Hi there,

It’s been a whole whileeee.

Actually, it’s been a whole, long time. 😂

Okay, so I graduated from uni last month. Yayy! 🥹

But that’s all.

Reality has officially settled in.

I mean, I’m still new to the game but I can’t lie, I feel lost.

There’s something about being done with school that nobody really tells you about.

For years, your life has this structure. You wake up, go to class, have assignments, exams, deadlines, projects, complain about school, swear you’re tired of school, and then somehow still manage to survive another semester.

Then you graduate.

And suddenly, there’s no next semester.

No classes,

No “what course are you offering tomorrow?”

No deadline hanging over your head.

Just you.

And the big question:

So… what next?

I keep thinking, Oh, will it really take this long before I figure out one thing I’m truly passionate about?

Will I eventually find my thing?

Something I’m genuinely excited about.

Something that makes me wake up and think, Yes, this is what I want to do.

Because right now, I have so many things I’m interested in, but I don’t know which one is the one.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on myself to have everything figured out simply because I have a degree now.

But sometimes, it’s hard not to.

You open social media and someone your age is announcing a new job, someone is starting a business,someone is travelling,someone is getting married,someone is doing their masters,someone is doing something that makes you feel like everybody received a manual for adulthood except you. 😂

And you’re just there, refreshing your phone.

I lost my temper today, for some weird reason.

Maybe mood swings. Maybe frustration. Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m waiting for my life to start.

And the funny thing is, I wasn’t even particularly idle today.

But I hate feeling idle.

I hate that feeling of knowing I could be doing something but not knowing exactly what that something is.

Mehn, it’s tough being a graduate with no direction fr.

And I know I shouldn’t say “no direction” like my life is completely going nowhere.

I’m still figuring things out. I’m trying things, I have dreams,I have ideas, I have things I want to do,

I just don’t have the full picture yet.

And maybe nobody actually does.

Subscribe

Maybe adulthood is just everybody pretending they know what they’re doing while secretly Googling, “What am I supposed to be doing with my life?” 😂

Anyway, I miss Substack.

I really, really do.

I miss writing here, I miss opening my notes and typing whatever is sitting in my heart. I miss sharing little pieces of my life with people I may never meet but somehow still feel connected to.

I don’t even know how to blend back in anymore.

Do I just come back like I never left? 😂

Do I explain where I’ve been?

Do I start with a deep emotional piece?

Do I pretend I’m cool and say, “Hey guys, long time no see”?

Honestly, I don’t know.

So I guess I’ll just start here.

With a rant.

Because maybe that’s the easiest way to come back.

I’m still figuring life out.

I’m still trying to understand what I want.

I’m still hoping for that job, that opportunity, that thing that will make everything feel a little less uncertain.

I’m also learning that being lost doesn’t necessarily mean you’re failing.

Sometimes, you’re just in between versions of yourself.

And maybe that’s where I am right now.

Somewhere between the girl who was counting down to graduation and the woman who is trying to figure out what life after graduation is supposed to look like.

It’s scary.

But it’s also kind of exciting.

Because maybe there are things waiting for me that I haven’t even imagined yet.

Maybe I’ll look back at this version of myself and laugh at how worried I was.

Maybe I’ll finally find my thing.

Maybe I’ll change my mind about what I thought my thing was.

Maybe I’ll try ten different things before one sticks.

Who knows?

For now, I’m just taking it one day at a time.

And writing again feels like a good place to start.

But I’m back as a graduate, guys! 😛

I guess today is officially a rant day, as a graduate. 😂

Thank you for still being here, if you are.

And if you’re new here… hi, Welcome. You’ve caught me at a very confused but hopeful time. 😂

Till I see you again, Pookies.

(Pookies… hmm. I think I actually like this name for us. )

Maybe this is our thing now.

See you soon. 🤎

— A graduate who is still figuring it all out.

The way his eyes lit up when he saw me…

I used to be the kind of girl that didn’t believe in things like that.

Love in glances?

Connection in a moment?

Please… I always thought people were exaggerating.

But that day, in that hot, crowded public transport by the park…

something shifted in me.

It wasn’t dramatic.

No music, No slow motion,

Just a random day… and then him.

His eyes found mine.

And I swear, everything else faded.

The noise, the heat, the people

gone.

It felt like I stepped into a moment that didn’t belong to the world anymore.

There was this light in his eyes…

like he didn’t expect to see me, but he was so glad he did.

Not lust,

Not just “she’s fine.”

No… it was softer than that. Deeper.

It was recognition.

Like somehow… he knew me.

My heart started beating in a way I wasn’t used to.

Not anxiety Not fear.

Just… awareness.

And that scared me.

So I did what most of us girls do

I looked away.

Because how do you hold a gaze like that

when you’re not even sure you see yourself the way he just saw you?

We weren’t anything.

Not lovers.

Not even friends.

Just two people who exchanged greetings here and there or at least, that’s what I told myself.

But that moment?

It stayed.

And I replayed it… again and again.

Because if I’m being honest

that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

And I know I’m not the only one.

To be looked at… and not doubted.

To be seen… and not compared.

To be chosen… without confusion.

To be looked at like you’re the only girl in the room,

even when the room is full.

Because let’s be real

we’re tired.

Tired of mixed signals.

Tired of wondering “does he like me or am I just there?”

Tired of being almosts, maybes, and “let’s see how it goes.”

We laugh about it with our girls,

we act unbothered,

we say “men are the same” and move on…

But deep down?

We all want that one look.

That look that says:

“I see you.”

Not just your face… but you.

The kind of look that doesn’t make you question yourself later.

The kind you don’t have to analyze with your friends at night.

The kind that feels safe.

That day, for a brief moment…

I felt that.

I felt what it’s like to be looked at like I was enough

without trying, without performing, without proving anything

Because now I know it exists.

And I can’t un-feel it.

I can’t go back to accepting half-attention,

or confused energy,

or love that feels like guessing games.

Because somewhere in this world

there are eyes that will light up when they see you.

Not because you’re perfect,

not because you did everything right,

but because you’re you.

And maybe that’s what we’ve all been waiting for.

Not flowers.

Not empty promises.

Not even words.

Just that look.

That undeniable, soft, overwhelming look

that makes you feel like home

in someone else’s eyes.

That’s all she ever wanted.

I am her.

You are her.

We are her.

The wounds you refuse to heal don’t disappear—they quietly become the burdens your daughters carry.

If you’re a mother, come to the front.

Not for praise.

Not for recognition.

But for a conversation we’ve avoided for too long.

Because somewhere, in too many homes, something is happening quietly,

Daughters are growing up carrying pain that does not belong to them.

And the painful truth?

Sometimes… it’s coming from the one place that should feel the safest.

Dear mothers,

Your daughter did not choose your husband.

She did not choose your marriage.

She was not there when you fell in love, and she was not there when things started to fall apart.

So why is she carrying what broke you?

Why does your anger find its way to her?

