Hi, I hope you're doing well.
You might have noticed that I skipped May’s blog post—not because I had nothing to say, but because it was an incredibly busy month, buzzing with activity!
I imagined how Virginia Woolf would have described our time:
There are mornings when the kettle hums like a distant train, and the child—still warm with sleep—murmurs something about monsters or math homework. She, the mother, the woman, the worker, stands in the doorway with a mug in hand and a mind already fractured into lists: groceries, deadlines, the forgotten permission slip.
She is not a martyr. Nor is she a heroine. She is simply a woman who has learned to live in fragments.
The world does not pause for her. The office expects punctuality, the school expects presence, the child expects magic. And so she becomes a seamstress of time, stitching together moments between meetings and mealtimes, between exhaustion and affection.
There is no room of her own, not in the literal sense. But there is a room in her mind—a quiet corridor where she walks alone, sometimes at night, when the dishes are done and the child sleeps with one hand curled like a comma. In that room, she remembers who she was before the world named her “single mother.”
She writes emails with one hand and wipes tears with the other. She smiles at the manager while calculating how many hours of overtime it will take to afford new shoes. She listens to podcasts about self-care while folding laundry at midnight.
And yet—there is beauty. In the way her child laughs with abandon. In the way she still dreams, still dares to want more than survival. In the way she reclaims her name, syllable by syllable, from the noise of obligation.
She is not asking for pity. Only to be seen. To be read not as a footnote, but as a full sentence.
The only thing I was able to do for me this past month was reading, swatching inks, collecting new fountain pens, listing some new stickers sheet in the Etsy shop.
But it’s a crucial battle between the quiet ache where resilience wrestles with melancholy, and the only witness is the ink that never dries.
Life sucks, but we keep going—threading moments of light through the dark, stitching together small joys until they feel like something whole again.
Even cracked vessels carry sunlight. You’re stronger than yesterday just by waking up today. 🕯️✨
I’ve added some new planner stickers to my Etsy shop—two gentle little characters to help hold the chaos and soften the noise. A small touch of sweetness for the days when planning is the only thing we can control.
That’s all for today, stay strong, I feel you!
Xoxo, G. Aka Jdeebella at Soulfulcrane