Teresa Muliro never planned to become an author.

As she shared on the Project Seed Money Podcast, writing wasn’t a childhood dream. Leadership was. She always knew she wanted to shape systems, influence change, and work with women and youth in her community. But authorship? That came later — and unexpectedly.

About five years ago, Teresa began asking herself what it would look like to tell her story. Not as someone famous. Not as someone with connections. But as what she calls “an ordinary African girl.”

Would anyone listen?

That question lingered as she researched the publishing world. Traditional publishing felt slow and limiting — especially when she discovered how little ownership authors often retain. For Teresa, this was personal. Dear Black Girl: This Is My Story, Yours Too is her life. Her truth. Her reflection. She wasn’t willing to give away majority rights to something that deeply belonged to her.

She chose to self-publish through Amazon KDP.

But publishing logistics weren’t the hardest part. Vulnerability was.

Teresa is naturally private. Sharing childhood memories, family realities, and even past unethical decisions felt exposing. She wrestled with questions about privacy, public perception, and whether her family would be affected. She also faced a persistent fear: What if no one reads this?

What helped her push forward was accountability. She told friends. Then colleagues. Then began posting about the idea publicly. Once people started asking, “When is the book coming out?” backing out became harder.

Beyond accountability, her deeper fuel came from observing the women around her — her mother, her grandmother, and the countless women she’s worked with. Their stories, sacrifices, and frustrations shaped her drive.

In 2024, when her mother was diagnosed with a tumor, urgency intensified. Teresa confronted her own financial instability and lack of resources. Writing the book became both a mission and a practical strategy — a way to create tangible opportunity. Her dream is simple and deeply personal: to build a home for her mother.

The memoir itself is short but layered. It reflects her life, critiques systemic barriers, and calls out inherited norms that shape women’s realities. Teresa openly owns moments where desperation led her to unethical choices — not to glorify them, but to reclaim the narrative before anyone else can weaponize it.

“I’m owning it,” she shared. “The good and the bad.”

Beyond the book, the Dear Black Girl Movement has taken shape. What started as a memoir is evolving into a broader platform aimed at helping women use their voices to shape better systems and futures.

Her message to first-time authors is grounded in honesty: starting is the hardest part. Fear will show up. Doubt will be constant. But remembering your “why” keeps you moving.

For Teresa, the “why” is generational change, ownership, and voice.

And she’s inviting others to step forward, too.