Why does your frustration echo in the way you speak to her?

Why does she feel like she’s paying for something she had no hand in creating?

She is your child.

Not your emotional outlet.

There are daughters who can talk to their mothers…

But cannot open up to them.

They can greet you,

They can laugh with you,

They can exist around you,

But they cannot be vulnerable with you.

Because vulnerability has consequences.

It becomes:

“You’re too sensitive”

“When I was your age…”

“You don’t know what I went through”

-Or worse… silence

So they learn to keep things in.

And slowly, a gap forms.

Not the kind you can see with your eyes

But the kind you feel in conversations that never go deep,

In emotions that are never expressed,

In a relationship that looks fine on the outside… but feels distant within.

There are daughters who are now women,

Still trying to unlearn what they saw growing up.

They struggle with love… because love didn’t look safe.

They struggle with trust… because trust was broken in front of them.

They struggle with their voice… because they were never truly heard.

Some of them are still searching for themselves

Not because they are lost,

But because parts of them were silenced too early.

And the truth they may never say out loud is this:

"Mummy, the way you were treated… affected me too."

Dear mothers,

Your pain is real.

Your experiences in your marriage are valid.

The hurt, the disappointment, the emotional exhaustion you did not deserve it.

But your daughter does not deserve to inherit it.

She should not have to carry your anger.

She should not have to absorb your bitterness.

She should not have to shrink so your emotions can fit.

Because whether you realize it or not

You are shaping how she sees herself.

When you speak from pain, she hears rejection.

When you dismiss her, she learns silence.

When you project your hurt, she learns fear.

And she carries that into the world.

Into friendships.

Into relationships.

Into the way she loves… and the way she allows herself to be loved.

This is not an attack.

This is an invitation.

To pause.

To reflect.

To heal.

Because motherhood is not just about providing.

It is about nurturing,

emotionally, mentally, deeply.

It is about creating a space where your daughter feels safe to be seen, heard, and understood.

And if that space has been broken before…

It can still be rebuilt.

You can:

- Listen without interrupting

- Apologize without defending yourself

- Hold her emotions without turning them into a lesson

You can choose softness.

And to every daughter reading this:

It was never your responsibility to carry your mother’s pain.

It was never your job to fix what you did not break.

If you are struggling to find yourself,

If you are healing from things you cannot fully explain,

If you are learning to love yourself in ways you were not taught…

You are not behind.

You are rebuilding.

And that takes courage.

If you’re a mother, come to the front.

Not to justify your actions.

Not to explain them away.

But to understand the impact of them.

Because your daughter is not your enemy.

She is not your outlet.

She is not your second chance at fixing your past.

She is her own person.

And she deserves a version of you that is healing… not hurting.

If this resonated with you, share it with a mother, a daughter, or anyone who needs this reminder.

Because healing doesn’t just change one person—it changes generations.

Did y'all miss me? Because I missed y'all

I'm backkkk

Nafeey.

I told myself I wouldn’t cry this year. I said I had mourned him enough. That it was time to let go.

But letting go feels wrong.

His face in my head is getting blurry. That scares me. It makes me feel guilty—like I’m not allowed to forget even the smallest detail. Like remembering clearly is the only proof that I loved him.

I still miss him. Every single day.

I miss his smile. I miss how he opened his arms for me to run into. I miss how he patted my head when I did well. Those small things mattered more than he probably knew.

I miss the family picture we never fully had. The one where he is standing there. The one where we are all complete.

https://open.spotify.com/track/1ei3hzQmrgealgRKFxIcWn?si=ZEKACWGsSEqOIZPar1NkGw

Tonight, I cried.

I cried like a child. I cried like I could still see the day he never said goodbye. I cried like I was my mother. I cried for my little sister, because I know she carries more than I ever could. I cried for my brother, because he spent more time with him and must feel the loss deeper.

I cried because I told myself I wouldn’t cry again next year. And because grief doesn’t care about promises.

Everything feels heavier without him.

I still miss you. Very much.

I celebrate you always. But this might be my last cry for you. Or maybe just the last one I admit to.

I am sorry.

Keep resting Daddy❤️

Hey sweetheart,

I made these letters into a long—very long—post because I’ve been compiling them for a while now.

‎But because of you,

‎I’m sharing them in parts, so you won’t feel overwhelmed.

‎Yes, you, sweetheart—the one who read the first one.

‎I don’t know if that piece did something to you,

‎or maybe it hasn’t reached you yet.

‎But I promised to show up.

‎I promised to write to you again.

‎So here I am, writing you another love letter.

‎Writing to you not because I can feel what you feel,

‎not because I’m in your shoes,

‎not because I pity you

‎just because… just because.

‎I see you, sweetheart.

‎And no, you’re not dramatic for still hurting.

‎You’re not weak for remembering.

‎You’re not foolish for loving deeply.

‎You gave love the way you knew how

‎with your whole chest,

‎with patience,

‎with hope that things would soften if you stayed long enough.

‎But love was never meant to wound you into silence.

‎Love was never meant to make you doubt your worth.

‎Love was never meant to feel like something you had to beg for.

‎I’m writing to you not to reopen your wounds,

‎but to sit beside you while they ache.

‎Not to rush your healing,

‎but to remind you that you’re allowed to take your time.

‎Some days you’ll feel strong.

‎Other days, you’ll miss what hurt you—and that’s okay.

‎Healing is not a straight line; it’s a gentle mess.

‎Sweetheart, you are not hard to love.

‎You were just asking the wrong hands to hold you.

‎And even on the days you feel unseen,

‎even on the nights your heart feels heavy,

‎I need you to know this:

‎You are still worthy of a love that feels safe.

‎A love that stays.

‎A love that doesn’t make you shrink

Till I write to you again,

hold yourself kindly.

I’m still writing.

I’m still here.

Nafeey

Hey sweetheart, I see you.

‎I don’t know exactly where it broke for you.

‎Whether it was the silence that came after “I love you,”

‎or the way you kept choosing someone who never chose you back.

‎I just know that loving deeply can leave you feeling empty,

‎like you gave too much and still weren’t enough.

‎If your heart feels tired, rest it here for a moment.

‎You are not weak for loving the way you did.

‎You are not foolish for hoping.

‎Some hearts don’t break because they are fragile

‎they break because they were brave.

‎Because they stayed when it was easier to leave.

‎Because they believed words even when actions fell short.

‎Because they kept loving through uncertainty,

‎through distance, through doubt.

‎You tried.

‎And that matters more than you think.

‎Maybe you replay conversations in your head,

‎wondering what you could have said differently,

‎or if loving less would have saved you this ache.

‎Maybe you carry questions with no answers,

‎and nights that feel heavier than the last.

‎If you’re blaming yourself for not being enough,

‎please pause.

‎Love is not measured by how much pain you can endure.

‎And loss does not mean you failed.

‎Some people are lessons, not homes.

‎Some love arrives to show you how deeply you can feel,

‎not how long it will stay.

