Hey my love

I didn't forget you

(I’m so scared publishing this)

Yesterday, I wrote my mum an apology letter. It was a bit awkward, a bit funny, but it was honest. I know she’s seen it… she just hasn’t responded yet. And I won’t lie, that hurts.

But even with that, I’m really glad I wrote it. Because something about writing that letter reminded me of how much I’ve missed this, just sitting down and letting my thoughts come out without forcing them.

I miss how natural writing used to feel. How I didn’t have to think too hard about the right words. They would just come, and somehow, they made sense. Writing has always felt like freedom to me. Like I can finally say everything that sits quietly in my head. Like I can breathe a little easier. I didn’t realize how far I had drifted from that.

Somewhere along the line, I started caring more about numbers than the words themselves. I started thinking about what writing could do for me instead of what it meant to me. And slowly, my writing stopped sounding like me.

If you’ve been here for a while, you might have noticed it too. I moved away from writing about my own thoughts and experiences, trying to understand myself, and leaned more into structured mental health content.

And the truth is, even though I care about mental health, the way I was writing about it didn’t feel honest anymore. It felt like I had put myself into a box and was trying to stay inside it. A part of me knew that. But instead of fixing it, I avoided it.

I stopped writing completely. Not just here-even for myself. No journaling, no random thoughts, nothing. I just stopped.

It was easier to stay away than to admit that something I loved no longer felt right.

While all of that was happening, life kept moving.I tried new things. I stepped into spaces I never imagined I would. I pushed myself in ways I didn’t think I was capable of. And in a lot of ways, I’m proud of that.

I’m more content than I expected to be. But at the same time, I still want more. Even when things feel slow or uncertain, that feeling, that there’s still more ahead for me keeps me going.

At the same time, I’ve had to face parts of myself that I don’t like. I’ve realized that I struggle to apologize. It doesn’t come easily to me anymore. I avoid difficult conversations. I pull away instead of leaning in, and lately, it feels like I care less about things I used to care deeply about.

That’s hard to admit

Showing love doesn’t come as easily as it used to, and I can feel it affecting my relationships. I can feel the distance, even when I don’t mean for it to be there.

It feels very uncomfortable to sit with that version of myself. But it’s where I am right now.

I’ve also been thinking about how much I’ve changed. I used to write about love so freely, how deeply I believed in it, how much it meant to me.

Now, I see it differently. I’ve gotten to a point where I think… if it comes, it comes. If it doesn’t, I’ll be okay. I’m still trying to understand what that shift means.

Writing this now feels like coming back to something I’ve been avoiding for a long time. I’m not going to pressure myself this time. I don’t want to turn this into something rigid again. I just want to ease into it, write when I feel like it, and be honest when I do.Because that’s what this has always been for me.

If you’re still here, reading this after everything… thank you.

I’ve missed this, I’ve missed you and I’m finding my way back.

Love,

Adaugo.