35

I’m 35 years old now. I clearly remember Mami being 35—and me, a toddler.

Now I have a toddler of my own, a good career, a loving husband, a stable family, and, well, questionably few friendships. I have somewhat complicated health—generally okay, but postpartum really did a number on me—and a more stable mental health than before.

On paper, things are good. And yet, I still fail at times to appreciate everything I have.

I struggle with loneliness, with feeling inadequate, with feeling lost.
I struggle with feeling ugly, unattractive, even disgusting.

For my 35th birthday, I think I’ll gift myself a second chance: allowing my inner thoughts to find their way onto paper. They may not be pretty, but I can read them, sit with them, correct them—and eventually thank them for s

haping who I truly am.

I’ll also gift myself a rebrand. I’ll keep working on my fitness, and maybe invest in better packaging too—through my clothes, through how I show up.

This year, I will convince myself—over and over—that I am doing really, really well in life. I am living the very dreams I once prayed for. I want the next 35 years, God willing, to be filled with appreciation—not just in moments of reflection, but in the ordinary, everyday parts of life.

That is, if God wills it, of course.

*AI used to improve thought cohesiveness