‎And if all you can do right now is breathe,

‎if getting through the day feels like an achievement,

‎then that is more than enough.

‎Healing does not rush.

‎It sits with you quietly,

‎waiting for the day your heart feels safe enough to soften again.

‎Until then, be gentle with yourself.

‎You are still worthy of love Sweetheart

‎even in pieces.

I'll keep writing, just for you.

Nafeey

Yes.

More than grateful sef.

This year was a lot. I know we say that every year

because life never really takes it easy, but this one? This one came with weight. The kind you feel in your chest before you even have words for it. I spent a good part of this year learning how to sit with discomfort without running from it. Some days, all I could admit was that I was tired.

February and March were especially heavy. Those months felt like an endurance test, there were moments I wanted to disappear quietly, lock myself away, and stop trying to explain how overwhelmed I felt.

Looking back now, I’m grateful I didn’t choose isolation.

I’m grateful I stayed present, even when presence felt hard.

Somewhere in the middle of all that heaviness, God held me.

And in His kindness, He sent me people.

Real people! The kind who don’t need perfect explanations before they show up, the kind who pray when your own words feel stuck, who check in without asking for updates, and who remind you gently that you don’t have to carry everything alone.

God knew I wasn’t patient enough to figure things out on my own.

He knew I would give up halfway if left to myself, so He sent angels in human form.

The Elohim squad? Forever goated.

This year came with decisions too.

Some of them scared me, some of them stretched me, but I made them anyway. I chose myself in ways I hadn’t before, and I learned that growth often feels uncomfortable before it feels right.

I met people this year and some encounters felt like answered prayers. Others felt like lessons I didn’t ask for but clearly needed, Still, I’m grateful for all of it.

What makes this gratitude even deeper is how I’m ending the year. I don’t have everything figured out and honestly, I’m okay with that. I’m not confused, I’m not lost.

I have clarity. I know who I am becoming, and I know what I’m walking away from,that alone feels like grace.

I’m grateful for the people who reached out,

For those who prayed for me and prayed with me.

For those who stayed consistent, even when I didn’t know how to ask for help. Every single one of you mattered more than you know.

I’m grateful for the one who loves me personally and me only 😂,the kind of love that feels safe and affirming.

And I’m deeply grateful for Feyi. Eight years of friendship, distance, reconnection, growth, and choosing each other again and again. Bonds like that don’t happen by accident. I hold ours with care.

As this year comes to an end, gratitude is what fills my heart , not because everything went perfectly, but because I survived.

Because I was held, because I was loved, because I learned, because I didn’t give up.

So yes, I am grateful.

Ese o 🤍

To everyone who made this year softer, kinder, and more meaningful — you made my year.

The highlight!

I don’t even know where to start.

I guess this is one of my December letters 🤷

December….

You always come when I’m already tired.

When the year has taken enough from me and I don’t have the energy to pretend I’m okay anymore. You slow everything down and suddenly there’s nowhere to run.

No distractions.

Just me and my thoughts.

I woke up today feeling heavy for no clear reason. Nothing bad happened, nothing went wrong,But the first thought in my head was:

Am I doing this right?

It feels like life is moving fast and I’m trying to keep up without really knowing where I’m going.

Like everyone else has a plan or at least confidence, and I’m just doing my best and hoping it counts for something.

I don’t feel stuck.

I just feel unsure.

And tired of pretending I’m not.

December makes everything louder.

The pressure, the comparison,the feeling that the year is almost over and I’m supposed to have something to show for it.

Everyone is posting wins, achievements, progress. And I’m here thinking about how much of this year was just me trying to stay afloat.

I remember how hopeful I was at the beginning of the year. How much I talked about growth and becoming better and doing more.

Now December is here, looking at me like, okay, what happened?

And I don’t know how to answer.

Because how do you explain effort no one saw?

How do you explain the nights you cried quietly and still showed up the next day?

How do you explain growth that didn’t look pretty or successful?

Somewhere along the line, I started feeling distant from people, friends, family and people I used to talk to easily. Not because of problems,

Just life.

Everyone got busy, everyone changed and I didn’t know how to keep reaching out without feeling like I was forcing myself into spaces I no longer fit.

I still care so much.

I just don’t know how to show it anymore.

What hurts is knowing that this year wasn’t useless. I know there were good moments,

I know there was grace, I know things worked out when they could have gone really wrong, I know I wasn’t abandoned.

So why do I still feel like I didn’t do enough?

December keeps asking that annoying question:

What do you actually have to show for it?

Not who you became.

Not how much you learned.

But something people can see. Something you can point to and say, “Here. This is it.”

When I talk about this feeling, people say, “You’re still young.” “You have time.” “Relax.”

But December doesn’t care about that.

December makes you face yourself. It makes you realise that wanting direction doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful. It just means you care about your life.

Still, I’m thankful, Deeply.

Because this year gave me someone I didn’t expect. Someone who treated me with kindness.

Someone who showed up for me in a way that surprised me, someone who made me realise that family isn’t only blood.

I learned that sometimes strangers can become safe places.

That people you didn’t grow up with can still pour into you,that support doesn’t always come from where you think it should.

That changed me.

I don’t take that lightly at all.

When I think about June 30th, I don’t wish I did anything differently.

That moment mattered, that connection mattered.

It reminded me that good people still exist.

That being seen can heal parts of you you didn’t even know were hurting.

I’m grateful I met you, really.

Even if nothing else comes from it.

So dear December, I don’t have answers.

I don’t have clarity.

I don’t have everything figured out.

I’m ending this year confused, hopeful, tired, and still trying.

Maybe doing life right doesn’t feel sure.

Maybe it feels messy and uncomfortable.

Maybe it feels like showing up even when you don’t know what next year holds.

If that’s all I have right now,

then that’s what I’ll give.

Nafeey

Anticipate my December letters,I was inspired by bisayo to document my December😌

Thank youuuu to my subscribers too🤭

Nothing dramatic.

Just a simple message,

warm, gentle, uncomplicated.

But I didn’t go.

I didn’t respond the way I should have.

Was it carelessness?

Was it avoidance?

Was it the heaviness of everything I’ve been carrying these past few weeks?

Or was it just that quiet, tired part of me that has been shutting down without permission?

I honestly still don’t know.

I kept telling myself it wasn’t a big deal.

People get busy.

Life happens.

Days slip away quietly.

Still… three whole weeks!

And then today, I saw her.

She looked at me

not with annoyance, not with disappointment, not with any trace of “why didn’t you show up?”

Just that calm, steady, warm look she always has.

The kind that disarms you before you even realize you’re vulnerable.

At first, I felt nothing.

No guilt, no worry, no remorse.

I was just tired.

Just floating through the day trying to function, trying to hold myself together in ways that no one could see.

But then she reached for my hand.

And she smiled.

Not a wide smile.

Just a small curve, soft and intentional

the kind that feels like a quiet hug.

And in that moment, something in me twisted a little, like a knot tightening.

