Today is my birthday.
25.
And birthdays have a strange way of making you look at your life differently. You think about who you were a year ago, five years ago, even ten years ago. You think about the people who came into your life, the ones who walked out, the ones you had to walk away from, and the ones you desperately wanted to stay. You think about the prayers that were answered, the ones that seemingly went unanswered, the mistakes you made, the things you survived, and all the versions of yourself you had to become just to make it here.
Today, I’m not celebrating because my life has been perfect.
I’m celebrating because I made it to 25.
And there is a difference.
I’ve spent parts of my life being bullied, questioning my worth, surviving relationships that taught me the difference between love and control, grieving people I never imagined living without, struggling with my faith, learning motherhood while still trying to figure out who I am, and carrying battles that most people would never know existed just by looking at me.
Somewhere along the way, I realized something:
Life does not wait for you to be ready.
It keeps moving. And eventually, you have to decide whether you’re going to keep waiting for life to become easier or learn how to live while it’s hard.
So today, instead of writing a traditional birthday post, I want to share some the hardest lessons these 25 years have taught me.
And some of them might sting.
Stop Begging People to See Your Worth.
Here’s one of the hardest truths I’ve learned: if you constantly have to convince someone that you deserve basic love, respect, effort, or consideration, you’re already fighting the wrong battle.
Stop writing paragraphs trying to explain why something hurt you to someone who has repeatedly shown you that they don’t care enough to change it.
Stop begging someone to choose you.
Stop shrinking yourself because somebody else finds your boundaries inconvenient.
People understand more than we give them credit for. Sometimes they know they’re hurting you. They simply believe you’ll continue accepting it.
And every time you accept what destroys you because you’re afraid of losing someone, you’re always losing yourself instead.
That isn’t love.
Being Alone Is Better Than Being Miserable With Someone
I used to think losing people was one of the worst things that could happen.
Now I understand that sometimes keeping the wrong people costs you more.
There are people you will love deeply who are still not good for you. There are friendships you’ve outgrown. Relationships that have expired. Family members you may need boundaries with. People who knew an older version of you and become uncomfortable when you stop behaving like her.
You can love someone and still walk away.
You can forgive someone and never give them access to you again.
You can miss someone and know they don’t belong in your future.
Not everyone you love is meant to stay.
That’s a painful lesson, but it’s also a freeing one.
Motherhood Will Show You Who You Really Are
Becoming a mother changed something inside me.
Motherhood has shown me love in its purest form, but it has also shown me exhaustion, guilt, fear, patience, strength, and sacrifice in ways I never understood before.
There have been days when I wondered whether I was doing enough. Days when I was completely exhausted and I still had someone depending on me. Days when I questioned myself.
But motherhood taught me something important:
Your children don’t need a perfect mother. They need a present one.
They need someone who apologizes when she’s wrong. Someone who keeps learning. Someone who protects them. Someone who makes mistakes and chooses to do better tomorrow.
And to every parent reading this who constantly wonders if they’re doing good enough: the fact that you’re worried about becoming better means you’re paying attention.
But here’s the hard truth, too:
Having children doesn’t mean you should completely abandon yourself.
You are still a person.
You still deserve dreams.
You still deserve rest.
You still deserve an identity outside of what you do for everybody else.
Grief Doesn’t Ask Permission
I’ve learned that grief doesn’t care what plans you had.
It doesn’t care whether you have work tomorrow. It doesn’t care whether it’s Christmas, your birthday, or an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
Sometimes it hits you because of a song.
A smell.
A photograph.
A memory.
A sentence you desperately wish you could tell someone who isn’t here anymore.
I’ve experienced losses that changed the way I look at life completely. And I’ve learned that grief isn’t something you simply “get over”.
You learn how to carry it.
Some days it’s unbelievably heavy.
Other days you can hold it without breaking.
And eventually, you realize that continuing to live doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten the people you’ve lost.
Living is one of the ways you honor them.
Stop Waiting for an Apology
This one hurts.
You might never get one.
You may never hear, “I shouldn’t have treated you that way”.
You might never receive the explanation you’ve replayed in your head a thousand times.
They may never adit what they did.
They might even tell a completely different version of the story where somehow they’re the victim.
Let them.
Your healing cannot depend on somebody else’s accountability.
Closure isn’t always a conversation.
Sometimes closure is realizing, “That happened. It hurt me. I deserved better. And I’m not carrying it into the rest of my life”.
You Cannot Argue With Someone Committed to Misunderstanding You
I learned this one the exhausting way.
You can have receipts.
You can explain yourself perfectly.
You can remain calm.
You can bring up examples.
You can practically create a PowerPoint presentation with footnotes, witnesses, and supporting evidence.
