A love letter to turning 25 - a little late, but honest nonetheless. 💌
Honestly, 25 has been quiet. Not in the small kind but I’ve just been sitting with it, trying to wrap my head around what it means to be a number that once felt so far away. A slow, steady unfolding of questions I’ve held for years - now with softer edges.
I used to think I had to shrink myself into neat little boxes. But it’s almost impossible to compartmentalize myself into just one thing. Life is too nuanced, and I hold multitudes that can’t be confined into dichotomies. So I’m learning to hold space for all my “and”s - for being in progress and proud, for feeling fear and still choosing to show up.
There’s been this quiet tug-of-war in me with the phrase, “what you’re not changing, you’re choosing.” But change, as I coexist alongside them, is often slow, layered, and bound by time and circumstance. Sometimes you don’t leap. You linger. You wobble. But still - you show up.
Being 25 still feels scary. But I’m choosing to pray more. Not just for clarity, but for the courage to dance with the complements and contradictions that make me, me. And to trust - really trust - that my path is mine, with bends that don’t need explaining. And on the hard days, I hold close the little version of me I carry in my pocket (I love you tiny!!!) - the girl who once looked forward to a life I now stand inside. I think she’d be proud. Because even if we’re not everything we want to be yet, we’re already so many of the things we once dreamed of becoming.
And one day, I know we’ll look back at 25 with a smile so tender, knowing it was never for nothing. ❤️🩹
