When Life Gives You Those Sour Lemons, Turn Those Personal Challenges Into a Sweet Children’s Picture Book

Before I ever wrote a prescription (even my first one for Tylenol funny enough), I wrote stories. But even before I wrote stories, I read them.

Long before medical school, before psychiatry residency, before the white coat, there was a little girl long ago who loved adventure. This little girl saw the fun and excitement of creative stories. Growing up, I often enjoyed those stories I read because they sparked so much joy. From the beautiful illustrations to the worlds my mind would create, reading those whimsical words often pushed my imagination to the limits. The stories I read involved magical creatures, talking animals, curious children, and delectable foods like green eggs with ham (although it would have been odd to eat if it were real). I loved those stories!

(Making Goodness the Main Action of a Story.)

When I began writing my first ever children’s picture book, I thought I would write about a fantasy tale but my desire took a sharp turn. I figured, there are so many stories that take you out of the world to help you escape beyond your imagination but there are not as many about the challenges our world often brings and how to navigate them. My goal: to write a book meant to inspire that also involved adversity. I set out to write something challenging yet hopeful.

Who knew that one day while getting my hair done and sharing my personal life story with my hairdresser would lead her to inspire me to write this story for children? I laugh to myself thinking about how amazing that day really was. That’s when I chose to write my first children’s book about my own journey—full of detours, doubts, and delays. Because I believe the most powerful stories for children aren’t about perfection. They are about persistence.

Oftentimes,  writers are told to “write what you know.” That advice can feel intimidating. What if what you know feels too personal? Too raw? Too specific?

When I began drafting my picture book which was modeled after my memoir, I was constantly recounting the nitty gritty logistical details of my path to medicine. Over time I had to realize that children don’t need an admissions timeline. They need something more relatable: the emotional landscape.

I asked myself: What did it feel like when the door didn’t open the first time? What did it feel like to hold onto a dream that felt bigger than me? What helped me continue when the outcome was uncertain? What did I do when I felt like a failure?

I remembered those times when I was a child when losing something or not being given a chance was devastating. Like the time I lost in the 4th grade spelling bee or when I did not win a medal at my school’s science fair. Those experiences seem minuscule now, but as a kid, they were enormous. As I thought about my path to medicine, I wanted to shape a story that took my adult experiences and shared my path of resilience so that kids could see a model of what this could look like to persist in the midst of challenges and perceived failures.

Therefore, to answer those questions became the emotional backing of the book.

Instead of writing about medical school interviews, I planted seeds of having a growth mindset and perseverance, hoping for them to grow in the back of a child’s mind. Instead of describing rejection letters, I wrote about sour situations, my lemons, that tasted all too sour to taste at times. The metaphor allowed me to translate personal experience into something children could understand—and see themselves in it.

That’s when I realized, if I can show more emotion through the process, the more within grasp the story could seem.

Writing children's picture books is not easy. I remember going to the local library one afternoon and reading 15-20 picture books in one sitting. Reading book after book began building up my confidence that eventually led me to say, “Wow, this is easy peasy.” What I then found out was that this was my first encounter with deception. Children’s books are deceptively simple.

Typically, in under a thousand words—often far fewer—you must create a powerful story line involving a character, conflict, progression, a climax, and if you’re lucky enough, hope. You then have to consider rhythm and rhyming—although not always. You have to consider whether or not you are going to describe a scene from your story with words or through illustrations, and my goodness, which illustrations do you choose? It was a mountain that got bigger and bigger.

The key question I kept returning to when putting this story together was this: How do you show perseverance without preaching?

My late mother, who was an elementary grade school teacher for over 30 years, reminded me that we must give children the benefit of the doubt. Children are often clever readers. They can sense moralizing from a mile away. So instead of telling them to simply keep going, I let the character encounter obstacles. I let the sadness exist on the page. I allowed disappointment to have a huge weight, even showing them with the illustrations.

The turning point of my story wasn’t a sudden magical fix. It was a shift in perspective.

Sour happens to us all.

Sour doesn’t mean quit.

Sour means adjust.

Sour means add a little sugar.

Sour means keep trying.

As writers, we often want to rush toward resolution and my first couple of drafts seemingly did. But in children’s literature, especially when addressing resilience, it’s important to honor the middle—the messy, uncomfortable space where growth happens. That’s where readers live.

One of the most difficult challenges I encountered was writing about my lived experiences authentically while balancing “my” need for exactness. It was also figuring out how much of my life to reveal, especially those harder moments like grief.

In early drafts, I realized I was writing too close to an autobiography with nitty gritty details of my life. The narrative felt restricted. It lacked imaginative breathing room.

So I took a step back and asked: What core belief do I want to leave children with? My answer: Dreams are worth pursuing—even when they require patience, hard work, delays, and resilience.

Yes, the book was about my journey, but it became a story about any child standing at the edge of a big goal.

This helped me expand the story greatly.

For writers looking to incorporate personal experiences into children’s work, I’ve found it helpful to:

The goal is not to preserve your biography. The goal is to inspire the reader.

In my work in the field of psychiatry, I see how early narratives and struggles shape identity. Children often internalize the struggles they encounter which make it challenging to see beyond pathways outside of their perceived reality.  It’s hard to see that things can change when you are in the midst of challenges. That is where good stories come in but not just quick fixes kind of stories. Too often, we hand children stories where everything works out very quickly. The hero has superpowers. The solution appears out of thin air at just the right moment. But real growth rarely involves a miraculous cure.

I wanted children to see that disappointment does not disqualify them from their dreams. That it often takes time to do things. That a delay is not a denial of success. That sour moments are part of the recipe of life. And importantly: that perseverance doesn’t mean pushing through it alone. It can mean asking for help, trying again differently, and going back to the drawing board. It can mean taking a pause to rest, think, pray, meditate, and then return to try again.

My hope is to encourage writers to give children more stories that normalize struggle. When we give children these kinds of stories, we give them tools to embrace imperfections. We inspire and empower them to know it is possible to overcome obstacles.

I knew a long time ago that I would want to one day write for children. Why? Because the same stories that inspired me, planted so many positive seeds that I did not realize would mold me today. Back then, it was a fun way to drift into a whole new fanciful world. At times, it was the beacon of hope and ultimate joy.

When we write for children, we are participating in the architecture of their inner voice.

If a child encounters a story that says, “Keep going. You are capable. Sour moments are temporary,” that message can become part of their internal narrative.

That is not a small thing. That’s the seed that planted early enough, can change the landscape of their reality and maybe even play a part in changing the projection of their life.

Incorporating my own experiences into this picture book was not about tooting my own horn. It was about narrating hardship and sharing that this too can be overcome. It was about taking something that once was excruciating and tart, and refining it into something nourishing and gentle.

Like lemons into lemonade.

Like disappointment into determination.

Like a winding journey into a story that reminds children: Your dreams are allowed to take time… and that’s okay.

And sometimes, the sour parts are what make the sweetness even more possible.

Amazon

(WD uses affiliate links)