One of the most interesting parts of writing my book has been reading the reviews. It would be one thing if my book was Playing the Social Media Game for Fame and Profit (hey, new book idea!), but my book is actually my life. That means any reviews of Going Wilde are even more personal than they might otherwise have been.

That’s why it’s kind of scary and daunting to read reviews. Even the good ones. I put everything I had into this book. I made a deal with myself that I would not hold back. That makes me a little vulnerable to the feedback.

Reading good reviews makes me feel so happy and proud to share my story with complete strangers. Reality being reality, though, not all the reviews are good. I’ve learned that bad reviews are part of the game. I’ve figured out that I can’t internalize those, and that people who paid the money and read the book have a right to their opinions.

The only real downers are the reviews that praise the book and then give it three stars. Or those that totally miss the points I’m making or misconstrue what I’m saying. I tried so hard to be objective and tell the truth as candidly as I could, that some reviews just frustrate me. The worst are reviewers who think I have a victim mentality and that the book is a “woe is me” tale. I had a pretty tough early life and I’ve been transparent about the role my own poor decisions played in that. But objectively, it was a gritty beginning. Truth be told, the very last thing I want from readers of this book—or anyone, really—is pity.

On the flip side, the positive reviews make me want to sit right down and start writing again. It’s the same surge of dopamine I get from four hundred likes on an Instagram photo. I’m only thirty-three, and I’ve told my story to this point. But who knows? There’s still a lot of life left to live. Maybe I’ll give those reviewers a little more food for thought in the future.