A new year is well underway! I am so excited to be in 2014. This year, I want to laugh more with my boys, get fit, write more consistently, and speak about storytelling. These goals sound simple enough—but when I really think about what it will take to follow through, I feel a little terrified. The voices creep in: You can’t write. No one wants to hear what you have to say. You’re not a warm, fuzzy mom. You’re lazy. You don’t have time. Your body is too far gone. Your spelling makes you look incompetent. You aren’t fun or entertaining. Maybe something is wrong with you. It’s the past that haunts me most. As a storyteller, every time someone finds a mistake in my writing, I feel pulled back to childhood—sitting in a classroom, being corrected in front of everyone, feeling small and incapable. I remember thinking my sister was the writer, the funny one, the entertainer. And as a mother, I replay my own shortcomings like a film I can’t turn off. But this is a new year. And in 2014, I am...