Hi there, dreamers and deep thinkers,

I want to share something raw tonight. Life, as beautiful as it is, can also feel impossibly heavy sometimes. And here I am, on the eve of my birthday, feeling a sadness that words can barely hold.

This will be my first birthday without my mother. The woman who gave me life, who held my tiny hand and taught me what love is, won’t be here to celebrate the day she brought me into this world. How can I celebrate being alive for one more year when the very person who gave me life is gone?

Dark thoughts, I know. But grief has a way of painting everything in shades of gray, doesn’t it?

I miss her. I miss her laugh, her scent, the way her eyes would light up when she saw me—even when I wasn’t my best self. She had this way of making me feel like I was enough. Just as I was. And now, on the eve of a day that’s supposed to feel joyous, I feel… hollow.

I don’t want to blow out candles. I don’t want to make a wish. What’s the point when the person I’d wish for can’t come back?

But then there’s this voice in the back of my mind—hers. I can almost hear her saying, “Don’t you dare wallow on your birthday. I didn’t raise you to forget how precious life is.”

Life. Precious, fleeting, messy, beautiful life.

So maybe tomorrow isn’t about me, or even about celebrating. Maybe it’s about honoring her. I could light a candle for her instead of for me. I could take a walk somewhere she loved. I could sit with her memory and thank her for every single moment she gave me.

I’m not ready to be okay. I don’t have to be. But maybe I can let a little gratitude sneak in, even amidst the heartbreak. Because as much as it hurts, I had her. And not everyone gets to say that.

If you’re reading this and feeling a similar ache, know you’re not alone. Let’s hold on to what they gave us—love, strength, and the reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s still a reason to keep going.

Stay curious,
—Cognitive Psycho