It’s hard to get up in the morning without a clear purpose for the day. I miss waking up at 7:20 AM, starting the coffee, and turning on the BBC for my daily dose of somber world news. Back then, I’d prepare crepes for you girls. I still remember the first time I made them—nervous, as I always am when trying something new. But you wanted crepes, and so I found the simplest recipe I could.
I measured the ingredients carefully, poured the liquid batter into the pan, twisting and tilting it in my hand, silently praying it would turn out edible.
I wanted to be that mom—the one who made delicious crepes for her kids, creating rituals and traditions you’d carry with you forever. I imagined you looking back one day, saying, “I loved Mom’s crepes,” or, “Remember how she used to make those crepes in the morning? I miss that.”
Now, mornings without you here feel… different. While I sometimes enjoy the luxury of not waking up at 7 AM every day, I’d trade that freedom in an instant. The coffee is still there. There’s a fire to be built now. And there’s time—time to do all the things I once struggled to find space for: reading, writing that book, taking photos, editing videos, hiking, even learning how to cook properly.
Yet here I am, frozen. Frozen in time. Frozen in my own body.
Maybe it’s an ADHD thing. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’ve always needed an excuse not to start these things—finding reasons to justify every unfinished or unattempted project.
But now, there are no excuses. It’s just me and my thoughts. Me and my self-doubt. Me and my broken brain.
Still, I’m doing better. Yes, I spend hours scrolling TikTok and playing Toy Blast, but I’ve also taken a few photos, edited a video, simplified this website, and now, I’m writing this post. It may seem like a small accomplishment, but for me, it feels like progress. And progress, no matter how incremental, deserves recognition.
There was a time not long ago when I would’ve dismissed these efforts as insignificant. But I’ve learned that every step forward, no matter how small, is worth celebrating.
It’s been nearly a month of consistently posting on TikTok. Silly lip-sync videos, sure, but they’ve strengthened a muscle I didn’t even realize I had: consistency. Now, I’m trying to apply that same consistency here by writing these posts.
I started reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron today. Ironically, I discovered the book on TikTok. Apparently, Doechii, the rapper, credits it with transforming her into the artist she is today. I’m hoping it will help me tap into the creative energy I’ve kept locked away for so long. This “creative constipation,” as I like to call it, has taken its toll, spreading its toxins through my body and mind.
That’s what I’m working on—cultivating consistency and discipline. This past year has shown me that I’m capable of both. I’ve proven it to myself. If I can stick to a workout routine, maintain a skincare regimen, and post on TikTok regularly, then I can finish that book, build a photography business, and, most importantly, become the kind of mom you both can look up to one day.
You, my beautiful girls, are my greatest motivation for self-improvement. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to become the mother you deserve. I promise I’ll never stop working to become the healthier, stronger, and more grounded version of myself.
Today, I had the privilege of watching you, my big girl, play in your first volleyball tournament since returning to the U.S. Technology is such a gift—it allows me to share in your moments even from thousands of kilometers away. Seeing you so full of energy and joy brought me immense happiness. Watching you dive for digs like the natural athlete you are reminded me of just how extraordinary you’ve always been.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like I was there with you. But as soon as the call ended and the screen went dark, that familiar wave of emptiness crept in—a heavy weight settling on my chest. Lately, I’ve been crying more than I’d like to admit. It’s a constant battle between feeling weak for shedding so many tears and strong for allowing myself to feel and express my emotions.
In the background, I heard your sister’s sweet voice, asking her curious questions. I wanted so badly to reach through the screen, to hold her hand, to see her face, and to take in that perfect little dimpled smile.
I am endlessly proud of you both—today and every day. For now, I’ll wrestle with the guilt of feeling like a less-than-perfect mom. But I know this journey isn’t about perfection; it’s about becoming better, little by little, for myself and for you.
I love you madly.
XO,
Mom
Your Neuroverse 
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