Welcome.
I encourage you to find a comfy spot,
Maybe a nook or a cozy corner,
A place that feels inviting.
Have a notebook open or just listen.
Let's take a moment,
Just one breath,
To arrive.
Breathing in and slowly breathing out.
This is your space to reflect,
To remember,
To notice,
And whatever comes up is okay.
Please sit comfortably.
Offer yourself a moment of compassion as I share a story.
I recently had a birthday,
And in the midst of that day,
I did something I'd never done before.
I put my phone on airplane mode,
Not out of anger,
Not to block the world out,
But to finally let myself in.
Letting that land.
Birthdays carry so much unspoken weight,
Don't they?
Especially the older we get.
Not just the number,
Not just the cake or the phone calls,
But the shape of the day.
Who shows up?
What gets said?
What doesn't?
Maybe you've felt this too,
The pressure to perform your joy,
To receive in a way that makes others feel good,
To be grateful in a particular expected way.
Just noticing what that stirs up in you.
Letting it rise without needing to fix it.
Breathing it in,
And maybe writing it down.
When I think back to my younger self,
I wonder,
Did my mother ever feel this kind of weight?
Carrying the expectations of motherhood while dragging her own invisible baggage behind her?
The is mine?
And do I still want to carry it?
As a child,
I could feel my mother's tension,
Not in her words,
But in her silence,
In the way she tried,
And eventually,
In the way she stopped trying.
Just gently asking yourself now,
What have you stopped trying to carry?
Or who have you stopped trying to be?
And is that OK?
Letting that question sit beside you for a while.
I think about the invisible walls we build over time,
Brick by brick,
Yes after yes,
Performance after performance,
Until we no longer know how to ask,
How to want,
How to celebrate just for ourselves.
And yet,
On this birthday,
I felt something new.
I gave myself permission to begin the day with me.
No need to respond.
No need to plan.
No need to be witnessed in order to be worthy.
Starting with a paw on my chest,
My dog's soft morning hello.
Making coffee,
Sitting with old notebooks,
Reading pages I hadn't touched in years.
Just being with myself.
Can you imagine beginning your day like that?
Not checking,
Not proving,
Not even chasing clarity.
Just noticing.
What would it mean to spend two hours with yourself without the need for an outcome?
Gently bringing to mind a moment where you felt deeply connected to yourself.
Even if just for a second.
Even if it surprised you.
Maybe that moment is right now.
What were you doing?
Where were you?
Allowing that memory to rise.
And if nothing comes,
That's okay,
Too.
Maybe just inviting the idea of connection in.
I found a gap in my notebooks,
Whole stretches of time missing.
But then,
Pages thick with ink,
Underlines,
Margin notes,
Proof that I had grown,
Even when I didn't know it.
Reflection doesn't always scream.
Sometimes it whispers.
Carrying forward the whispers now.
I returned to three prompts throughout the day.
Maybe you'll carry one too.
My ideal family or community.
My circle of safety.
Dear Mom.
You don't need to answer them now.
Just noticing which one nudges you the most.
Maybe even writing it down later.
Maybe letting it walk with you for a few days.
This is what celebration can look like too.
Reclaiming your rhythm.
Giving yourself the gift of your own attention.
And here's the tender part.
If I can give myself everything I need on my birthday,
Then anything else becomes extra.
A delight,
Not a requirement.
And that's how I feel about writing too.
The recognition,
The praise,
It's lovely.
It's extra.
But I'm okay without it.
Because the real celebration is simply continuing.
Continuing to show up.
Continuing to tell the truth on the page.
Continuing to choose myself without needing an audience.
Letting that settle.
So what might it feel like to spend your next celebration,
Birthday or otherwise,
Entirely on your terms,
Without needing to be seen to feel it fully?
As we close,
I'll leave you with one final breath and a question to carry.
What would it mean for your creative life to celebrate yourself,
Your growth,
Your clarity,
Your becoming,
Without needing anyone else to witness it?
When you write your response,
See if a single line surprises you.
One sentence that stirs,
That lingers,
That shifts something.
Try copying that line out,
Letting it sit with you.
And if you feel called,
Sharing it with someone you trust,
Or keeping it close.
Thank you for being here.
You are the gift and also the one receiving it.
