Introduction

2025 BookFest Awards Gold Medalist in Memoir - Transformational
2025 Living Now Book Awards Silver Medalist in Inspirational Memoir - Female
2025 IPPY Book Awards Bronze Medalist in Creative Nonfiction

Fans of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Mel Robbins, and Maggie Smith will root for Deb Miller as she discards society’s script and writes her own happy ending in this uplifting debut memoir.

Are you ready to stop waiting for prince charming—and start writing your own happily ever after?

You grew up believing the story: find your soulmate, settle down, live happily ever after. But what happens when the fairy tale falls apart?

Dr. Deb Miller proves that real life is even better than the myth—if you’re willing to become the hero of your own story.

With wit, wisdom, and a dash of Disney magic, Deb shares her journey from small-town housewife to global executive, from heartbreak to reinvention, from waiting for rescue to strapping her kids on the white horse and riding toward her own joy.

Along the way, she shows you how to:

--Break free from outdated roles and rewrite the story you were told
--Transform setbacks—divorce, doubt, disappointment—into stepping stones
--Discover resilience, confidence, and self-worth in unexpected places
--Create a life that will inspire the next generation of strong women

Blending memoir and motivation, Deb parallels her transformation with the evolving Disney princesses—from obedient Snow White to fearless Moana—reminding us that the real happily ever after isn’t about finding a prince.

It’s about finding yourself.

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Excerpt

As readers meet these moments from my life, I hope they spark conversations about rewriting expectations, empowering ourselves, and defining happiness on our own terms. Thank you for choosing stories that encourage brave women to write their own endings. — Dr. Deb Miller

This is an award-winning scene from the final chapter of my book, Forget the Fairy Tale and Find Your Happiness, as adapted recently to be performed on stage for nearly 500 attendees of the International Memoir Writers Association 11th annual Memoir Showcase in San Diego, California.

Here’s a link to that performance by actress Ruth Russell.

https://forgetthefairytale.net/news-events/

The scene holds special meaning for me because Brenda Chapman, the academy award winning writer and director of the Disney film, Brave, read my book and endorsed it. See her quote on the book’s back cover. This scene is a mother/daughter conversation I had with my youngest daughter, as we watched the ending of Brenda’s movie, Brave.

Brave Heart

By Deb Miller

It started like any other Friday night: sweatpants, red wine, a bowl of popcorn with extra butter, and zero plans. My twenty-two-year-old daughter Ally came downstairs, sniffing out the popcorn like a bloodhound. She flopped onto the couch, limbs everywhere, and I scooted to make room. We were watching the end of Brave, the Disney movie. At the time, I assumed it was just another princess story.

“You sure you’re ready for all the rain in the Pacific Northwest?” Ally asked. I had just packed up my life in Florida and was days away from moving across the country.

“Shhh,” I waved her off. “Better than snow. The rain never bothered me anyway.”

“Wrong movie, Elsa. And I’ve never even seen this one,” she deadpanned, already wrist-deep in popcorn.

Me neither, but I’d been watching for the past hour. Brave had been out for years. I paused the movie, ready to bring her up to speed with a plot summary, a character arc breakdown, maybe a few unsolicited life lessons.

“Mom. I can figure it out,” she said. “Just hit play.”

Still, I couldn’t resist. “Okay, but I think the big bear’s going to turn out to be a prince. Like Beauty and the Beast. You’ll see—Merida will end up with him. The other three suitors were duds.”

Ally gave me that look. The one that says, Are you okay? Then she said, “She’s on her own, Mom. No one’s coming.”

I laughed. “No way. Disney always sends a prince. They can’t help themselves.”

But as the credits rolled… no prince. No wedding. No perfect kiss. Just a girl who saved her family and found herself.

That’s when it hit me.

Not the wine.

Not the popcorn.

The truth.

