Eighteen Hopes for My Firstborn on Their Golden Birthday
Eighteen on the 18th.
Your golden birthday is winding down.
But somehow I am still blinking, wondering how the tiny person who made me a mother is standing here at the edge of adulthood - steady, complex, entirely their own.
You made me brave before I knew how to be brave.
You made me grow up.
You made me softer.
You made me stronger.
You made me a Mama.
And now, as the sun sets on this golden day, I don’t want to give you advice as much as I want to give you hopes.
So here are eighteen of them…
1. I hope you always feel free to become. Not who you were at 8. Not who you were at 15. Not even who you are today. Be willing to evolve.
2. I hope you never shrink to make someone else comfortable. The world does not need a smaller version of you.
3. I hope you stay curious. Question everything. Especially the things handed to you as “just the way it is.”
4. I hope you protect your softness. It is not weakness. It is power under control.
5. I hope you use your fire wisely. You have it. I’ve seen it. Aim it at injustice, not at yourself.
6. I hope you find friends who feel like exhale. The kind that let you be loud and quiet and confused and brilliant - all in the same afternoon.
7. I hope you forgive yourself quickly. You will mess up. That’s part of being alive. Shame is not a life sentence.
8. I hope you learn the difference between being liked and being known. Choose being known.
9. I hope you trust your instincts. They have carried you through more than you realize.
10. I hope you take up space in rooms that weren’t built with you in mind. Especially those rooms.
11. I hope you rest. You do not have to earn your exhaustion.
12. I hope you keep creating. Art. Words. Ideas. Outfits. Arguments. Futures.
13. I hope you love bravely. Not recklessly. But honestly.
14. I hope you hold boundaries without apology. “No” is a complete sentence.
15. I hope you never lose your sense of wonder. You have always noticed things other people miss.
16. I hope you let yourself change your mind. It’s allowed.
17. I hope you remember that you are not required to be one extreme or the other. You can be soft and strong. Certain and questioning. Calm and passionate.
18. I hope you always know this: There is nothing you could ever do that would make me less proud to be your Mama.
When you were little, I loved the color gray. So much so that I plopped in your middle name - Grayce - obnoxiously.
I loved the color gray because it was honest.
Gray is balance.
Light and dark coexisting.
Depth without glare.
Color without harsh shadow.
As a photographer, gray day light has always been my favorite light. There’s no blinding brightness. No dramatic darkness. The colors are richer. Everything shows up as it truly is.
That’s how I see you.
Not forced into someone else’s definition of bright or dark. Not flattened into something easy. But layered. Whole. Deep. Becoming.
Eighteen years ago, you made me a Mama.
Today, I watch you become yourself.
And that is the greatest privilege of my life.
Happy golden birthday to my firstborn.
I am on your team. Always.
— Mom
