To whom it may concern,

Jan 8

This year I’ve come face to face with each of my biggest fears, biggest triggers, you name it, it’s happened. This year was the best of my life, and I am grateful enough to have had my happiest moments. I’ve felt more free and accepting of myself than I ever have. But I’ve also had the lowest moments of my life and can say it has been my most challenging.

No one talks about how much grief and pain follow a breakup. It’s painful. It’s raw. It’s an open wound that you need to constantly clean and redress. And once you think you’ve healed, something comes along and rips it back open.

I started off the year spiraling in Michigan knowing I wanted more for myself and my life.

After crying for two weeks straight. Why wasn’t I good enough for him to love me how I needed to be loved? Most of that stems from my childhood. Not feeling good enough for anyone. Never feeling like my needs were met. Constantly knowing that the people I love the most are going to leave me.

If I was good enough my parents would have stayed together.

My Dad would have shown up.

If I was good enough I would have had stability and a safe place to call home.

I would’ve had adult supervision and wouldn’t have been left alone.

If only I was good enough.

We all have our wounds and although we’re constantly shamed by society not to it’s so, so important to feel them. You have to feel to heal. As painful as it is.

This time last year I was a shell of a person.

After going through a breakup, I had to grieve the life and family that I thought I was going to have. The breakup also catapulted significant life changes like figuring out my purpose and where I wanted to live. This summer, I thought I was finally in the clear when I found out about my Dad’s declining health. All while trying to heal years of generational trauma in my family that has never been talked about or fixed.

Fast forward to December and I finally feel like I’m out of the deep trenches. For the first time in a long time, I’m not treading water every second of each day. I can finally breathe.

I ended the year returning to Arizona.

The place where I was born. The place that built me. The place where I have implicit memories that my body was holding onto as I drove through the foothills of Ahwatukee sobbing.

I went to my childhood best friend's wedding. Shoutout Mrs.Haskins for not moving us when our moms didn’t want us to sit next to each other. I laugh at her putting folders up to separate our desks.

Your 20s are weird.

You don’t feel like a grown-up but in the blink of an eye, you go from performing dances to East Northumberland High and playing wedding to watching your friend live out her real-life fairytale and walk down the aisle.

I decided to close the trip with solo camping in Sedona.

Sedona is a place that holds magic and my favorite childhood memories—listening to CDs on the drive up, eating berries off random bushes, and playing at Slide Rock Park. Also, not to mention it’s where my parents got married. Two people whose paths should have never crossed and somehow they did and had me.

It was a beautiful way to end my year.

I’m from Arizona.

I’m from Michigan.

“I’m from Nashville,” I responded to the question “Where are you from?”

Home has always been a feeling inside of me. Home is wherever I am at the time.

Home for me was never a specific place. I guess that’s what happens when you move repeatedly as a child.

Whether I was at my mom's, dad's, or aunt's, Santa always found me. So when people ask the question of where I’m from it’s not simple for me to answer. It’s quite the opposite. I’m from Arizona. I’m from Michigan. And now Tennessee has part of me too.

Everyone says that the only thing that makes a breakup better is time. I hated this advice when I was in the thick of grief. Even though it’s almost been a year it still comes in waves. Like sitting on the plane going back home for the holidays realizing that my traditions will be different this year.

I never got it until this year. Why the 27 club is a thing… Yes, I’ve been suicidal. I’ve had those intrusive thoughts of driving my car off a ditch on the highway especially when life seems like too much to handle. Or thinking to myself with a dysregulated body full of exhaustion, “What’s the point of all of this? There’s got to be something more!” I’m not saying this to trigger anyone or to get sympathy. I believe that vulnerability is a superpower.

The limit does not exist on the amount of breakdowns and rock bottoms I hit this year. I firmly believe the only way to change the stigma around mental health and suicide is to share our own stories. No one in this life is alone, even though at times it feels that way. We’re all connected and doing the best we can living this human experience.

Being in your 20s is also realizing that things coexist. I can be grieving and still have “glimmers” of happiness. Moments filled with beauty, peace, gratitude, and wholeness. Because the highs make the lows somehow okay.

So thank you 2024 for allowing me to grow in ways I never knew possible.

At Shannon’s bachelorette party, we went to a winery out of a storybook. We even lined up behind the cottage like the seven dwarves.

I always ask people I meet for their best life advice.

One woman said, “to get married.”

The second said, “not to get married at all.”

And the third woman said, “you have to have a good sense of humor.”

Well, 2024 you gave me one hell of a sense of humor.