They say sisters share a childhood, but not a destiny.
And maybe that's exactly where the magic is - in that tangle of differences and similarities, in those moments when my smile shows up in yours, and my memory in your eyes.
Today you turn thirty.
And as I watch you, I no longer see the little girl who drove me crazy by wearing my clothes, but a woman who has found her own rhythm. Who no longer runs to get everything done, but knows how to stop and breathe. Who knows she doesn't always have to be strong - because tenderness is strength too, just in a quieter form.
Thirty is a strange number.
Enough years to know what you don't want, and still enough youth to believe in everything you can do.
It's the time when you stop measuring yourself by other people's yardsticks. When you start choosing peace over drama, truth over appearances, and yourself - over whatever others would like you to be.
I'm proud of you.
Of all the battles you fought that no one saw, and of all the victories you celebrated quietly, on the inside.
Of your courage to keep finding yourself all over again.
Of your faith that love, no matter how many times it hurts, always deserves another chance.
Of your ability to forgive, but also to walk away when nothing holds you there anymore.
Thirty isn't the end of youth - it's the moment you stop looking for proof that you're good enough.
When you realize you don't have to prove anything to anyone, except yourself.
And when you know you're exactly where you're meant to be, and that everything still to come - will come when its time comes.
So, my sister, may this year be gentle with you.
May it bring you peace of mind, a smile for no reason and love without a fight.
Because you're one of those women who don't need to change - only to shine even brighter.
Happy thirtieth.
They're yours, and only yours. 🌷
To my sister.