Because I realized I had been avoiding her.

Avoiding connection.

Avoiding care.

Avoiding being seen (truly seen) at a time when I was overwhelmed and drowning silently.

I looked away.

Not because she said anything wrong,

but because something in me shifted,

and suddenly I felt guilty

deeply guilty.

We sat down, and before the conversation even began, she said,

“Let’s pray.”

And that was it.

That was the moment something in me finally broke open.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t messy.

It was subtle ,the kind of breaking that comes with a soft inhale and the sting of tears you’re trying to hide.

I still don’t know what broke.

Maybe it was the tension I’ve been carrying around my shoulders for weeks.

Maybe it was the loneliness I didn’t want to admit to.

Maybe it was the exhaustion

the kind that builds up slowly until you forget what it feels like to breathe without thinking.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that someone cared enough to pause everything and pray with me.

As she prayed, she talked about how I’d been on her heart these past weeks.

How she felt like she needed to see me.

How she wanted to encourage me, check on me, remind me I wasn’t forgotten.

And honestly… I didn’t hear half of it.

Because somewhere in the middle of her words, my chest tightened and my eyes burned, and I could feel tears gathering even though I kept blinking them back.

It’s strange how the words you need have a way of breaking you.

Not because they hurt, but because they meet you exactly where you’ve been struggling, quietly, silently, alone.

These past few weeks have been overwhelming in ways I haven’t said out loud.

Little pressures piling up.

Emotional fatigue settling in.

Feeling stretched, drained, stressed, and unable to explain it without sounding dramatic.

Carrying things that look small from the outside but feel heavy on the inside.

So when she held my hands,

I felt something I didn’t realize I had been missing:

ease.

Comfort.

Warmth.

A pause.

A moment of safety.

I didn’t want to cry , not there, not in a public space, not in front of people who had no idea what was going on inside me.

So I swallowed it.

Forced myself to stay composed.

But deep inside, something loosened.

It felt like someone had reached into a place I had locked up and turned on a little light.

And maybe that’s why it hit me so hard

because it wasn’t planned,

wasn’t expected,

wasn’t dramatic.

It was gentle.

Soft.

Timely.

And I realized how long it had been since someone held my hands not out of formality, but out of genuine care.

How long it had been since someone prayed with me, not for me.

How long it had been since I allowed myself to be seen without pretending to be okay.

So to that person,

the one who noticed my silence when I was trying to hide,

the one who reached for me when I quietly pulled away,

the one who prayed with me before I could even gather myself

Thank you.

Thank you for catching me at a time when I didn’t even know I was falling.

Thank you for breaking through the emotional walls I’ve been building without realizing it.

Thank you for being gentle with me when life hasn’t been.

Thank you for reminding me that connection still exists, that someone still cares, that I’m still seen.

From the depth of my heart,

Thank you.

Nafeey

Not shouting, just hanging around like someone who refuses to leave the room until you finally look at them and say, “Okay, what do you want”?

And the thought is this:

Why do we feel guilty for needing space

even from the people we genuinely care about?

It’s funny when you think about it.

We’ll give space to someone else without hesitation.

We’ll wait patiently for a friend or partner who says they need time.

We’ll reassure them that taking a break doesn’t mean they’ve lost our love.

And yet, when it comes to ourselves, suddenly space feels like a crime.

We apologize for it like it’s a personal failure

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply sooner.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been quiet.”

“I’m sorry I just needed a break.”

“I’m sorry I’m not feeling up to talking today.”

Even when nothing is wrong.

Even when our hearts are heavy.

Even when our minds are tired.

Why do we act as if pausing makes us selfish?

Why do we think taking space will hurt the people we care about?

Why do we automatically assume that absence might break bonds or make someone stop loving us?

I think it’s because we fear how others will interpret it.

We’re scared they’ll think we don’t care anymore.

We panic that our silence will be taken personally.

We worry that love will vanish the moment we step back.

But here’s the truth we rarely say out loud:

Needing space doesn’t mean you don’t care.

Needing space doesn’t mean you’re abandoning anyone.

Needing space doesn’t mean love has to shrink or disappear.

Sometimes space is just space.

A reset.

A quiet corner to collect your thoughts.

A pause to breathe, to rest, to simply be.

And yet, so many of us carry this invisible weight of guilt for taking it.

We keep showing up even when we’re empty.

We force smiles and conversation even when all we want is silence.

We apologize for needing what is “fundamentally human”⁰

a little room to exist in our own rhythm.

I notice it everywhere.

In friends who go quiet for a week and apologize as if it’s a crime.

In partners who ask for time alone and immediately feel bad about it.

In people who scroll through life apologizing to everyone for the simple fact that they are not always “on.”

It makes me wonder, how many of us are shrinking ourselves to fit into expectations that aren’t ours?

How many of us lose pieces of ourselves while trying to prove that we’re “good enough” in someone else’s eyes?

How often do we ignore our own emotional needs because we’re scared someone will misinterpret them?

And here’s the thing I’ve been learning slowly:

Space and love can coexist.

Pauses don’t have to threaten bonds, at all!

Silence can be restorative ( like we could go on and then continue the convo where we left it)

Taking care of yourself doesn’t make you selfish girl,

it makes you capable of showing up fully when you do choose to be present.

I’m also starting to realize that maybe part of this guilt comes from the way we talk about love and connection.

We’re told that love is constant, that it requires total availability, attention, and energy.

But love is also quiet.

Love allows for pauses.

Love survives silences, respects boundaries, and understands the need for breathing room.

I keep thinking about the times I’ve apologized for being quiet.

The times I’ve felt exhausted by the simple act of showing up for someone I care about.

The times I’ve doubted myself because my energy wasn't giving the same as theirs

And then I think….maybe we all need permission.

Permission to pause without guilt.

Permission to take care of our own hearts, even as we hold space for someone else’s.

So here’s my question to anyone reading this

Do you ever feel guilty for needing distance?

Do you apologize for your quiet moments, even when they’re necessary?

Do you worry that your silence will be taken the wrong way, even by people who care about you?

Because I think this is something so many of us carry quietly, pretending it’s only happening to us.

I want to hear your thoughts.

Have you felt this too?

How do you navigate relationships when the world seems to expect you tto always be responsive, always available?

Maybe if we talk about it more openly, it will feel less like a secret burden.

Maybe it will remind us that needing space doesn’t make us unkind or unloving.

And maybe, just maybe, we can all give ourselves a little grace.

So please tell me in the comments.

Share your experiences, your moments of quiet, your little rebellions against the pressure to always show up.

Let’s talk about the guilt, the space, the silence, the pauses.

Because I have a feeling we’re not alone.

And maybe, if we’re lucky, someone reading this will read your words and say:

“Me too. I feel this too”.

