Not Every System Is Built to See What Matters Most

Author Michelle Schreiner reflecting on creativity, confidence, and trusting meaningful work beyond external validation.

I recently received feedback from a national book contest. My children’s picture book didn’t advance past the first round, which is something that happens to roughly 80% of submissions in a highly competitive field of more than 1,700 entries.

What surprised me wasn’t the outcome.

It was that I wasn’t disappointed.

As an author — and honestly, as a person — that response caught my attention. I paused with it. Not because I was trying to “spin” the experience or rush myself toward acceptance, but because the feeling itself felt honest and settled.

As I read the judge’s feedback, I noticed something interesting. One of the most important elements of the story — the cognitive challenge at its core — wasn’t mentioned. The book is intentionally designed to help children experience confidence through doing: engaging their minds, testing their spatial reasoning, and discovering competence through action rather than reassurance. Confidence, in this story, isn’t something that’s given or spoken into existence. It’s something that emerges through experience.

The reviewer didn’t reference that aspect of the book. And in that moment, I realized something important.

It hadn’t been missed because it wasn’t there.
It simply wasn’t the most visible part of the story in a system designed to move quickly and make hard eliminations.

That realization stayed with me.

Not every system is built to see what matters most — especially when depth, nuance, or embodied experience are involved. Systems under pressure often reward what’s immediately legible, familiar, or easy to categorize. What’s quieter, layered, or experiential can be harder to notice, even when it’s deeply impactful.

This isn’t just true in publishing. It shows up everywhere.

In leadership.
In creative work.
In parenting.
In the ways we measure growth, success, or readiness.

Sometimes the most meaningful work we do doesn’t announce itself loudly. Sometimes it works beneath the surface — shaping confidence, perspective, or capability long before there’s language for it.

And that doesn’t make it less powerful.

I didn’t write this book to win a contest. I wrote it to help children feel capable in their bodies and minds. To experience competence before they’re asked to explain it. To learn, in a quiet but lasting way, that confidence can come from within through curiosity, effort, and engagement with the world.

That purpose hasn’t changed.

And neither has my trust in the work — even when a particular system isn’t built to see it.