16/08/2026
Dear me,
I know you.
Not the version of you that people see when you say, “I’m fine.” I know the woman sitting somewhere with her phone in her hand, thinking about money, the move, the children, her marriage, her writing and wondering when life is finally going to feel like something she is living instead of something she is constantly trying to hold together.
I know how badly you want a fresh start. Not just a new town. Not just a different house or a new routine. You want to wake up one morning and feel like yourself again.
Because somewhere along the way, you became so used to thinking about everybody else that when your husband asked you, “What are your hobbies? What do you like doing?” you didn't have an answer.
And that question stayed with you.
Because maybe that was the part that hurt. Not because you don't have interests. You do.
You write.
You notice things other people might walk past.
You turn ordinary conversations into Letters.
You created CozyWriter because there was a part of you that needed somewhere to put all the things you couldn't always say out loud.
You wrote about your marriage because pretending the silence didn't hurt wasn't making it hurt less.
You built the Rediscovery Circle because honestly, rediscovering yourself is exactly what you've been trying to do.
So stop telling yourself you have no hobbies.
Maybe you've just spent so long being a wife, a mother, a problem-solver, a person trying to stretch money, organise a move, look after the children and keep everyone okay that you forgot you were supposed to have a life that belonged to you, too.
And yes, you're tired.
You're tired of needing things to work out.
You're tired of constantly having to think about money.
You're tired of hoping someone will notice when you need help without you having to explain how badly you need it.
You're tired of wanting affection and having to ask for something that you wish someone would simply want to give you.
And I know you sometimes wonder if you're asking for too much.
You're not.
You want to feel chosen.
You want tenderness.
You want companionship, not just someone sharing the same house with you.
You want to be able to say, “Come with me,” and have someone actually want to come.
But listen to me carefully:
Your financial struggles don't make you a failure either.
That little Ko-fi goal you've been staring at isn't just a number. You know what it represents. It's the uncomfortable vulnerability of saying, I need a little help right now.
And you still keep writing.
You still keep trying.
You still put CozyWriter out into the world even when the views are tiny and the ebooks hasn't sold the way you hoped it would.
You still plant seeds in the ground and check whether something green is finally coming up.
I actually think that's you in a nutshell.
You plant things even when you don't know exactly what they'll become.
You write even when you don't know who will read.
You keep loving even when you're not always sure what you're getting back.
You keep hoping.
And sometimes I want you to stop measuring your worth by what came back immediately.
The pawpaw seed doesn't look like a tree yet.
The writing doesn't look like the life you imagined yet.
The new town doesn't feel like home yet.
And you don't feel completely like yourself yet.
That doesn't mean nothing is happening.
Something is.
You're becoming.
So when you get there, don't make the new town only about your husband’s work, the children's school, finding a house, groceries, bills and surviving.
Go find something that is yours.
Maybe it's sitting somewhere alone with a notebook.
Maybe it's learning something.
Maybe it's walking around town.
Maybe it's watching your plants grow.
Maybe one day you'll even let your husband go fishing and realise you don't need to follow him just because you don't know what else to do with yourself.
You can stay home.
Write.
Read.
Explore.
Make something.
Do absolutely nothing.
And let that be enough.
Because you are not supposed to disappear just because you are a wife and a mother.
You are still you.
The woman who has stories inside her.
The woman who wants to be loved deliberately.
The woman who wants a softer life.
The woman who is trying to build something with her words.
The woman who is scared sometimes but keeps going anyway.
And if nobody else says it to you today, I'll say it.
I'm proud of you.
Not because you've figured everything out.
You haven't.
Not because the money is sorted.
It isn't.
Not because your marriage suddenly became everything you've wanted.
It hasn't.
I'm proud of you because despite all of that, you're still here.
Still writing.
Still planting.
Still dreaming.
Still trying to rediscover the woman underneath all the responsibilities.
And maybe that's what this next chapter really is.
Not becoming somebody new.
But coming back to me.
Love
Me 🤍