Nafeey

I was sitting here trying to name this thing, and nothing felt right. Then, “ Fingerprint”? And wow… it hit me. It’s funny, isn’t it? 😂 Well, funny how people leave these tiny marks in your life, maybe they don’t even realize it but somehow, they’re still there. Everywhere. On your heart, in your memory, in your little moments. That’s what this is about. Fingerprint. Tiny, quiet, but somehow it’s permanent.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the quiet ways people leave marks on our lives. Not always loudly, not always intentionally. Sometimes it’s just in the way someone laughs, walks, thinks, or shows up and suddenly, without warning, they’ve left fingerprints on your heart.

This is for the friends, acquaintances, and even strangers who don’t know how much light they carry.

Tomi — My love

I love Tomi’s smile

the kind that feels warm even when she’s not trying.

I love her walk, that soft confidence she carries so effortlessly.

I love how her whole face lights up when she sees her favourite people she'll be like” my sisterrrrr “(I wish I could capture her expression one day😂)

Her fashion sense? Please. Too cleannnn

And yes, I envy her a little , the healthy “God when?” kind.

Tife

I love that Tife is blunt in the most needed way.

She speaks, and somehow I find myself reflecting, thinking deeper, checking myself.

She hypes people in a way that has no trace of hypocrisy, all honesty, no pretence.

You always know where you stand with her, and that’s rare.

Tess — The Beautiful Stranger Who Became Something More

I love that Tess is a beautiful Hausa girl — breathtaking in that quiet, effortless way.

I don’t know what she did to me, but I love her genuinely.

There’s something about her presence, the calm, the glow, the way she exists that just draws me in.

Maybe it’s her spirit. Maybe it’s her softness. Maybe it’s everything shaaa😂

Feyishayo — My Baby Girl

Ah, Feyishayo.

At this point, I’ve mentioned her so much everyone already knows how I feel. 😂😭

She’s beautiful, but she barely sees it and maybe that’s part of why I adore her.

I love her analysing side, the way her mind breaks things down thoughtfully.

I love the sound of her voice( I replay her voice notes 😭)

I love her shape, the way she blushes (and pretends she’s not).

Everything about her just… warms me.

Mariam — The Brainbox

I love Mariam’s brain abeg.

The speed at which she thinks, the way she finds solutions like it’s nothing.

She loves her friends deeply and loudly, and that alone says everything about her heart.

She’s the person you call when you’re confused, and somehow she always has sense to share.

Amar — The Quiet Supporter

I like Amar, the kind of person who supports quietly but consistently.

No noise, no dragging spotlight, just presence.

And sometimes, that is the purest form of love.

Thank you, Amar.

Oluwakemi Esther — My Big Sister

I love that she big-sister’s me. 😂

The way she says, “Do this and don’t do that, Nafeesat,” always makes me feel cared for.

I love that she gives, even from the little she has and somehow, that makes it feel like the biggest gift.

I love how intelligent she is, how she thinks fast, and how she always has sense to share.

My pam pam

my number one fan!

I love your heart, really.

I Truly do.

And your everyday handshakes? I love them. Every single one.

Family — My Unexpected Cheerleaders

My family members that downloaded Substack because of me?

Ese o. 😂

The gesture was simple but it touched places I didn’t even know needed touching.

Support like that stays with you.

So this is me saying thank you.

To strangers who smiled at me and didn’t know they saved my day.

To friends who stayed.

To acquaintances who gave me something to remember.

To all of you who left fingerprints

soft, subtle, unforgettable fingerprints.

Thank you for being you.

Thank you for being part of my story in ways you may never fully realize.

I love you all

Nafeey.

Ps: I wish I had a picture with y'all

Not because I’ve run out of thoughts or emotions or memories, but because there are still letters inside me that I haven’t found the courage to face yet.

Some letters sit heavy in my chest, waiting.

Some feel too sharp to touch.

Some feel too honest to write down.

But who knows? One day, I might gather the courage.

Or maybe I’ll just wake up one random morning and write one without thinking.

I don’t know.

When I look back at my younger self, I see a girl who carried fear like it was part of her skin.

A girl who held her breath every time her mum stepped out.

A girl who lingered by the window or door, pretending she wasn’t worried, pretending she wasn’t imagining the worst ( And honestly, can you blame me? She has accidents more than twice)

So how do you blame a child for thinking the world could snatch away the person she loved most?

How do you blame a child for trying to protect herself the only way she knew how: by worrying?

I grew up with that fear tucked inside me.

It shaped the way I loved.

It shaped the way I reacted.

It shaped the way I held on too tightly or panicked too quickly.

I’m temperamental, I know.

I take my anger out on people.

I react before thinking.

My voice rises when it shouldn’t.

I get cranky, that quick irritation that jumps out of nowhere.

I know it’s one of the toxic traits I got from my mum.

It’s funny how you can love someone so deeply, and still inherit the parts of them that scare you the most.

But God is helping me.

Slowly, quietly, gently.

Not in some dramatic, overnight transformation, but in little shifts.

Little changes in how I breathe before reacting.

Little pauses before my voice rises.

Little moments where I choose softness instead of anger.

I won’t lie, this side of me, this fierce, sharp, emotional part it’s the part of me I dislike the most.

But it’s also the part I’m learning to understand.

To untangle.

This letter is messy

very messy (don’t mind me 😂)

I’m just letting everything fall out of my head, hoping it lands in the right order.

Hoping it makes sense to someone other than me.

But even if it doesn’t, at least it’s honest.

I love my family so much.

More than I can explain.

And at the same time, there are moments where I want to run, hide, disappear, breathe on my own without the weight of expectations or love that feels too loud.

It’s confusing ,loving your people deeply, while still craving space from them.

Maybe that’s adulthood.

Maybe that’s healing.

Maybe that’s what happens when you were a child who was always on alert, always anxious, always worrying that love could be taken away.

I remember how jittery I used to get when a day passed and my mum didn’t call.

Every hour felt like a little alarm going off in my chest.

But I’m not like that anymore

or at least not as much.

Maybe I grew.

Maybe I healed.

Maybe I simply got tired of being scared.

Or maybe that little girl inside me finally realized she wasn’t alone anymore.

So…

Hey, little Nafeesat.

How are you?

Do you see us now?

Do you see how far we’ve come?

Do you see how we’re learning to breathe, to trust, to let go a little?

Do you see how we’re becoming someone softer, someone braver, someone who doesn’t fear the world as much anymore?

Are you proud of us?

I hope you are.

Because every step we take now is a step you dreamed of but were too scared to imagine.

Maybe this is where the letter ends.

Not perfectly, not neatly, but honestly.

Or maybe this is just a pause or a comma in a story that is still being written by a girl who hasn’t figured everything out, but is at least trying.

I’m still becoming, and I hope the girl I once was can smile at who we are now, and who we’re still growing into.

I don’t know where to start.

But I’m starting anyway.

Because if I wait for confidence to come, or for my heart to stop shaking, or for the words to line up perfectly, I’ll keep waiting forever. And some dreams don’t survive forever. Some of them need you to speak before you feel ready.

