I scheduled an author visit at my son’s daycare so I could read my new picture book, How to Fill Your Hug Bank, to him and his friends. The other day, I told him about it and said, “Won’t that be fun?”
“No,” he said with no hesitation. “I don’t like that book. You should read a different one.”
Great. Love that for me.
I laughed it off, because I don’t expect tact from a three-year-old. But I won’t lie; it stung a little to hear “I don’t like it” about this thing I made. This thing I care so much about.
There’s something uniquely vulnerable about offering your creative work to the world…and uniquely humbling about having your own child reject it outright.
But then last night, when we were picking out bedtime books, he said, “Can we read the hug book?”
We read it together, like we have before. But this time, something clicked for him in a new way. He started pointing things out: who had a full hug bank, who needed more, what was happening on each page, what kinds of hugs people were doing…
He was finally connecting with the story.
After we finished reading, he said, “I need to fill my stuffed animals’ hug banks.” And he climbed out of bed and proceeded to do just that. He gave every. single. stuffed animal a big, tight squeeze to be sure their hug banks were full before bed.
That’s the thing about creative work—and especially writing.
You don’t always get immediate validation, or the response you hoped for, but that doesn’t mean your work isn’t working.
It just means it’s doing its job quietly, under the surface, in ways you don’t get to control.
We talk a lot about results in writing: publishing, sales, feedback, reviews, maybe even royalties. Those are the visible markers of ROI that we’re so trained by society to look for.
But some of the most meaningful impact doesn’t fit on a spreadsheet.
Instead, it could look like a kid hugging his stuffed animals at bedtime, making sure everyone’s got a full hug bank.
No fancy trophies or applause. No real proof, even, except that (if you were lucky) you witnessed the moment itself.
If you’re in a season where your writing feels unseen, unappreciated, or even actively rejected, this is your reminder: Your work can be landing even when it doesn’t look like it is.
It can be shaping how someone thinks, feels, or moves through the world, and you might never even know.
Keep going.
P.S. Learn more about How to Fill Your Hug Bank—and buy your own copy—here!