27 years ago, my mother gave birth to me in a hospital in St. Louis, MO. In the 26 years since then, I have laughed, eaten, learned, cried, and floated along. Despite all of this, last year was the first year I truly LIVED my own life. I was so used to doing what was expected of me and going with the flow of life, that I thought I had no control over how mine would turn out. After losing three family members and having a number of emotional breakdowns in 2015, I made a promise to myself to live as if my life wasn't guaranteed. That meant I had to follow the paths I wanted to explore, direct my life the way I wanted it to go, and learn how to be myself.
I was alive for 25 years, but I just started living for myself last year. This is my first REAL birth day.
I can FEEL it.
There is genuine excitement stirring in my stomach whenever I think about the fact that I made it to this point. I am celebrating myself today (and this weekend!) and admiring the triumphs I made last year! I did that!
It's my birthday, for real- for real!