I was born on March 21^st, 1998 at 3:21 in the afternoon: 3-2-1, 3-2-1. Born seven weeks early on the first day of the Aries zodiac sign, I like to joke around with my friends that I was “born” to be an Aries woman: to be impulsive and independent. As the youngest of the zodiac, Aries are known for their brute nature, and this impulsiveness of my premature birth has gotten me in some rough spots the last couple of years. Inspired by Brad Paisley's song, "A Letter to Me," I wanted to write a letter to my teenage self as I turn 20 this month.

Dear Teenaged-Shelby,

I'm sure that this letter has been written time and time again, by countless 20-year-olds who have suddenly risen from the ruins of their teen years. You, my friend, have had a wild ride. Starting out at thirteen when you got not only your top and bottom braces, but your tonsils ripped out of you all within a month; you would be taught similar lessons as those first few months as a teenager.

Getting braces was a stepping stone into adulthood--the culmination of hundreds of trips to the orthodontist, five years of the awful headgear and being told you don't wear your retainer enough, would soon be coming to a close. You were almost, done, almost free from sitting in the waiting room, crossing your fingers that you wouldn't get the angry lady who pulled on your cheeks too much. Anticipation for the "end-of-something" was a feeling that you would become all too accustomed to during your teenage years.

You were almost done with middle school. High school would make you happier, you told yourself, while looking in the "prison-esque" bathrooms of the junior high, your braces stylishly colored with teal-blue rubber bands, your frizzy bangs growing longer, and your days of this hell growing shorter. High school would be better.

It wasn't much better. Your freedom grew, but so did the stressors. Being a student-athlete became your identity, even in your most stressful times. Throwing yourself into a sport to fix your identity issues covered up years-worth of self-doubt, something that you will still be struggling with as you turn twenty, but you will arguably get stronger every year.

Your sixteenth birthday was a doozy. Almost losing your brother to his ruptured appendix was one of the most troubling experiences you will hopefully have to go through. Hearing the surgeon say that she couldn't "guarantee anything" that night (and by anything, she meant his life), was not exactly how you imagined your 16th birthday would be. That day you learned that candles on a cake hardly meant anything and prayer meant everything. That is until the depression hits you a year later, and you hardly wanted to be alive by the time you turn seventeen. Not that people would know from the pearls and smiles you wore in almost every picture. All you will be able to see is the depression.

Your eighteenth birthday was one that you wouldn't forget: a room full of people you love but you were crying in the bathroom not feeling worthy of being celebrated. You felt and still feel at times because your brother lived your birthday wishes or prayers have run out. You got the only wish you needed; why celebrate another year when you barely want to continue living? Again, nobody would know this is how you feel by the looks of your Instagram. That damn app became a mask, up until you turned nineteen.

Year nineteen might have been the worst of them all, but you might as well have finished off your teens strong. You learned more in this year than you did in the rest of your teens. Those you love with all of your heart can break it in an instant, and the moment you feel comfortable, something will come again to change that. At sixteen, you thought that this meant you couldn't be happy. By the time you turned twenty, you learned that that is just life.

While at times it feels unfair that you go through the things you do, you learned to love this life that you live. You love the highs and lows because who else would you be without them? You are an Aries, my dear, a fire sign fueled by Mars; you were made to be burned. You learned in your teens that you are a phoenix, born to be destroyed only to come back stronger each time. You could not be surface level even if you tried.

So Teenaged-Shelby, while your heart was broken more times than you can count on your fingers and toes, I am so proud to have been you at one time. I love you for who you were, who you are now, and who you are becoming. I promise that it gets easier each day, and the world would be lost without you: don't ever doubt it for a second.

All the best,

Twenty-Year-Old Shelby (Who still doesn't have it figured out yet.)

Me celebrating my twentieth birthday with my loving boyfriend, Sean.