BookShook was never just about books.
It was always about the ones who survived because of books—and in spite of books.

Its For the hearts that bleed ink, for the souls lost in the pages.

Some of you wrote after my last Origin Essay.

You asked if I was okay.
You asked what BookShook really is.
You asked why I didn’t become a therapist.
Or a bibliotherapist.
Or a chef—like I once swore I would,
back when I thought healing looked like bread rising in an oven.

So here’s the truth:

Yes, I’m okay.
No, I’m not fixed.
I’m becoming—in that heavy, sacred way that becoming always is.

And BookShook?

BookShook is what happened when life cracked me open
and I couldn’t find a safe place to bleed.
So I built one.

BookShook is the sound a soul makes when a sentence breaks it.

It’s when you read a line so real,
you have to stop breathing for a second,
because someone else put your private pain into words.

It’s when fiction holds you better than people ever did.
It’s when a character’s heartbreak reminds you of your own—but cleaner. Safer.
It’s when you’re not sure if you’re reading to escape, or to remember.
It’s what happens when the only time you feel truly seen
is on a page someone else wrote.

People ask why I didn’t become a therapist.
Why I didn’t settle down.
Why I didn’t choose something gentler—
a quiet life, a dog named Darcy,
a perfect sourdough starter.

Because I wasn’t made to fix people.
I was made to find them.
To say:

“Hey. I see you. I know that ache. Sit down. You’re safe now.”

I built BookShook for the ones who are still here
because of one paragraph.
One chapter.
One book that caught them mid-fall
and whispered: “Keep going.”

This isn’t just about grief.
Or healing.
Or trauma in softcovers.

It’s about surviving when you feel too much.
It’s about feeling anyway—
even when the world tells you to numb it, hide it, shrink it down.

It’s about you.

You, with the too-big feelings and the never-quiet mind.
You, who underlines sentences like prayers.
You, who cries over people who don’t exist,
because somehow, they understand you better than the ones who do.

You’re not weak.
You’re not broken.
You’re just fluent in a language most people forgot how to speak.

BookShook is a rebellion.

Against apathy.
Against emotional minimalism.
Against the lie that says your softness is a problem to be solved.

Here’s what we believe:

✨ Let the stories wreck you.
✨ Let the rituals rebuild you.
✨ Let yourself feel it all—and call that power.

Because you were never too much.
You were always everything.

And if you’re still reading?

You’re not just part of this story.
You are the story.

You’re seen.
You’re safe.
You’re BookShook.