So here I am, trying.

Trying to write this letter.

Trying to be honest with myself.

Trying to admit things I’ve kept sitting quietly in the corners of my mind.

This is a letter to the dreams I’m still scared of chasing.

For as long as I can remember, law was the dream that lived in me . It was loud, bright, and certain. It wasn’t just a career path; it was a whole identity. I admired lawyers like they carried magic. I imagined myself in that black gown, with that wig that somehow holds so much power. I saw myself arguing cases, standing for people, knowing the law, being respected. It made me feel alive before I even understood what “career” truly meant.

In secondary school, I was “the lawyer girl.”

People said it casually: “She’s going to be a lawyer.”

And I believed it without question.

My neighbours believed it. My family believed it. My friends believed it.

It felt like everyone could see my future clearly and for a long time, I could too.

I don’t know the exact moment things changed.

Maybe it was slow, one disappointment at a time.

Or maybe it was fast, like the very day I realized KWASU, the school I had dreamed of, wasn’t going to be my reality. Losing something you’ve never had is a strange kind of heartbreak. It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. It’s a quiet pain that sits in your chest and reminds you of everything you thought would be yours.

That day felt like watching my life

the life I planned, the life everyone expected

burst like a bubble.

I was tired.

Not a lazy tired, but a defeated tired.

The kind where you’ve done everything you know how to do, and it still doesn’t work out. The kind where you stop fighting, not because you don’t want it anymore, but because you don’t have the strength to keep expecting miracles.

So when I applied to another school, I didn’t argue, didn’t choose, didn’t think too deeply. I just said, “Pick anything.”

And the man chose English.

And the strangest part?

I’m actually grateful he did.

English became a place I didn’t know I needed, a space where my mind stretches, where I explore stories, where I understand the power of words more than I ever did before. I love what I’m studying now. It fits me in a quiet, unexpected way.

Yet, even with this new love, the dream of law never really left.

It sits inside me, like a room I haven’t entered in a long time.

The door is still there.

The key is still with me.

I just don’t know if I’m ready to turn it.

My mum supports the idea of studying law as a second degree. She believes in me so confidently that sometimes it scares me. And that’s when the doubts creep in

the ones that sound like whispers, but feel like thunder:

“Can you still do it?”

“Will you cope?”

“Are you chasing this for yourself or for the people who still call you ‘my lawyer’?”

“Is this really your dream, or just something you refuse to bury?”

I don’t know the answers.

And for once in my life, I’m allowing myself not to know.

Maybe some dreams aren’t meant to be chased immediately.

Maybe some dreams need time to heal from disappointment.

Maybe some dreams return later, stronger, when you’re finally ready for them.

I’m scared, and fear is such a strange companion. It reminds you of what you want, but it also tries to protect you from breaking again. It’s like standing at a door you’ve knocked on before and wondering if the inside is still what you imagined.

But I’m also proud of myself , proud that the dream didn’t leave me completely. Proud that even when I stopped believing in it for a moment, it waited for me patiently.

This is me writing openly, knowing my mum won’t see this 😂, knowing this is a letter I may never send. This is me admitting that I am still figuring life out, slowly, painfully, beautifully.

I might study law one day.

I might not.

But whatever I choose, it will be a choice made by the person I am becoming and not the girl who felt defeated, not the people who believed for me, not the voices that cheered, not the doubts that scare me.

Just me,

Choosing my life, one honest moment at a time.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe the dream will happen, maybe not

but for the first time, I’m learning that I’m allowed to choose the pace of my own life.

And if someday I find the courage to chase it again, I hope I recognize myself in the girl who never truly stopped wanting it.

Nafeey

Don't you dare laugh!😌

I don’t know when it started,

but I knew when it changed.

Maybe it was the day I got tired of explaining myself to people who never really listened.

Maybe it was the moment I realized

that peace isn’t found in being liked,

but in being understood .

And sometimes, it's not even that.

I stopped seeking validation from people.

I stopped caring about what they thought of me.

I stopped choosing other people’s happiness over mine.

I stopped forcing myself into spaces

that made me feel small.

I stopped keeping friendships

that drained me more than they healed me.

And I stopped being nice to everyone

because not everyone deserves that side of me, for real.

I outgrew friendships I once tagged “forever is the deal.” 😂

Back then, I had a best friend or at least, I thought I did.

Even when she made it clear

(not directly, but enough to sting)

that she didn’t see me the way I saw her.

She chose someone else over me,

and I cried.

I cried because she was my only friend at the time.

I cried because I felt betrayed.

But I never told her.

I never told anyone.

I carried that resentment in silence

for two whole years!

We had plans ,

to go to the same school,

become roommates,

do is everything together,

But man proposes, God disposes.

Maybe it was for the best

that our story didn’t go the way I imagined.

I remember stalking her WhatsApp,

checking her TikTok,

hoping she’d post something that hinted she missed me.

But every time, disappointment came first.

I anticipated my birthdays,

waiting for long posts,

for those words that said I mattered.

Looking back now, I smile

I was so naive, childish, so desperate to be seen. 😂

I outgrew friendships that made me question my worth.

I outgrew relationships that made me feel

like my emotions were too much.

I stopped trying to be that “perfect Nafeesat “

the good girl everyone praised but barely knew.

I always wanted people to say,

Nafeesat? Oh, she’s such a good person.

But now?

I don’t care much for that anymore.

I outgrew spaces where my rants were dismissed as

“not that deep.”

I learned that silence is also a response.

That distance doesn’t always mean anger

sometimes, it simply means peace.

Now, I don’t expect much from people.

I don’t seek validation.

I don’t try to fit into circles

where I can’t even breathe.

I don’t chase anyone to see my worth

I carry it within me now.

I no longer want to be loved by the majority.

I just want to be understood by a few,

and loved by the right ones.

Peace feels better than attention.

Seclusion feels softer than forced company.

Growth feels better than validation ever did.

Maybe that’s what growing up really is

realizing that not everyone is meant to stay,

and that’s okay.

Sometimes, it’s a whisper that says, “you don’t belong here anymore.”

This letter is for the people I once called mine.

The ones I dreamed with, laughed with, cried with and eventually, walked away from.

Not out of bitterness, but out of becoming.

So,

If you ever wonder why I drifted,

it wasn’t out of pride or anger.

It was because I needed to find myself

without the noise.

And maybe, just maybe,

I finally did.

I send this into the quiet, hoping it lands somewhere.

Nafeey

There are words I never said.

Letters I wrote a hundred times in my head but never sent.

Some for people I’ve lost, some for those I can’t reach,

and some just for the quiet corners of my own heart.

This is the first in a small series I’m calling “Letters I May Never Send.”

The first one is for my dad.

Dear Dad,

It still feels strange to write to you like this.

knowing you won’t read it, yet needing to say everything anyway.

Maybe this letter is not for you to read.

Maybe it’s for me

to remember that I once loved someone so deeply,

that even time couldn’t erase the echo of it.

