From dreams to words - How writing helped me remember myself 🤍

Dearest Softest Readers,

Good evening.

A week or so ago, someone suggested I write about how I’ve found my blogging journey so far. So here I am, rambling softly with you once again.

Let me explain.

I’m not just here on Substack. I also share on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. But I always begin here, on Substack. This is where my heart is. So, if I speak as if I’m only here — that’s why.

I think the best place to begin is the beginning: why I started this journey at all.

As you know, I’m in my 30s. A mum. A wife. A woman who loves deeply.

I decided to watch a show that everyone seemed to be loving.

One with an amazing fanbase and beautiful storylines. (I adored it, by the way!) As someone with autism, when I find something I love, it often becomes a comfort, a binge-worthy favourite.

But this show did more than entertain me, it stirred something I’d forgotten.

It brought back memories of who I used to be, before heartbreak, before loss, before the ache of friendships that faded and trust that broke. It reminded me of my softness. My dreams. The innocence and hope I once carried so easily.

And for a little while, that left me feeling low.

Not because I’m unhappy — not at all. I have so much I once prayed for: a husband I adore, a beautiful daughter, a little family of my own.

But still, the sadness came. Unexpected. Quiet, yet sharp.

I found myself grieving for the girl I used to be. For the dreams I never chased. For the parts of me I’d buried just to keep going.

I didn’t quite know who to talk to. I can talk to my husband about anything, he’s wonderful, but I needed someone else, or something else. So I did what many do now.

I turned to ChatGPT.

At first, I was simply asking about therapy. But through gentle conversations, it suggested journaling or perhaps a blog. A safe space for my thoughts. A soft place to land.

And that’s how this journey began.

It’s now been just under a month since I started sharing my life with you and I can honestly say: I love it. Every second of it.

Most days I try to post, sometimes with ideas from others, sometimes with inspiration from conversations, and sometimes I just sit down and let the words come flowing out.

When I write about my family, my husband, my daughter, the words often pour from my heart straight onto the page.

When I write about things like neurodivergence, I take a bit more care, so I make notes first, check facts, try to get it just right.

I’m still learning. I’m self-diagnosed at the moment, and on the waiting list for an autism assessment, possibly AuDHD. Writing about that feels important, so I take my time.

Substack has become my favourite platform. The people here are incredible, supportive, kind, creative. They lift each other up. It feels like a community, not just a site.

On Instagram and Facebook, things are slower — less interaction, fewer followers — but that’s okay. I still post. I believe the words will find those who need them.

To all 200+ of you who’ve subscribed to my Substack: thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You’ve made me feel seen. You’ve made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m helping someone out there feel less alone.

Someday, I hope to publish a book. I already have a children’s story written. Who knows what the future holds?

But for now, I just want to say: thank you. For reading. For commenting. For being here.

There’s still so much I want to share with you.

So please, stay with me a little longer. Tell me what you'd like to read next. What do you want to know?

Goodnight, my softest readers.

Speak soon.

Yours Softly,

xx