If you’re a working mother like me, you may have noticed a few raised eyebrows from time to time. I was only five weeks postpartum when I had to go back to my work as an OB/GYN physician, and you’d have thought I had murdered my infant the way some women looked at me. (“How dare she? How selfish of her. But just wait - that child will be totally messed up one day.”)

If you’ve been following my journey, you may remember how I turned down a book deal in January of this year because the deal just didn’t value how much I’m worth. (You can read the whole painful story here.) Then my agent and I broke up over it (though we decided to break up and stay in love.) It was an act of courage to say no to the publisher. On one level, I felt confident I was making the right decision because every Sign from the Universe affirmed it.  But deep down, I was scared shitless. What if I never got another book deal? What if I really wasn't worth more? What would I do with my life? You know the drill. . .

Sometimes people ask about my qualifications. It's a fair question with a simple answer: I have none.

Once upon a time, back when I was about 32, I thought I knew how my life was going to turn out. I had just been promoted to full partner in a busy OB/GYN practice in San Diego, where I planned to work for the next 35 years before I retired on my big phat 401K and settled down on the beach to paint for a few years before I died.

You know what they say about the best laid plans.