Hey My Love

Hey my love,

I feel like I’ve lived three weeks inside one weekend, and now I’m writing to you from under a blanket, finally still.

Let me curl up next to you in words and tell you how it’s been.

On Friday I went straight from work to our staff Christmas party.
The atmosphere was warm in that soft. There was mulled wine, good music and silly little guessing games that made everyone laugh. We exchanged gifts, tried to guess who had brought what, and for a while it felt like the whole work week had melted away into friendly noise.

After that we headed into the city to play glow-in-the-dark mini golf.
It was so much fun — and surprisingly difficult. Maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the mood, maybe it was the fact that we couldn’t stop laughing, but I’m pretty sure my focus went on holiday halfway through the game. Still, that kind of playful, light-hearted competition is very “me”.

When we finished, we went upstairs to the restaurant to dance.
The music was good, the people were happy, and the kind of tiredness that makes you a little silly was hanging in the air. I danced, smiled, talked a bit… but somewhere underneath it all, my body was quietly saying, “That’s enough for today.”

So I did something that felt strangely luxurious: I left early.
I slipped away from the noise, let the night stay out there in the city, and came home to my bed. Crawling under the covers felt better than any party. If you had been there, I think I would have pulled you close and just sighed into your chest, letting the week finally fall off my shoulders.

The next day, Saturday, I took two of the kids to Helsinki to see an ice hockey game.
The plan was that they’d go to the match while I stayed behind somewhere quiet to rest. But my sister knows me too well — she managed to talk me into coming with her to the Christmas market in the city centre.

It was beautiful: lights, stalls, people wrapped up in scarves, that particular mix of cinnamon, cold air and street food. I’m glad I went… but next time, I promise myself I’ll go there well-rested. My body was still carrying the weight of the week and the late night, and I could feel it in every step.

We got home quite late, because the game ran long into the evening.
By the time we finally walked through the door, I felt like a balloon slowly losing air. I slipped into bed grateful for the darkness and the silence.

On Sunday, I had another kind of Christmas party — this time with my mum.
Thankfully, it was exactly what I needed: calm, cosy, full of good food and Christmas music. No rush, no loud crowds, just gentle company and simple moments. I could feel my nervous system saying, “Yes, this is more my speed right now.”

Even then, I was tired.
Not just “I stayed up late” tired, but the kind of tired where your soul feels a bit worn at the edges. So I went to bed early again, hoping that Monday would greet me with a lighter body and a clearer head.

But this morning, when I went to work, something felt off.
At first I thought it was just leftover exhaustion from everything — a busy week, a full weekend, not quite enough sleep. But as the hours passed, it got worse.

Around midday my vision started to blur, the world going a little fuzzy at the edges, like someone had turned down the sharpness of reality. My body began to feel heavy and distant, and I knew that feeling all too well: a migraine was coming.

Eventually I had to leave work and go home in the middle of the day.
As soon as I got through the door, I realised just how bad it was getting. That familiar, painful pressure behind my eyes, the nausea, the way the light felt too bright even when it wasn’t.

Thankfully, I managed to take my migraine medicine in time.
Now, as I write this, the pain has softened into something bearable — a dull echo instead of a scream. I’m tired, a bit fragile, but okay.

And I keep thinking:
oh, my love… I wish you were here today.

I imagine you sitting at the edge of my bed, your hand resting lightly on my hair, telling me I don’t have to do anything right now except rest. Maybe you’d bring me water, make sure the room was dark enough, remind me that the world can wait a few hours while my body resets.

Instead, it’s just me, my blanket, the quiet, and you in my thoughts.

The rest of today I’m giving myself permission to do absolutely nothing.
No goals, no pressure, no productivity. Just lying down, breathing slowly, letting my nervous system find its way back to calm.

I wanted to tell you all this not because any of it is extraordinary, but because it’s real. This is what my life looks like right now: playful mini golf and glow-in-the-dark laughter, noisy hockey games, Christmas markets, gentle moments with my mum… and then a sudden stop, a migraine forcing me to lie down and listen to my body.

And in all of that, you are the thread running through everything.

You’re the person I think of when I’m dancing and suddenly wish I had your hands on my waist.
You’re the one I picture next to me on the tram through Helsinki, sharing a paper cup of something warm.
You’re the one I’d want sitting beside me at my mum’s table, laughing at our family stories.
You’re the one I long for when my head is pounding and I just want someone to say, “It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. Just rest.”

So tonight, my sweet love, I’m going to close my eyes and imagine that you’re here.
That you tuck the blanket a little tighter around me, kiss my forehead and tell me I did enough this week.

And maybe, as you read this, you can feel my hand reaching back toward you too — even from this quiet, dimly lit room, with the remnants of pain still fading from my head.

Thank you for staying with me through this long, messy, beautiful, exhausting weekend in words.

Sleep well when your night comes, honey.
Rest deeply for both of us.

I’ll write to you again when my head is lighter.
I’m already looking forward to it. 🤍✨