I miss writing

It’s been a minute. So this is just a life update.

I finished school. I defended my project. Submitted everything that needed to be submitted. Closed that chapter properly. Then I packed up six years of my life into boxes and bags and moved back home. I keep calling it a new environment, even though it isn’t. I’ve just been away for so long that it feels unfamiliar.

For some reason, I keep retelling this in my head like it hasn’t happened yet.

I’m already in Abuja. I’m literally here.

The weeks I wasn’t writing on Substack did something to me. I didn’t plan it as a break. It just happened. And somehow, it grounded me. Not because writing or Substack was the problem, but because I needed to step back and actually look at my life instead of constantly narrating it. I wasn’t completely offline. Just quieter. More selective and it helped.

December is strange this year. My December is not Decembering. No trips. No big plans. Which is funny, because for the last three years, December always came with movement. Always somewhere to be. This one feels blank. Empty in a neutral way. I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I’ll probably figure something out. Or not. Either way, I’ll live through it.

This next phase of my life scares me. There are decisions everywhere. Even when it looks like I have options, it still feels overwhelming. I don’t know what’s next, and that uncertainty makes me anxious. I won’t lie about that.

But I’m grounded. I have God. I have my family. And right now, that’s enough to hold me steady.

Something else happened. I let something go that mattered deeply to me. It hurt more than I expected, and I still don’t know if I’ll ever be completely at peace with the decision. But I know it needed to be made. I’m hoping time will be kind to that choice.

Coming back home has made me realise that I need new friends. Not because my old friends disappeared, but because time changes people and proximity matters. Some friendships soften. Others stretch. That’s normal. So yes, I’m open to meeting new people. Women especially. People with sense. People who are growing and trying.

Oh, and somehow, in the middle of all this, we hit one year on Substack. One full year of writing consistently. That still surprises me. Writing this year brought opportunities. Money. Confidence. Creative freedom. I tried different things. I stayed. I didn’t quit. And that matters to me.

Looking back at 2025, it was heavy. It asked a lot of me.

But I’m grateful. Truly.