My birthday is this Saturday.
I turn 30.
When I turned 29 last year, I was all like “what kind of g-d damn age is 29?”-
And it has been a strange year.
I had to get to my bottom, in order to climb my way up.
It was dark down there.
Filled with self hate, pity and despair.
Filled with ugly voices telling me that I was a horrible mother, daughter, wife.
That I was not who or what I always wanted to be.
Not even close.
I started over last year.
I moved to a different country.
Had to start my life over.
Sometimes, that’s a good thing.
You get to reinvent yourself.
No one knows you.
But you know you.
And as hard as you try to be someone you’re not- your true colors leak out for the world to see- bit by bit.
But I am happy to say that I climbed out of it.
Depression is a bitch.
I never thought that I was going to be a statistic.
I guess I never thought I would be a statistic when I became the mother to premature babies either.
But I did.
And that’s ok too.
I have to forgive myself.
I don’t like to.
But I am better now because of it.
My husband and I fight less.
I have more patience for my two beautiful daughters.
I have more confidence in the person that I am today- mistakes and all.
You know how people always say that they wish they could go back to the age of 20 with the wisdom of today?
I now get it.
I would never want to go back in time because I really am just getting better with age.
I will be turning 30 in Paris, France this year.
I always complain that my husband isn’t a big birthday person at all- doesn’t like to celebrate his own or mine.
So I decided to stop waiting around for someone to surprise me, and booked one ticket to France.
A friend lives there- and I will be staying with her- and another friend is flying from NY to celebrate with me in Paris as well.
My husband will be home watching the girls.
And I am happy with that.
I’m happy that I am in a place where I have people in my life who love me.
But I am also happy that I am in a place where I am finally loving myself.