Poetic Earth

Good morning.

It is 5:15Am, on November 26th, 2024.

I feel guilty for not feeling excitement on my birthday, but with all the shitty drama going on, it’s hard to.

Holidays and birthdays have been a celebration, a sentimental tradition in the Wilson family household. But this year, we have spent three birthdays and three holidays at my parents’ house.

Spending My 35th Birthday Where It All Began

This year, I spent my 35th birthday back in the place where it all began: my childhood home.
A house layered with old memories — some good, many not — and emotions so thick you can almost breathe them in.

Coming back wasn’t part of the plan.
Life unraveled in ways I never saw coming: we lost so much this past year — our home, our security, our familiar rhythms. We were forced to rebuild from nothing. And somehow, part of that rebuilding meant returning to the place I once fought so hard to leave behind.

It’s a strange thing, being an adult in the same rooms where you once felt small.
Especially now, carrying my third child, raising a family of my own, trying to grow a small business, to write, to dream — all while navigating the emotional landmines of the past every single day.

Celebrations were not what they could have been.
My family’s way of celebrating — with joy, music, food, and warmth — feels worlds apart from the environment here. It’s not just that the traditions are different. It’s the weight of judgment, the cold undercurrent of disapproval that seems to fill the air.

Still, I found small ways to honor the day.
I lit a candle. I sat quietly with the version of me that fought to survive 35 years of storms.
I whispered to her: You made it.
You are still here.
You are still becoming.

This birthday wasn’t the joyful celebration I might have wished for.
But maybe it was something deeper — a quiet, painful shedding of old skins. A reminder that healing isn’t always beautiful, but it is always sacred.

In ten days, we will leave this house behind again.
And when we do, I know I’ll be stepping not just into a new chapter — but into a new life. One that I built with my own two hands, despite it all.

If you’re reading this and you feel stuck in a place that no longer fits who you’ve become, please know:
It’s okay to outgrow the places that once tried to keep you small.
It’s okay to celebrate survival when celebration feels hard.
It’s okay to build something different — something better — for yourself and the ones you love.

Because you deserve that.
We all do.

Happy birthday to me…happy birthday to me…happy birthday dear darling, happy thirty-five to me.