My Jersey Sister in Gold.

---

To J — My Sister, My Sanity, My Ride-or-Die

Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t do mushy. But for you? I’ll allow it. Once. So buckle up.

J has been my best friend for about three years now, but somehow it feels like she’s been stuck to me for a lifetime — in the best “we’re trauma-bonded but make it fashion” kind of way.

She’s from Jersey, so naturally she’s loud, blunt, always has an opinion, and refuses to mind her business — which, lucky for me, means she’s been all up in mine in the most beautiful, life-saving way possible. I’m from Massachusetts — which means I’m sarcastic, emotionally guarded, allergic to fake people and suspicious of anyone who smiles too much. But somehow? We just clicked. Loud meets dry. Chaos meets control. Dunkin’ meets Wawa. And it works. Over the last six months, when life decided to throw me through the emotional equivalent of a washing machine on spin cycle, J was there. Every time. Sometimes with words, sometimes with silence, but always with love. She didn’t ask for details or explanations — she just showed up.

Her boys are my bonus kids. My daughter is hers. We co-parent like two tired queens running a small, chaotic kingdom fueled by sarcasm, caffeine, and Chik Fil-A (or maybe McDonalds). Nights at Skyzone, my constant asking “who’s that kid? What are they like?” Sidelines at whatever game, in whatever season, cheering on our kids like our lives depend on it. They see us showing up for them, and they know we show up for each other. Cuz that’s what besties do. And even when life gets loud and messy and we’re running in opposite directions trying to keep everything from falling apart — we still find each other. That’s the thing: we might not talk every day, might not text back right away, might even go a few days just catching our breath — but we never question where we stand. The love is built in. The support is automatic. No performative friendship, no keeping score. Just real, grown woman friendship that knows presence isn’t about proximity — it’s about knowing.

And don’t get me started on this blog — this whole thing. This voice I’m learning to put to use? J is the reason. She’s the one who listened to my endless rants, then said, “Girl. You need to write this down. You need to share this. You’re too real not to.” And when someone you trust sees that kind of power in you, you believe them. Even when you’re scared. Even when you’re tired. Especially when you’re tired.

And as if being my lifeline and personal hype woman wasn’t enough — J is out here leveling up in a whole new way. She’s about to graduate college (yes, you read that right — degrees and diplomas, baby!) and step into her next big chapter as a whole entire teacher. Eighth graders, no less. Which means she’s voluntarily choosing to spend her days surrounded by hormonal chaos, TikTok references, and awkward attitudes. A job for saints and certified badasses only — and she’s both.

J, I love you more than Wawa hoagies, perfect sunny beach days with a perfect , and that first sip of Dunkins’ on a hot South Carolina morning. You are the sister I chose, the mirror I didn’t know I needed, and the reason I still believe that real-deal friendship exists — the kind that doesn’t flinch when life gets ugly.

You’ve held me down, lifted me up, and pushed me forward. This is your flowers, babe. Now go put them in that glitter vase I know you’ve been saving.

And don’t forget to terrify those 8th graders with love. You were built for this.

I love you, to the moon and back, times infinity. For everything you are, for your shortcomings (no pun intended) and for all your perfect imperfectness. I am so honored to call you my friend, to know you and be a part of your family. I am so proud of you, and so excited to see what the future holds for you. You’re gonna do amazing things. And I will be by your side, being your biggest cheerleader!

Cheers to you, my beautiful friend.