And someone who refuses accountability will still find a way to make you the problem.
Stop exhausting yourself.
Sometimes the strongest response isn’t another paragraph.
It’s silence.
Let people believe whatever version of you helps them sleep at night.
You have a life to live.
Your Mental Health Will Not Improve While You Keep Living Against Yourself
You can’t constantly pour from an empty cup and then wonder why you’re exhausted.
You can’t say yes when your entire body is screaming no.
You can’t keep everyone else comfortable at the expense of your own peace.
And you cannot heal in environments that continuously reopen the wound.
Take care of yourself.
Rest. Cry. Pray. Journal. Go outside. Talk to someone. Set the boundary. Leave the room. Turn your phone off.
Whatever healthy thing helps you come back to yourself – do it without feeling guilty.
You don’t receive an award for suffering silently.
Faith Doesn’t Always Look Like Certainty
I’ve struggled with faith.
There have been moments when believing felt natural, and moments when I’ve wondered where God was in everything happening around me.
I’ve prayed and felt peace.
I’ve also prayed and heard silence.
And I’ve learned that faith isn’t always standing confidently saying, “I know exactly what God is doing”.
Sometimes faith sounds more like:
“God, I don’t understand any of this. I’m angry. I’m tired. I’m confused. But I’m still talking to You”.
I’ve learned that questions don’t automatically mean you’ve lost your faith.
Sometimes questions are part of developing a deeper one.
Nobody Is Coming to Save You From a Life You Refuse to Change
This might be the hardest truth on this entire page.
There comes a point when you have to take responsibility for what happens next.
You may not have caused what happened to you.
You may not have deserved it.
You may have been handed circumstances you never asked for.
But eventually, healing becomes your responsibility.
Nobody can set your boundaries for you.
Nobody can force you to leave what continuously hurts you.
Nobody can build your confidence for you.
Nobody can create the life you want while you’re sitting around waiting for permission.
At some point, you have to decide:
Enough.
And then do something different.
Your Life Doesn’t Have to Make Sense to Everyone Else
People will judge decisions they never had to make.
They’ll criticize boundaries they didn’t need.
They’ll question how you handled situations they never experienced.
Let them.
One of the biggest lessons I’m taking into 25 is that I don’t owe everyone access to me, and explanation from me, or approval of my choices.
My life isn’t a group project.
Neither is yours.
And Finally…Stop Waiting to Become Someone Worth Celebrating
This one is for you.
Yes, you, reading this.
Stop telling yourself you’ll be proud of yourself when you lose the weight, get the degree, find the relationship, buy the house, heal completely, make more money, become more confident, or finally get your life together.
Celebrate yourself now.
Because the version of you reading this has survived every single day you once thought you wouldn’t.
Maybe you’re still struggling.
Maybe you’re rebuilding.
Maybe you’re starting over for the fifth time.
Start again.
There is no shame in rebuilding your life as many times as necessary until it finally feels like yours.
Here’s to 25
I’m walking into this chapter differently.
Not because I’ve figured everything out.
I haven’t.
I’m walking into 25 understanding that peace is more valuable than proving a point. Boundaries aren’t cruel. Motherhood doesn’t require perfection. Grief and joy can exist in the same heart. Faith can survive questions. Starting over isn’t failure. And losing someone isn’t always a loss.
Most importantly, I’m learning that becoming who you’re meant to be sometimes requires grieving what you used to be.
So today, I’m celebrating every version of myself.
The little girl who didn’t understand why people were cruel.
The woman who stayed longer than she should have.
The woman who eventually found the courage to choose herself.
The grieving daughter.
The exhausted mother.
The woman who questioned God.
The woman who kept praying anyway.
The woman who has cried behind closed doors and walked outside pretending everything was fine.
And the woman writing this today.
25 years.
25 years of mistakes, lessons, heartbreak, laughter, motherhood, grief, faith, doubt, love, growth, and becoming.
And if I’ve learned anything at all, it’s this:
Life is too short to spend it begging people to love you, explaining yourself to people committed to misunderstanding you, staying where you’re miserable, or waiting for the perfect moment to start living.
Choose yourself.
Choose peace.
Love your people while they’re here.
Take the picture.
Say I love you.
Leave when respect disappears.
Apologize when you’re wrong.
Forgive yourself for what you didn’t know.
Stop chasing people who keep running from you.
Pray even when you’re angry.
And when life knocks you down – and eventually, it will – get back up, even if you have to crawl first.
Because you haven’t met every version of yourself yet.
Neither have I.
Happy 25th birthday to me.
Here’s to the woman I’ve been, the woman I am, and the woman I’m still becoming.
Chapter 25 starts now.
Until next time,
Between the Words
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