Dear Christina,
Another birthday has come, and this one felt different. Not because of candles or cake, but because of the mirror you had to face—both the one hanging on your wall and the one life held up to you.
This year, you struggled. More than you expected. Your body felt unfamiliar, your confidence slipped away, and your spark seemed to vanish somewhere between messy hair, tired days, and pouring yourself endlessly into your son and husband. You stopped creating. You stopped planning. And on your birthday—the one day meant for celebration—you felt the lowest you ever had.
You didn’t get dressed up. You didn’t do your makeup or your hair. You went shopping with a gift card you were blessed with, only to find that most of the clothes you tried on didn’t fit the way you wanted them to. You stood in the mirror, ashamed, wondering who was staring back. For a moment, you longed for the birthdays before motherhood—the trips, the confidence, the feeling that you had it all together. And you felt the ache of knowing that this time, you didn’t.
But here’s the truth you’re learning: even in your lowest seasons, you are still growing. Even if it feels slow. Even if it feels invisible. Growth doesn’t always look like milestones, travels, or fancy photoshoots. Sometimes, it looks like survival. Sometimes, it looks like recognizing when your thoughts are pulling you down and choosing—no matter how heavy—to rise again.
This week, you decided something needed to change. No more hiding. No more skipping out on celebrating yourself. No more waiting until you feel “ready.” You are worthy of being seen now.
So you made a promise: to show up for yourself. To find an outfit that makes you feel good in your body. To fix your hair, to stand in front of the camera, and to take the photos—not for anyone else, not even for Instagram, but for you. To remind yourself that you exist outside of your roles. That you matter. That your spark may be dim, but it is not gone.
Dear Christina, this birthday didn’t feel like magic, but maybe that’s the gift. Because sometimes the most important turning points come quietly, wrapped not in ribbons but in honesty. You are allowed to be both a devoted mother and a woman who deserves care. You are allowed to take up space, even when it feels uncomfortable. You are allowed to see yourself again.
This year, your gift isn’t a perfect photoshoot, a trip, or a party. It’s this: the decision to keep going. The decision to choose yourself again, even slowly. The decision to believe that joy and confidence can return.
Maybe the spark isn’t gone—it’s just waiting for you to nurture it back to life. And that, Christina, will be the light you carry into this new year.
With love,
Me
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