The tears came out of nowhere—silent at first, then unstoppable. I started laughing, too. You know the kind. Laugh-crying so hard you can’t breathe, and your daughter starts inching away like okayyyy, and there’s no way to explain it in real time.

But here’s what broke me:

Ally was right.

No one was coming.

Not in this movie.

Not in mine.

Sixty years of cultural programming taught me the mission was to find a prince—he’d save the day and take you to happily ever after.

My mom was the kind of woman who vacuumed in heels, a starched dress, and a string of pearls. She never once pumped her own gas. Her world was polished and perfumed—she claimed the only degree I needed was an M.R.S. Her best marriage advice came the month before my wedding: “Put lotion on your elbows every night so they don’t look wrinkly in your wedding photos.”

That was the curriculum: smooth elbows, smooth life.

I had played by the rules. Met the college sweetheart. Got married. Had the kids. Tried to keep the peace and the house and the job and the marriage—and the smile. But it wasn’t enough. Prince Charming lost the directions to happily ever after. 

I smiled through a divorce. Became the breadwinner. Became a vice president. 

I smiled through a second marriage with a Russian prince who wasn’t so charming. He abandoned the family. Sort of. 

As a mostly single mom of three, I smiled through midnight marketing deadlines, fourth-grade science fairs, and hearing my job was being eliminated.

And I said I was fine.

Until I sat on a couch beside my daughter, and she casually told me what I should’ve known all along:

No one’s coming.

Because we don’t need them to.

Ally glanced over and asked, “Mom. When was this movie made?”

She Googled it. “2012. That was eight years ago. Disney figured it out. Girls don’t need a prince. They’re optional.”

“Optional?” I hiccupped between sobs and laughter.

“Yes, Mom. Optional. You should already know this. You are perfectly happy and no prince.”

And then she looked at me—not like I was her slightly unhinged mother, but like I was her role model.

“And you don’t have to worry about me,” she added. “I’m not waiting for someone to save me. That’s my job.”

Mic. Drop.

Ally, fresh out of college and still learning how to load the dishwasher correctly, had just schooled me in feminism, autonomy, and Disney princess theory—in under thirty seconds.

And here’s the kicker:

She told me I taught her that.

I had accidentally raised a self-sufficient, self-loving powerhouse who knew happiness was an inside job.

Me, who had taken decades to figure that out for myself.

“You always told us: ‘I just want you to be happy,’” Ally said. “Well, I am. And I’ll find the right guy someday, maybe. But I’m not waiting for him to make my life.”

I wiped my tears with a napkin soaked in popcorn grease. Classy, right?

Forget the glass slipper. At that moment, I felt like I’d just shattered the glass ceiling. Because my daughter didn’t just say she was fine.

She was fine.

And for the first time in a long time, so was I.

Not fake fine.

Real fine.

The kind of fine that doesn’t come from how it looks on the outside—it comes from knowing what’s real on the inside.

These days, I still wear my wedding ring from the Russian. People notice it and inquire about my husband, and I smile. “I’m divorced,” I tell them, watching their polite confusion. I wear it because it reminds me of everything I survived, and everything I built. I wear it for the woman who learned to pump her own gas, fix her own faucet, and write her own story. The ring isn’t a symbol of being claimed—it’s proof that I reclaimed myself.

That’s my kind of fine. The kind that doesn’t wait for permission. The kind that knows healing isn’t a soft spa day—it’s sometimes strapping your kids onto the white horse and galloping forward anyway.

Yes, Merida rode off without a prince.

So did Moana.

And Elsa.

And me.

So here’s what I want every woman—every person—to know:

You don’t need a prince.

And you definitely don’t need to say “I’m fine” when you’re falling apart inside.

You’re not broken because you weren’t rescued.

You’re powerful because you rescued yourself.

[The end] view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the author--added by Pauline:

1. What is one “script” society handed you about womanhood, marriage, or success—and how have you rewritten it?
2. What would you want your younger self (or daughter) to know about happiness?
3. What does your happily ever after look like?

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