From the In-Between

a birthday letter ☺️

Dearest gentle reader,

We’ve been apart for far too long.

I hope that little Bridgerton-style opening makes up for the silence, even a little.

It’s been a lot. Like a repetitive, slightly numbing way where life just keeps happening and you’re simply in it. School. Work. Stress. Trying to keep up.

I was tired. Numb. The kind of tired that doesn’t go away with sleep, that sleep couldn’t fix. Most days, I felt like I wasn’t drowning but I wasn’t swimming either. More like floating face-up, staring at the sky, wondering who gave adulthood this much audacity. That’s the space between crisis and wellness, where you’re functional, but not flourishing.

I’ve learned that “functional depression” is a thing, that ache where you still do the things, meet the deadlines, show up, work, laugh, but inside, you feel like you’re running on fumes. I didn’t want to name it before, but that’s what it was. I was doing okay, but not well.

Honestly, I thought I’d return with a big bang, posting back-to-back, full of opinions, stories. But yeah, life had other plans. Somewhere between all the trying and surviving, I had to come to terms with the fact that not everything will go as planned, and that’s okay. I keep reminding myself: it’s okay to try again.

This draft wasn’t even supposed to be what it is now. Initially, I wrote it just to show up, not like a dramatic comeback, or a perfect “I’m back” post. I’d already made peace with the fact that I didn’t need to return with a bang or some big reinvention. I just wanted to be present again.

But even that felt hard. I couldn’t bring myself to hit send. I’d start, stop, overthink, close the tab, rinse and repeat. Then I reminded myself that showing up once makes it easier to do it again. So I decided to edit this piece and turn it into my little yearly tradition of gratitude and reflection. Last year, I promised myself I’d make it a tradition to send out a gratitude piece every birthday. I almost broke that promise this time. I’m glad I didn’t.

Even the little joys I used to cling to slipped away—reading became a chore, and I could barely get through a few pages before zoning out. It’s frustrating when the things that once fed you suddenly feel like too much.

Somehow, writing, which usually felt like therapy, started to feel like just another obligation. I had so many unfinished drafts, half-formed thoughts, and opinions, but I couldn’t bring myself to edit and publish them. It was strange, but then I realized I was running low on the version of me that creates with joy and when you’re out of yourself, showing up starts to feel like performance.

I hadn’t been able to finish a single piece in months—just a bunch of half-formed thoughts, titles, fragments. Even when I collaborated on a post with

~Faridah🌸

recently (one I already had a draft for), it took me ages to edit it. She was so patient with me, and I’m grateful for that. When it was finally published, I was overjoyed. Seeing people engage with the piece, leave comments, and share how it made them feel reminded me why I fell in love with writing in the first place. There’s just something fulfilling about putting people’s thoughts and opinions into words.

And then there was work. Remote jobs doing their thing, employers doing the most, deadlines never ending. I did the best I could. Genuinely. Sometimes “trying” meant giving my best, and sometimes it meant doing absolutely nothing. I let some roles go. Some slipped through my hands because I just couldn’t keep pouring from an empty place.

Meanwhile, it felt like everyone else was moving forward. The world kept glowing, growing, and going. And I just watched. Still. Like stagnant water. Wondering when it’d be my turn to flow again.

I started studying myself again. Tried new hobbies. Woke up each day and chose to be okay and be happy. Smiled on purpose, even when it didn’t feel natural. Some days it worked. Some days it didn’t. Learning new words and new things generally. Doing random research about history. Went back to journaling, even if I sometimes stopped halfway through a sentence. I started reading again a few days ago. It’s slow, but it’s progress.

I told myself I’d start showing up again, finish my drafts, share more, post more but honestly, I didn’t do much of that. And that’s okay. Because looking back, it’s still been such a good year. I wrapped up my bachelor’s program (finally!). I worked for different people and earned a lot of money. I got good news after good news. Two clients that I had given up on reached back out to me and things went back on track.

I learned to accept that I don’t have to have everything figured out at once. Life will always life and that’s okay. I learned more about myself this year too. I realized I keep my struggles to myself a lot, even from the people closest to me. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s just my way of protecting my peace.

I’m re-learning that vulnerability is not a bad thing and to let people in. Sometimes, just admitting you’re not okay is enough. I’ve also learned how essential self-comforting is. To sit with myself, talk myself down from overthinking, be gentle with my thoughts when they spiral.

This is not a perfect message or big comeback. It’s just me, showing up from the in-between, not rock bottom, not quite okay either. Just here.

Even though I’m still figuring a lot out, I missed this space. I missed writing to you. I missed feeling like I had something to share that wasn’t tied to school, work, or deadlines.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing some pieces that have been sitting quietly in my drafts for way too long.

Thank you for your patience. And if you forgot I existed, that’s fine too. I’m just glad I made it back. I’ll see you really soon.

How have you been holding up? I hope you’ve been gentle with yourself. I’d love to hear from you. 😊

Love yourself, take care. Always,

Fatiah 💕