My dear friend,
Yes, you. And even if we haven’t met yet, the fact that you’re here reading this makes you a friend.
I’m glad we’ve found each other here. Before I share anything else, I want to make a little room for you. How are you, really? You can take a moment with that. There’s no need to rush to “I’m fine”.
I don’t know what today has held for you. Perhaps there’s something lovely you’re almost afraid to say out loud. Perhaps you’ve been keeping everyone else going and haven’t quite found the words for what you need. Perhaps it’s been an ordinary day, and a little company would be nice. Whatever it is, you’re welcome here.
Writing this feels tender. It’s easier to share something interesting than to say, plainly, that I hope it helps us feel closer. But I do. I want to leave a little more of my heart in these letters, even when I haven’t found the perfect words.
To the friends who already know me: thank you for the place you’ve made for me in your lives. I hope I say that often enough. And to the friends I’m only beginning to know: I’m looking forward to discovering what makes you laugh, what matters to you, and the things we’ll unexpectedly have in common.
For today, I hope you’ll let someone care for you in one small, practical way. Let them bring the tea. Tell them you could use a call. Say yes when they offer to help. You’re allowed to have needs, even when you’re usually the one remembering everybody else’s.
And if there’s good news, please don’t make it smaller. Tell your people. Let them be delighted with you. There should be room for that, too.
My prayer for you this week is simple: a little ease where things have felt tight, courage for the conversation you need to have, and a moment of joy that catches you by surprise. I hope you recognise the care that reaches you, and feel able to receive it.
Thank you for being here, friend. I’m sending you a very real hug through this very digital letter.
With love,
Adi-Grace 💙