The Girl I Grew Up With

Breakups are tough. Your heart learns to beat beside another heart—you make plans, dream of a little white house with a picket fence, maybe a dog or two. You feel safe. You feel seen. And when that bond breaks, it hurts in places you didn’t know could ache.

But friend breakups? They cut differently. Especially when it’s the friend who’s been there for more than half your life. Your other half. Your platonic soulmate. The one who knew every version of you before you even did.

You shared endless sleepovers filled with living room dance parties, giggling until your sides hurt, Barbie doll storylines that stretched into entire worlds. No one else could make life feel that light.

And then one day, you realize that the love wasn’t quite equal. Maybe they cared—but not the same way. You were all in, heart and soul, while they wanted the whole world’s attention. You only wanted theirs. You wanted to be their ride or die, but they leave you to rot in your humdrum hometown.

They drift. They found a new circle, a new rhythm, a new life. The girl you thought would be your maid of honor doesn’t even ask you to stand by her side. And you realize how heartbreakingly replaceable you are.

There was no dramatic ending. No fight. Just silence, and the slow fading of something once so bright. They built their picket fence. You stayed behind, holding memories that no longer belong to both of you.

Someday, their children will flip through old photo albums and point to your face—some girl I grew up with. They’ll move on. And you will too. But part of you will always remember those two little girls on the swings, laughing at nothing and believing it would always be the two of you against the world.

A Turning Point

Grief has been showing up like fog lately—quiet, creeping, settling into the spaces between thoughts. I feel it when I scroll through social media, when I pass strangers in the grocery store, when the silence of the world feels louder than it should. There’s sorrow for lives lost, heartbreak over the violence we can’t seem to escape, and worry for the ways we’ve forgotten how to speak to one another.

It feels like we’re standing in a shadowed chapter of our history. But maybe shadows only remind us how much we need the light. When we stop talking, we stop growing. And even when we don’t agree, we can still reach for compassion. We have to.

I sense a shift—both around me and inside me. I’ve been turning back to God, remembering that comfort and direction don’t have to be earned; they’ve always been there. I think others feel it too. Where numbness used to spread, I notice sparks: a desire to care again, to fight for kindness, to remember that love was never meant to be rationed.

Maybe this is our moment. The chance to wake up to each other again. The chance to choose tenderness in a world that keeps asking us to harden.

So Long, Summer.

There’s something magical about that moment when summer starts to loosen its grip. The air shifts. The sunlight softens. Suddenly, you’re torn between savoring the last outdoor barbecues and craving the cool breeze running through your bones. I sometimes forget how much I love Autumn. Each year it moves too fast—zipping through the calendar at a speed I don’t notice until I blink and suddenly silver bells are ringing. Autumn is my heart. It’s cozy. It’s bliss. Even so, when the summer heat is beating down on my face and beads of pool water slide off my skin, I can’t help but wonder if part of me will miss summer when it’s gone.

August heat—how do I describe thee? My cotton t-shirt sticks to my back, sweat slides along my hairline, and I’m bouncing between sweating and shivering. Always teetering on the edge of mild discomfort. This year, I finally found a cure for chub rub. Small victories, right? I'll take it, because I cannot handle another summer of raw inner thighs, slick with that unique Virginia humidity that clings to everything.

In just a few weeks, we’ll get the sweet beginnings of Autumn. Crisp leaves will start to fall onto the browned blades of grass, and my lined boots will crunch along the sidewalk as I walk with my mother. The world will quiet to a soft hush, and we’ll remember to look up at the sky instead of ducking into the nearest building for air conditioning. The sun will grow shy, the nights will stretch longer, and the air will carry that woodsy, smoky scent that only belongs to fall. Even the bugs that have pestered us all summer will retreat to their homes. A fallen log. A hole in the ground. A home is a home.

Autumn is when people seem to remember kindness again. The holidays are around the corner—oh yeah, I have something to be thankful for. The air may be brisker, but hearts are warmer. The world is beautiful again.

As I bask in some of the last sunny days of the year, I admit—summer has its moments. But Autumn reminds me who I am. So no, I won’t miss summer.