‎

‎I still miss you every single day.

‎Even on the days when I don’t say it out loud,

‎even when the world keeps moving as if nothing ever happened,

‎there’s a quiet space inside me that still aches for you.

‎

‎These days, it hurts that I don’t think of you as much anymore.

‎Not because I stopped loving you,

‎but because time has a strange way of dulling even the sharpest pain.

‎Maybe my memories of you are getting blurry

‎your laughter, your voice, the way you called my name.

‎Maybe it hurts so much that I’ve learned to stop touching the wound.

‎Maybe I’m learning to live with it the way people learn

‎to walk with a limp they didn’t ask for.

‎Other days, I accept that you’re not coming back,

and that acceptance hurts in a quieter, heavier way

‎Maybe I told myself it was just a bad dream

‎and I’d wake up to see you sitting in the living room again,

‎pretending nothing ever went wrong.

‎But all I ever got was the harsh reality of your absence.

‎

‎Maybe I’ve seen too much to still wish you’d come back.

‎Maybe the world has toughened me in ways I never wanted.

‎Maybe I’ve grown into someone who knows

‎how to smile even with an ache lodged in her chest.

‎Maybe I just miss you too deeply to say it every time.

‎Maybe I’ve gotten used to your absence

‎and that truth alone feels heavier than grief itself.

‎

‎Still, I miss you.

‎Every version of me — the little girl who cried at night,

‎the young woman who pretends she’s fine,

‎the daughter who still glances at old photos and whispers, “I love you.”

‎I wish you were still here, Dad.

‎I wish I could tell you about my days, my small victories,

‎and how sometimes, I still look for your face in the crowd.

‎

‎I still hope to see you in my dreams, even just once.

‎Just to see your smile again.

‎To tell you I’m trying, and I hope I’m making you proud.

‎It hurts that I never got to see you one last time

‎to say goodbye properly, to hold your hand before you left.

‎

‎And then, I think of my little sister.

‎She was only a year old when you left.

‎She doesn’t remember your face

‎we show her your pictures, we tell her your stories,

‎but I know one day she’ll realize

‎she never truly got to see you, never got to call you “Dad” and hear you respond.

‎I can’t imagine her pain when that truth settles in.

‎Maybe that’s why I write this

‎so she’ll know how deeply you were loved,

‎how much of you still lives quietly in us.

‎We still miss you, Dad.

‎Every single day, in ways both loud and silent.

‎Little Nafeesat misses you.

‎And I, Nafeesat, miss you even more.

‎If heaven has windows,

‎I hope you peek through sometimes

‎to see how far we’ve come,

‎how much your absence has shaped us,

‎and how, no matter how much time passes,

‎we still carry you — not as a wound,

‎but as a part of us that never fades.

‎With all my love,

‎Your daughter, Nafeesat

So I'm starting something new - a series of letters I may never send.

This is the first.

Hi there ,

I realized I never properly introduced myself here.

I’m Adeshina Nafeesat.

Yes, I’m converted.

No, I didn’t change my name and honestly, I don’t plan to.

I like it just the way it is. It carries something soft, something strong, something me.

No, I haven’t done the baptism thing yet

I’m still figuring it all out.

And that’s okay.

I’m a 400L English Language student at Olabisi Onabanjo University.

Funny how life plays games because

English wasn’t what I wanted to study,

but look at me now, loving every bit of it.

I’m the first daughter and second child of three —

a boy, a girl, and then me.

I was supposed to be the last born (or so I thought 😭),

but life decided to bless us with another princess.

Still a little mad about it (just kidding) Maybe😂

There are four of us now — my mum, my brother, my sister, and me.

My family means everything to me.

My lil sister is my sunshine,

my mum is my whole heart,

and my brother? The best big brother anyone could ask for.

I’m a girl who cherishes friendship like treasure.

I hate getting mad at my friends,it weighs on me.

But honestly, I don’t like humans that much 😭

Or animals (not even the cute ones)

Why? Because I’m scared of everything!

I love dogs, but I don’t like them close.

And if there’s a rat in the kitchen, forget it

I’m not entering again till morning 😭😂

I’m a crybaby ( a proud one 😌)

I cry at movies, even when I know they’re fake.

I cry at emotional videos of strangers.

Maybe I just feel too deeply.

Maybe that’s my gift ( I think)

I love books.

I love writing.

I love clean spaces and quiet people.

And I love fine people too — beautiful girls and boys 😭😂

If you’re fine, we’re automatically friends.

I love listening to people talk

I prefer being the listener, because I usually don't have anything to say or know what to say

And if your voice note is longer than 30 seconds, my brain shuts down 😂

I’m goofy.

I love being girly.

I love food — good food!

I love Pinterest (it feels like peace in pictures).

I love people who make me think — like Feyi (I hope she knows how much I adore her mind).

I’m soft, scared, sentimental, and strong in the quietest ways.

I’m learning, living, writing, and learning love.

Muah to all my subscribers 💋

You mean more to me than you know.

Thank you for being here — for reading, feeling, and growing with me.

‎For the days that feel heavy for no reason,

‎when you can’t explain what’s wrong, you just know you’re tired.

‎It’s one of those days again.

‎When I wish the hours would run faster,

‎when I long for nightfall

‎for that quiet meeting between me, my room, and my bed.

‎It’s one of those days when even breathing feels like effort.

‎When laughter sounds too loud,

‎and conversations feel like noise.

‎I don’t want to talk.

‎I don’t want to smile.

‎I just want to exist — quietly.

‎Everything around me feels heavier than it should.

‎The air, my thoughts, even my body.

‎I’m not sad,

‎but I’m not happy either.

‎I’m just somewhere in between

‎stuck in a space that feels both empty and full at the same time.

‎I scroll through my phone, hoping to feel something.

‎I stare at the wall, hoping my mind will quiet down.

‎But nothing works.

‎There’s this weight sitting on my chest,

‎and I don’t know what name to give it.

‎

‎I want to scream,

‎to cry,

‎to pour this feeling out somehow,

‎but it’s like my emotions are trapped

‎and silence feels safer than trying to explain.

‎

‎Still, I whisper to myself: It is well.

‎Because maybe it will be.

‎Maybe tomorrow won’t feel this heavy.

‎Maybe this emptiness will find its meaning soon.

‎It is one of those days again

‎and that’s okay.

‎Sometimes, the hardest thing is just being here.

‎Showing up for a day that doesn’t feel right.

‎Carrying emotions you can’t describe,

‎and still trying to be gentle with yourself through it all.

Forcing out a smile so nobody asks “what's going on?”

Maybe it’s exhaustion.

Maybe it’s just life being life.

But whatever it is,

it sits quietly on my chest

an heaviness I can’t name,

but one I feel deeply.

So I came to this conclusion after a call today

‎If you ever feel like this,

‎please know you’re not broken.

‎Some days don’t come with bright colors or loud joy —

‎just quiet battles no one sees.

