I read the original To Write Love on Her Arms story for the first time in 2008 with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. As Renée’s story unfolded on my computer screen, I recognized the echoes of my best friend’s struggles with grief sitting there like a stone in my stomach. I thought about the mistakes I made when trying to help them walk through a similar darkness.
But what I clung to in reading Renée’s story is another possible ending: that there is a way to fight for your story and to have others fight with you. To have connection and honesty, and to not let shame decide how or where we get to talk about mental health. That’s what’s so powerful about stories—we get to see ourselves in the main character, or the supporting characters, and we can imagine what may be possible. I think that is essentially what hope is.
So many of us who found TWLOHA weren’t planning on a future.
You’d share at our booth, “I never thought I’d see 21,” or comment on a post, “I never thought I’d make it to 30.” But hope is gritty; it keeps fighting, and now 20 years later, we’re still here. You’re still here. This community has refused to let this movement slow down.
We continue to try to wrap our minds around how this single story created an open door, an ongoing invitation. This movement represents not just Renee’s story, but thousands of stories shared on social media, on blogs, on podcasts, and in short films—doing the work among millions of people who now know that help is not a myth. It’s real.
And now, 20 years into this, our message is largely unchanged and unwavering. Say the hard thing, reach out for help, check in on someone you care about. These are the very things that save us.
We will work to keep bridging the gap to resources, funding therapy, and offering peer support. We’ll keep sharing stories, reaching out at music festivals and in communities that welcome this conversation. And within all of this, we’ll make sure you feel seen. Not fixed. Not lectured. Not handed wishful thinking. Seen. There is nothing more powerful you can offer another human being.
Honest, vulnerable sharing doesn’t promise a cure. It promises company. And sometimes company is the only thing standing between someone and their worst night. It’s a hand reaching out in the dark. A compassionate space to set down what you’re carrying. A reminder that you are not in this alone.
20 years is a long time. It’s a gift to reflect on these years, it deserves weight and celebration. But it also deserves looking toward the future, too. That means big surprises and big announcements and big goals. In 2026 alone, we want to provide 20,000 hours of mental health care. This means even more therapy scholarships and expanding our peer support gatherings.
There are so many ways you can be a part of these big moments, big efforts, and this never-ending big wave of hope. And we’re not shy in saying we need your help and your presence.
Here are the next steps you can take right now:
Donate: Give $20 for 20,000 hours of mental health care → Donate Now
Access Care: Treatment & Recovery Scholarship Applications are open → Learn More
Receive Support: We’ve expanded our Peer Support Groups → Join a Gathering
Hold Hope (Literally): Preorders are available for our Your Story Is Important coffee table book! → Grab Yours
Wear Hope: We’re dropping birthday merch + we’ve got a sale: 25% off the entire store (up to 60% off select items) → Visit the Store
Coming Soon: We made a short documentary! The trailer drops Monday, March 30th, at 5 pm ET on our Instagram and Facebook.