Until Tomorrow Finds Me-March 2026

I don’t know when it became normal to treat writing a book like an announcement.

Like you just wake up one day, decide you’re an author, design a cover, post a mock-up, and the world claps politely before you move on to the next thing. But that is not what this has been for me.

This has been me quietly rebuilding a whole part of myself in the dark. This has been grief and stubbornness and late-night clarity stitched together with the kind of determination that doesn’t always look like confidence.

Sometimes it looked like doubt. Sometimes it looked like taking one step forward and then sitting down for a week because the weight of it hit me in the chest and I couldn’t pretend it didn’t. But in those moments, I kept finding my way back. I kept coming back to the story that wouldn’t let me go. 

I didn’t just write a book. I wrote my emotions and in many ways, the emotions of others that I have carried inside me for years.

There have been seasons in my life when I didn’t feel like myself, and if I’m being honest, the last two years were exactly that. It wasn’t because I didn’t know who I was. It was because I was exhausted from being the version of me that survived everything.

I was tired of being the one who showed up in every room to be what everyone else needed instead of who I needed to be. The dependable one, the capable one, the one who keeps going, keeps it together, and makes everyone else feel okay.  And then I wasn’t okay. No, I wasn’t okay at all.

This book wasn’t born out of inspiration. It was born out of a question I couldn’t stop asking: What happens to a person when they lose something that changes the shape of their life? And then, what happens if they decide they are still allowed to become someone different afterward? Those questions played on repeat throughout this journey.

Until Tomorrow Finds Me changed directions a few times while I was writing it. The core story stayed the same, but the details shifted as I did.

Yes, it is a book about grief and finding your way back, but not the kind people are comfortable talking about. It’s the kind that shows up quietly in ordinary moments and rewires your entire nervous system. The kind you don’t see coming. And somewhere in the middle of living with it, you realize you still have to keep walking forward, even when tomorrow doesn’t feel real yet.

This is the most personal thing I’ve ever created. Not because every line is autobiographical, but because the truth inside it is.

  There were moments I wrote a scene and just sat there staring at the screen thinking, Oh. That’s what that was. And that’s the strange thing about writing a book like this,  you don’t get to hide from yourself. You can’t fake it for 300 pages. You either go there or you don’t. And I went there. Over and over.

So with that said, I am releasing Until Tomorrow Finds Me in March 2026.

That sentence still doesn’t feel real when I type it. Because I’m not just releasing a book, I’m releasing a version of myself. The version that stopped editing herself to match the room. The version that realized she didn’t have to become someone else to be worth listening to. The version that finally admitted, I want this and I don’t have to justify it.

I know that sounds dramatic. But if you’ve ever had a dream you kept setting down because life felt too loud, too heavy, or too complicated, you understand exactly what I mean. This has been a long time coming. Right now, I’m in the messy middle. The part no one really talks about. The part the reshapes your entire world.

It’s exciting and It’s terrifying. It’s pride mixed with that random moment when your brain whispers, Who do you think you are? Only now, I answer myself: Someone who finished. Someone who kept going when quitting would have been easier.

I’m learning what it means to let people witness something I created. Not as a performance, but as a real offering. I’m learning how to talk about my work without turning it into something that has to “prove” itself. And I’m learning that vulnerability doesn’t mean oversharing, it means telling the truth with clarity and honestly.

What I hope this book does is simple. I hope it finds the person who feels like they are the only one. The person who is functioning but not okay. The person who has been carrying loss in their body so long they forgot what it felt like to breathe normally.

I hope it sits beside you the way certain books have sat beside me. Not trying to fix anything, just reminding you that you are not alone in what you feel.

If you’ve ever been in that place where yesterday no longer fits, but tomorrow hasn’t welcomed you yet, this book is for you.

If you want to be part of this release, stay tuned.

March 2026 is coming. Pre-orders will open shortly before then, and I’ll share all the details here and in my newsletter.

For now, I just want to say this: thank you for standing with me and witnessing this becoming. Because for me, this isn’t just about a book.

It’s about what happens when you finally decide you are allowed to do the thing that has been calling your name, and this time, you actually show up for yourself.

With peace in my heart and courage in my steps,

Crystal