Hello world,

I am now twenty-three. The big two, three.


Truthfully, I don’t feel any different from three hours ago when I was just 22. I feel like the last couple of birthdays were big changes (20, entering the 20’s and escaping the teens; 21, able to drink legally in the US; and 22, well Taylor Swift).


This birthday doesn’t come with new legal rights or a fancy new song.

Hopefully it’ll come with something much grander.

My 23rd year is going to be something I’ll have to define for myself.

Maybe this will be the year I grow out my bangs. Maybe this will be the year I travel to Europe. Maybe this will be the year I go streaking. Maybe this will be the year I find my calling. Maybe this will be the year I get something I’ve written published. Maybe this will be the year I finally go bungee jumping. Maybe this will be the year I stop being a pack rat and throw a ton of useless stuff out. Maybe this will be the year I stop having anxiety attacks. Maybe this will be the year I come face to face with my eating disorder. Maybe this will be the year I stop having sleep problems.

Maybe this will be the year I fall in love.

These last couple of days have been strange and particularly hard. I’ve been feeling crummy about myself and feeling intensely little self-worth.

I had a pretty amazing talk with one of my best friends J, which made me feel better, and my other best friend V brought cupcakes exactly at midnight to celebrate my birthday, which made me feel loved.

But what’s helped most is thinking about my mom. Twenty-three years ago, my mom gave birth to me. Thinking about the months of discomfort, hours of labor, sweat and tears running down my mom’s face, cervix spreading and the vaginal tearing (I know, not pleasant) to let me enter the world, makes me feel ashamed for feeling so little self-worth. I am my mother’s miracle, and I need to treat myself with compassion and love, the way I would want my daughter to treat herself.

Wait. So maybe I do already feel different from three hours ago.

I’m 23.

This is going to be a great year.

I just have to believe that I am worthy of it. I have to take hold of my own life and start writing a new chapter.

I read somewhere that some girls are just born with glitter in their veins.

And so I feel compelled to say this (even though the whole keep calm stuff has been done to death):


Happy 23rd Birthday, me.



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