A letter to the girl who finally made it here. 🤍
I used to think that turning twenty would feel different.
When I was younger, twenty seemed like a distant destination—a place where people had their lives figured out. I imagined someone who knew exactly where they were going, someone who had learned how to heal from every heartbreak, overcome every fear, and confidently answer the question, “What do you want to do with your life?”
Now that I’m here, I realize how wrong I was.
Twenty doesn’t arrive with answers. It arrives with questions. It doesn’t erase uncertainty; it teaches you how to live alongside it.
Looking back, nineteen was never just another age. It was my final chapter as a teenager—the year that quietly changed me in ways I didn’t notice at first.
It was the year I learned that not every goodbye comes with closure. That not every dream survives reality. That sometimes the strongest version of yourself is simply the one who chooses to keep going, even when everything feels unbearably heavy.
I laughed until my stomach hurt. I cried until my eyes couldn’t anymore. I met people who became chapters of my life, and I watched some of them become memories instead. I made mistakes I wish I could take back, but I also made memories I’ll carry forever.
If nineteen taught me anything, it is this: growing up isn’t about becoming fearless. It’s about learning to move forward while carrying your fears with you.
So here I am.
Twenty.
Not with a perfect plan.
Not with all the answers.
Not with a life that looks exactly the way I once imagined.
But with a heart that has survived.
With lessons that cannot be taught in classrooms.
With hope that somehow continues to bloom after every storm.
Maybe becoming isn’t about transforming into someone completely new.
Maybe becoming is about slowly returning to the person you’ve always been, beneath the expectations, disappointments, and fears.
To the girl who survived nineteen,
Thank you.
Thank you for believing in tomorrow, even on days when tomorrow felt impossible. Thank you for choosing to stay, to grow, to love, and to begin again, over and over.
As I step into this new decade of my life, I don’t wish for perfection anymore.
I wish for peace.
For courage.
For kindness toward myself.
For the strength to let go of what no longer belongs to me and the wisdom to embrace whatever is meant to stay.
This isn’t the end of my story.
It’s only the beginning of becoming.
Happy twentieth birthday to me.
