Miss PChronicles
Welcome to the ongoing saga of my beautifully chaotic life—served fresh, slightly overcooked, and occasionally seasoned with cosmic confusion. These are the moments I’m still processing, the thoughts that showed up uninvited, and the feelings that refuse to be filed neatly. It’s part journal, part therapy, part “did that really just happen?” All honest. All mine.
📝
16 June 2025
Somewhere Between Tears and Thin Air
Some days aren’t loud with drama—they just hum with something strange. Like today. It’s that quiet kind of heavy, where you’re not exactly crying, but your eyes feel full… like they might. Like they should.
I floated through the hours in some emotional limbo—half here, half somewhere else. Somewhere softer, maybe. Lonelier, definitely. It’s wild how you can be surrounded by life and still feel like you’re on mute.
And then there’s this ache I can’t explain—the kind that creeps in when you realize some people seem to take pleasure in causing pain. Not always big, dramatic cruelty. Just… little cuts. Quiet digs. Emotional cold shoulders wrapped in fake warmth.
I don’t understand it. Maybe I don’t want to.
But I do know this: I’d rather be soft and feel too much than harden myself to match their emptiness.
So I made tea. Sat with the ache. Let the day be what it was—strange, sad, unexplained.
Not every moment needs to be fixed. Some just want to be felt.
“I honor the mess, the ache, the not knowing—this, too, is part of my becoming.”
💧
19 of July 2025
The Breeze That Felt Like Home
Some days pass like a storm.
But then… there are days like yesterday.
Days that feel light — not because they’re rare, but because they’ve become gently, beautifully normal.
There we were, after an amazing day where all the tasks were made in a team work (like we always do ) we finished the day baking a not planned cake.
Nothing grand. No fireworks.
Just teamwork, some flour on the wrong spots, and that sweet, quiet rhythm of two people moving as one — not just in the kitchen, but in life.
It was during that moment — somewhere between spilling egs, sugar and licking the spoon — that I realised something.
This isn’t a lucky day.
This is my new normal.
For years, I thought that something like this was not meant to be (at least for me) , and that love is always complicated.
But here I am, living a relationship that is serene, fun, honest, and whole — and suddenly, I get it.
All the mess of the past? The heartbreaks and missteps?
They weren’t disasters.
They were directions.
Each one quietly guiding me to this:
To someone who makes the ordinary things of the day feel like bonding.
To someone who brings lightness to life’s heaviness.
To someone who makes me feel safe, loved, and — finally — home.
This wasn’t a one-time magical day.
It was just another day in a string of days that keep reminding me:
I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Thank you my love for being you
🍰❤️
18 June 2025
A Little More Light Today
Today, things feel like they’ve quietly returned to their places—not perfect, but steady. The ache hasn’t completely left, like a bruise that still hums beneath the surface, but I’m back on my feet. A little sore, a little wiser.
There’s something sacred in the small gestures that find you just when you need them—a door held open, a kind word, a random smile from a stranger in the supermarket that made me pause and think, maybe the world isn’t as cold as it sometimes feels. Just maybe, kindness hasn’t gone extinct after all.
I’m learning that peace doesn’t always come with fireworks or final answers. Sometimes, it’s just a quiet breath, a gentle settling into yourself. And today, that’s where I landed.
I feel in tune with who I am—flawed, healing, open. And even though the past few days shook me a little, I’m here. Still soft. Still standing. And for now, that’s enough.
“I rise, slowly and softly, guided by grace and the quiet magic of small things.”
🌼
21 June 2025
Sunshine, Smoke, and the Apricot Thief
Last Saturday, the universe decided to stop being chaotic and actually delivered a flawless day. The kind of day where the sky wears its best blue, the breeze behaves, and even your eyeliner stays in place (even though I wasn’t wearing any—but the vibe was there).
We hosted a barbecue with old friends, my boyfriend, and an atmosphere so relaxed it felt like time had slipped into holiday mode. Laughter floated with the smoke, stories sizzled louder than the sausages, and at one point I genuinely forgot the world has problems. A rare, sacred moment: no one mentioned work problems, gas prices, or the state of anything beyond the grill.
And then there was Miss Marple.
Our furry detective pug spent the afternoon joyfully stealing apricots, licking up dog ice cream like it was her birthright, and casually sampling anything else that didn’t involve actual permission. She pranced through the garden like a tiny, hairy food critic. Honestly? Same.
I caught myself at the end of the day, glass of a nicce white wine in my hand, thinking: This. Just this. A moment wrapped in light, grilled meat and pineapple, and gratitude. I whispered a quiet thank you to the universe—for the sun, for these people, and for the small miracle that nobody burned the burgers.
And maybe, just maybe, I thanked the dog too. After all, she reminded us that joy is best served with a side of ice cream and a dash of theft.
🍑🐾✨
12 July 2025
A Goodbye to Miss P. (Undercover Ferrari)
I know it’s just a car.
That’s what they say.
Steel, screws, a tiny engine with the courage of a lion…
But how do you say goodbye to a piece of your life?
