Excerpt 1 — “Living From the Outside In”

(Approx. 620 words — Adapted from Chapter Two of Behind the Mirror by Bridget Budd)

I had and have everything I had dreamed of. This gorgeous house, an indoor pool, a home gym, a massage room, and a state-of-the-art kitchen. Plus, I drive a super-fun and sporty Porsche 718 Boxster in Carmine Red … Nothing beats the top down on the glorious sunny days we have here.

But I was perpetually unhappy and had no idea why.

Did you notice that all those things I listed as being everything I dreamed of were external? None of them reflected satisfaction from the inside out. I was living from the outside in. Even as recently as ten years ago, I was stuck in that familiar pattern of thinking that I wasn’t worthy whenever someone did something kind for me.

… I was perpetually chasing the next goal, the next fix, the next thing that might finally make me feel whole. What I couldn’t see then was that the exhaustion I felt wasn’t from doing too much—it was from being someone I wasn’t.

I had mastered the art of performing for love, of polishing every rough edge until there was no “me” left underneath. The burnout wasn’t from my schedule; it was from the story I kept trying to live up to.

It’s strange, really, how easy it is to confuse performing with being alive. But when the performance ends—when the lights go down and the applause fades—what’s left is silence. And in that silence, I finally started to hear something truer than all the noise: myself.

Intro blurb:

Julie Sloan had everything she thought she wanted—success, love, stability—but beneath the perfection was an exhaustion she couldn’t name. In this scene from Behind the Mirror, she begins to see the quiet cost of performing her way through life.

Excerpt 2 — “The Strategic Self”

(Approx. 740 words — Adapted from Chapter One of Behind the Mirror by Bridget Budd)

It’s fascinating to me how we all embody a strategic self and a true self.

The true self is your core essence—the part that holds your deepest values and desires. The strategic self does whatever it can to adapt. It’s the version of me who’d have shown up for this interview fifteen years ago, smiling, proclaiming I was happy, insisting everything in my life was perfect—so you would like me.

Finding balance between self-expression and the need for connection can be incredibly challenging for most people, myself included.

As children, we’re wired for attachment. Our survival depends on it. Our strategic self learns how to earn love, how to avoid rejection, how to keep the peace. It’s clever—a chameleon that keeps us safe. But over time, safety becomes a costume we forget we’re wearing.

The more you prioritize others’ approval, the more disconnected you become from your own truth. Eventually, you can’t tell what you actually want from what your strategic self wants you to want.

For most of my life, that’s who ran the show. The performer. The pleaser. The woman who could hold everything together while quietly falling apart.

What I didn’t realize then was that exhaustion doesn’t only come from doing too much—it comes from being too little of yourself.

And when you finally begin to listen beneath the noise, you discover the voice that’s been there all along, waiting patiently to be heard: your true self.

Intro blurb:

In this reflective passage, Julie begins to understand the hidden split that drives her burnout—the exhausting performance of earning love at the cost of authenticity.

Excerpt 3 — “Behind the Mirror”

(Approx. 650 words — Adapted from Chapter One of Behind the Mirror by Bridget Budd)

For most of my life, I only saw the image of others reflected back to me—versions of who I thought I needed to be to feel loved, safe, and wanted.

But behind every mirror was a lesson, a fracture, a truth I wasn’t always ready to face. Each relationship reflected a different aspect—some distorted, some tender, some painfully honest. When I finally stopped adjusting the image and dared to look behind the glass, I found the only thing that had ever been missing: me.

It’s taken me a long time to reach a point where I can take responsibility for my part in every one of my relationships. I didn’t exit my three prior marriages with my head held high. I didn’t always uphold my morals or values—if I even had any then. But I’ve accepted those parts of my life and forgiven myself.

I’ve learned to let go of the shame, guilt, and unworthiness I carried for far too long. Forgiveness was how I began to move forward.

The world isn’t black and white. What we see depends on the lens we’re looking through. Once I started to recognize that, judgment softened—first toward myself, then toward everyone else.

And in that softening, I found something resembling peace. Not the kind that comes from perfection, but the kind that blooms quietly when you stop performing, stop fixing, and simply start seeing.

Intro blurb:

In this moment of quiet reckoning, Julie turns her gaze inward. After a lifetime of performing for love, she learns that healing begins not in perfection, but in self-forgiveness.

Excerpt 4 — “Serially Married, Spiritually Single”

(Approx. 480 words — Adapted from Chapter Two of Behind the Mirror by Bridget Budd)

“I’ve been married for more than thirty years,” I said with a grin. “I just haven’t been married to the same man for thirty years.”

People usually laugh when I say that. I think it softens the math. For the record, I’m in my fourth marriage—and before you start counting, yes, I know how it sounds.

Apparently, I’m in good company. Elizabeth Taylor, Pamela Anderson, and Christie Brinkley have all been married four or more times. Statistically speaking, I’m an overachiever in the matrimony department.

Hubby number four and I have been married for over fifteen years now, which defies the odds—something like eighty-two percent of fourth marriages end in divorce. That’s because, as I’ve learned, you have to stop marrying people who trigger your childhood wounds and start marrying people who know where the light switches are.

The truth is, each marriage taught me something different—mostly about myself. The first three lessons came with tuition fees and therapy bills. The fourth came with peace.

I used to see all those divorces as failures. Now, I think of them as degrees. I’m not collecting husbands; I’m earning credits in self-awareness.

Intro blurb:

Before the introspection came humor. In this playful scene, Julie reflects on her four marriages—and how each one taught her something her therapist couldn’t.