Why I Created Mira

This post has been a long time coming. I’ll admit—I wrestled with how much to share. My family is, by nature, private. Sharing our story with the world isn’t always easy. But I also know there are so many others who can relate, and if our experience can help even one person feel seen, it’s worth it.

Several months ago, my daughter was scrolling through old videos on my phone when she came across one I’d taken at a friend's birthday party. In it, she’s beaming—overflowing with joy and excitement. Watching it made me smile and reminded me how incredible it is to see the world through her eyes.

But when she watched it, she didn’t see what I saw. She noticed her hands—the way they move when she’s excited—and how it’s different from other kids. Her face fell. “Delete it,” she said. Then, with panic in her voice: “Has anyone else seen this?”

My heart broke. As a mother, it’s painful beyond words to think that your child doesn’t see themselves the way you see them. I felt frantic—how could I fix this? Then I remembered an article I’d recently read, written by Paul Marino, a man who shared his own a journey toward understanding and accepting his Complex Motor Stereotypies (CMS).

I read parts of it aloud to her. She listened intently, eyes wide. And when I reached the part that said:

“Of the adults she has diagnosed with the condition, a remarkable proportion are architects, designers, writers, producers, musicians, artists, and ‘numbers people.’”

…something shifted. Her whole face lit up. “I didn’t know other people did this,” she said.

We talked about how we wished there were book characters who moved the way she does—characters who reflected her reality in a way that felt empowering and magical.

And so, Mira was born.

The words in the book come from me. The wild, imaginative world Mira inhabits comes straight from my daughter—who has more creativity in her young heart than I could ever hope to match.

Our hope is that readers see themselves in Mira, and that she helps them feel excited, inspired, and proud of who they are. Life is too short—and too important—to hide your light.