advice.

I struggled to find my story’s theme and cohesive arc, knowing instinctively it was there but unsure how to uncover it. After much trial and error, I produced a passable first draft but desperately needed feedback.

Then, in March 2022, I found Project Write Now’s Writers Institute and enrolled in a memoir-intensive class where I received gentle and thoughtful feedback on snippets from my manuscript.

“We have a program coming up I think would be perfect for you.” Jennifer Chauhan, my instructor, told me late in 2022. “It’s the Book Revision Lab.”

I took a deep breath and signed up. Over the next several weeks, we studied revision techniques and shared our drafts with our two other podmates. It was the first time anyone had read my whole manuscript. I was terrified.

I could barely breathe as I listened to the Zoom discussion with my fellow writers. By the end of the session, I was in tears, not sad tears, but tears of recognition. Like my experience with the blind man in Spain, I felt profoundly seen when they discussed what my book meant to them.

A few days later, I received copies of my manuscript from each of my readers, marked with their reactions. I flipped through the pages, a spark of joy in my heart, as I saw checkmarks and multiple plus signs on the sections that they liked the most. I took heart in the encouraging remarks on pages that felt so hard to write.

“You go, girl.” They said, just at the most appropriate places.

“More, more, more.” One reviewer wrote to help me see where I needed to dive deeper.

Their feedback fueled an extensive rewrite. Once again, I enrolled in the Book Revision Lab, eager for fresh perspectives. With my manuscript in good shape, I took the next step: the Book Submission Bootcamp, where I learned where to find agents and craft query letters.

As I neared the end of my writing journey, I felt the mix of emotions I had on the Camino: a sense of awe at the task completed, sadness at its ending, and hope for what lay ahead. Once again, I was a different person than when I began.

And what did I do next? I signed up for book inc’s yearlong Memoir Incubator, ready to embark on my next writing journey, a second memoir.