Today I traded Miss P. — my tiny, loyal Fiat 500, secretly convinced she was a Ferrari — for a newer model.
And it broke my heart a little more than expected.
We’ve shared years together.
She saw me laugh alone with the radio too loud,
She saw me cry in silence on roads that seemed endless.
She waited in the parking lot while I worked late.
She held my groceries, my dreams, and once… my spilled tea and tears in the same afternoon.
I left her there, keys handed over, heart slightly shattered.
And I know she doesn’t feel, doesn’t speak — but I swear, just before I turned away, she winked.
These days have been a strange cocktail of joy and sorrow.
A new beginning is exciting — but letting go of something that held you, carried you, mattered to you… that takes courage too.
So this is for you, Miss P.
My undercover Ferrari.
May you find a new driver who treats you kindly, who doesn’t forget to thank you for starting on cold mornings.
May you live more adventures, may your wheels keep spinning through someone else’s story now.
And may I never forget:
Sometimes it’s okay to cry for “just a car”…
When that car carried your life, one mile at a time.
12 July 2025
The New Miss P. (Still an Undercover Ferrari)
She arrived wrapped in a giant red bow.
Literally. Like a gift. Like a promise. Like a whispered “It’s your time now.”
Dark grey and bold, with a panoramic roof that looks up to the sky for me when I forget to,
and a turbo that quietly says, “Let’s go faster — but only when you’re ready.”
She doesn’t know me yet.
Not the way the old Miss P. did.
She hasn’t heard my morning grumbles or my singing off-key to 90s hits.
She hasn’t carried my groceries, or watched me cry outside the supermarket for no particular reason.
But she will.
She will become part of the story.
She will hold tired limbs after long shifts,
catch lipstick stains on the rearview mirror,
and hear the quiet “thank you” I always say when I get home safe.
She is my new Miss P.
Still convinced she’s a Ferrari — but now, a slightly upgraded one.
She’s sleek, smart, a little sassier.
The kind of car that knows how to hug a curve and hold a secret.
It wasn’t easy letting go.
But this?
This is the beginning of a new road.
So here we go, Miss P. Chapter II:
Let’s get lost, be late, take detours, sing too loud, park under trees we shouldn’t,
and live like every ride is a chance to come home to ourselves.
1st of August 2025
Freedom, Fridges & Teenager Texts: A Love Story
My teenage son has been on holiday with his dad for two weeks now.
The day I dropped him off at the airport and came home, I felt this… euphoric wave of freedom.
The house was quiet.
The fridge was full.
And suddenly, time was mine — not filled with what had to be done, but with what I wanted to do.
That glorious, liberating feeling lasted… well, maybe a few hours.
After the initial ecstasy and my emotional declaration of independence —
“I’m freeeeee!” —
came something else.
Something I expected… but still underestimated.
I missed my not-so-little boy.
I knew I would — I’m a mother, not a machine —
but honestly, I thought I’d get a few days of peace before that little ache returned.
Turns out, a mother’s heart doesn’t wait.
It just feels, instantly and without mercy.
Suddenly, I missed the footsteps.
The trail of crumbs.
The arguments about vegetables, the the empty fridge…
The constant hum of the PlayStation echoing through the house like a modern lullaby.
There’s still one more week to go before he’s back.
In the meantime, I call or text him every single day.
And calling your teenage son while he’s on holiday?
It’s basically like dating someone who’s clearly not that into you.
Me: “I miss you. I love you. Have a beautiful day, sweetheart!”
Him: “ok.”
Honestly? I’m not even asking for a heartfelt reply.
Just a little heart emoji.
Or a blurry photo.
Or something to remind me I still exist in that teenage tornado of hormones and headphones.
But no.
Just “ok.”
And yet… I keep trying.
Because that’s motherhood.
Relentless, ridiculous, devoted love — with no pause button.
And one day, when he’s older and has a teenager of his own… I hope I will be there to see his own son send him a message that says: “ok.”
🎈📞🧷
2nd of August 2025
Me, My Belly, and a Divine Scoop of Gelato
This weekend, I woke up with a craving to sin.
Nothing too tragic — though my belly might have a different opinion.
Truth is, I just wanted to take a break from my daily leafy routine and dive into something sweet. A sugar-laced rebellion against my life of salad devotion 🥗💅.
I shared the plan with my partner in crime — also known as the man who looks stoic while chewing arugula — and off we went.
The mission? Italian gelato worthy of turning even the most skeptical health coach into a believer.
Before we knew it, there we were — face to face with two scandalous, creamy, irresistible desserts.
And we ate. With no guilt. No apologies. Just joy. A sinful little slice of heaven in a spoon.
Meanwhile, as my taste buds threw a party, I’m pretty sure my belly shed a silent tear.
Yes, it’s… how shall I put it… slightly more present than ideal for swimsuit season.
But hey — every goddess in ancient times had a bit of a belly.
You’ve seen the statues. Soft, rounded, unapologetic. No one ever called it “excess.”
Conclusion?
My belly is fine.
I’m just clearly living in the wrong century.
🍓🍦
