A Love Letter to 27

Dear 27,

You were a hard year. You challenged me to pick up the broken pieces of my heart and try to put them back together with a hope that was as small as a mustard seed. You spent your birthday packing up the Colorado house not knowing what would be waiting for you in Alabama and if you would even be able to stick it out. But you did. You are here.  

Thank God for that.  

At 27, you spoke up when you needed help. You didn’t let the sea overtake you when you were drowning. That’s huge. You reached out a hand, called for a life vest, and a group of people flocked to pull you from the waves. None more so than God, Ryan, Mom, Amy, and Anna. Your people showed up for you. So many people showed up for you.

You also shared your poetry book with others. You watched as tears trailed down faces and received feedback on how your words resonated. All those broken notes you left yourself turned into a flotation device for others. Hopefully, at 28, your words will be published so you can continue to share it with even more people. Don’t be afraid to do it. The world needs more art.  

Tears still come but they also dry on your cheeks. You’ll still feel a lot, but you’ll also feel the joy. The uncontained laughter on the couch with Ryan. Feeling so grateful to be alive with Anna. Peace at playing with Peter at Amy’s. You’ve learned so much at 27. You should be proud of that.

You used to say that this was the worst year of your life. But there was so much growing, weeding, and blooming. You are still in bloom. And some days are stormy, and the rain pours in. But the sun continues to rise, no matter how much it feels like the dark will last forever.  

At 27, you learned how to continue while heartbroken. That healing will come even when it feels like a year lasts a lifetime and everyday has you waking up on the battlefield. You should be so proud of yourself for all you overcame and all you are striving to do. If I had to guess, there will still be days at 28 when you want to give up, but you will rise anyway. You’ll get through the moments that feel insurmountable. That is a promise. I’m so proud of you for surviving every day this far.  

So, here’s to 27. Thank you for the things you taught me. The prayers that were answered. The love experienced. The memories made. And here’s to 28. To dancing into a new year, hopeful for what’s to come, choosing to believe that great things are ahead. And, Shan? Keep writing. You won’t regret it.

Love,

28