As most of you know, I deleted all my Substack entries in a springtime panic. The anxiety calmed, but I'm still unsure about my decision. There are days when I miss the detailed stories of chaos – like old clothes I won't part with.
Life's less dramatic now, and oddly, that brings me joy. I can't find much to write about, but at least my mind's no longer clouded.
A few days ago, I received a sweet surprise from an Instagram follower – a stack of my essays dating back to 2021. Honestly, I haven't read them yet; afraid of cringing or crying, reliving moments I've mostly moved on from.
I'm considering posting a few, maybe with a funny or explanatory foreword.
Reconnecting with my words has fulfilled me. And I appreciate all of you for constantly asking me when I'll write again–on TikTok live and Instagram DMs and whatnot.
Thank you for following up with me.
I promise to write and republish more without inviting negativity.