‎Rest. Breathe. Feel.

‎You’ll find your light again

slowly, but surely.

‎

‎

I honestly didn’t plan to post this here today( maybe never, because I just wanted that in my note)

I was just sitting,

Then my pastor’s wife called out of nowhere and prayed for me.

And somehow, it felt like she prayed about everything I couldn’t say out loud.

So maybe that’s God telling me to share this with you too.

I hope this piece meets you the same way that call met me — right on time. 🤍

Nafeey

‎It’s funny how silence can sound so loud.

‎How the absence of one person’s name on your screen

‎can shift your whole mood.

‎You open one app, then another.

‎You scroll through timelines you don’t care about.

‎You watch stories, double-tap random posts,

‎and still, somehow,

‎you always end up back on the same chat page

‎refreshing, waiting, hoping.

‎You tell yourself you’re not waiting.

‎You tell yourself you’re grown, busy, unbothered.

‎But your fingers betray you every few minutes,

‎and your heart still skips at every notification sound,

‎even when it’s not them.

‎

‎It’s not even about the message anymore

‎it’s about what it means when it doesn’t come.

‎That quiet ache that whispers, “Maybe they don’t think of you like you think of them.”

‎You think of all the things you want to say

‎how your day went,

‎how something funny reminded you of them,

‎how you read something they’d love.

‎But you hold back.

‎You don’t want to sound clingy,

‎too eager,

‎too much.

‎You tell yourself, “If they wanted to, they would.”

‎But that doesn’t stop the wanting.

‎It doesn’t stop the part of you that just craves

‎to be remembered without having to remind them.

‎

‎You want to be loved softly

‎not in fireworks,

‎but in the steady hum of care.

‎To be known,

‎to be seen,

‎to be thought of in small moments,

‎like how you think of them when the day gets quiet.

‎You want to be someone’s peace,

‎not their option.

‎You want to be heard even in silence,

‎understood without having to explain yourself every time.

‎And maybe you don’t want too much.

‎Maybe you just want love that feels easy,

‎safe,

‎present.

‎Not perfect—just consistent.

‎

‎Because love shouldn’t feel like waiting for a text back.

‎It should feel like coming home.

‎

‎Maybe love is just the ache between messages

‎the quiet reminder that you still care, even when they don’t reply.

‎

‎Ps: This one’s for anyone who keeps refreshing the chat, pretending they’re not waiting.

You derserve love that feels certain ,not love that makes you question your worth in silence.

Nafeey

some days, it’s the little things that keep me alive.

the quiet warmth, the small tendernesses

the gentle moments that don’t ask for attention, yet somehow make the day softer.

lately, i’ve been thinking about the quiet things that hold me together.

not the big breakthroughs or loud joys, but the soft, almost invisible ones.

the kind that arrive quietly, unannounced, and still manage to reach something deep inside me.

like sunlight resting gently on my face through the curtain gap( this one I love so much,because I get to lay on my bed and take cute pictures 🤭)

like hearing my favorite song in a random place.

like someone remembering my little habits —the type of drink I like ,the way i type with two fingers, the way i hiss at every inconveniences😭

these are the small tendernesses.

the quiet ways the world tells me it still sees me.

sometimes, i forget to notice them. i get lost in everything that feels too heavy, too uncertain. but then, a small thing happens — maybe someone smiles at me, ( like Destiny did today, staring at her smiley face I zoned out) or i find a reason to laugh when i wasn’t expecting to .

it’s like the world is whispering, you’re still here. you’re still loved. you’re still becoming.

i used to think life was about chasing big moments, about reaching somewhere bright and final.

but maybe life is this —

the soft touch, the kind words ( Someone told me how beautiful I looked today in church and I was just smiling like a fool) the gentle days that hold you when you’re too tired to hold yourself.

and maybe healing is just learning to collect these small tendernesses

to let them fill the quiet spaces where pain once lived,

to remember that even the smallest warmth counts as light.

so here’s to the little things

to the soft mornings, the kind people, the random songs, the quiet peace.

here’s to the gentle reminders that love doesn’t always shout;

sometimes, it simply stays.

and when the world feels heavy again,

i’ll return to these moments: the light on my face, the laughter i didn’t expect, the tiny peace that found me in the middle of a loud day .

remind myself that i am still held by the small things.

because maybe joy was never lost — just hiding in the gentle things, waiting for us to notice.

Taking a moment to appreciate my 61 followers!

You all have my heart ❤️

Three simple words, yet they feel like carrying a thousand questions at once.

“Figuring life out”.

It’s one of those evenings again.

I’m lying on my bed, bored out of my mind — scrolling from one app to another.

Instagram, Pinterest,WhatsApp, then back again.

Nothing feels interesting. The same people, the same posts, the same tired scroll.

Then, suddenly, I just feel the urge to write.

I whisper the phrase to myself: Figuring life out.

it sounds easy but when I say it, it feels heavy.

Because the truth is, I’m not even sure what I’m figuring out.

I stare at the sticker on my wall, lost in thought.

The room is quiet except for the sound of the fan.

I turn it on higher, bring my head closer maybe, just maybe, inspiration will blow out of it and hit me.

Instead, the fan hims louder, like it’s mocking me.

And then I laugh at myself — because honestly, what am I doing? “You be mumu”😂 I said to myself.

I got up, went to the mirror, and ask out loud,

“What are you doing currently, Nafeesat?”

My reflection stares back at me calm but clueless.

I search her eyes, hoping she’s hiding the answers somewhere in there.

But she isn’t.

She looks just as confused as I feel.

I start counting my years in uni — one, two, three, four — and then it hits me.

Have I really done anything worth mentioning?

Like anything that makes me like, “Yeah, I did that!”

I try to think about my plans after school, but nothing comes to mind.

Not a single word from the depth of my soul. 😂

Funny? Yeah, maybe it is.

Because I sincerely have no idea.

A few days ago, a friend asked me that same question — “So what’s next for you?” and I just said something random that came out before my brain even processed it.

Ask me what I said now? I can’t even remember.

So here I am.

Hoping. Waiting. Praying.

For a sign, a direction, maybe even a whisper from God that says, “This way.”

But until then, I’ll just keep walking even if it feels uncertain or slow.

And sometimes, that’s all you can do: keep walking.

Some days it feels like progress; other days, it feels like pacing in circles with no direction

But still, you move. Because doing nothing feels worse.

Maybe this confusion means I’m still becoming.

Maybe all these quiet nights and random thoughts are part of the process ( I hope so)

this is the messy middle no one talks about enough.

And honestly, even though I don’t know where I’m heading,

I’m starting to believe that’s okay.

Maybe not having the full picture is what keeps me curious and what keeps me reaching for something better.

So yeah, I’ll keep going.

Even if it’s blurry. Even if I’m unsure.

Because maybe one day, I’ll look back and realize

this confusion was the

beginning of something beautiful.

Nafeesat fighting!!! 💪🏽

Maybe it will all make sense one day.