Twenty Nine

I sit here reflecting on myself. Another year. Another 365 days.

Every birthday brings reflection, especially because there was once a time when I wished I wouldn’t have another one. A time when I felt an emptiness I couldn’t explain, like a dark cloud quietly following me. I carried that feeling from childhood into adolescence, always wrestling with guilt for feeling that way. How could I be sad when I was healthy, breathing, alive, with a roof over my head? Yes, painful things happened to me as a child and as a teen, but I still felt selfish for feeling so empty.

Over time, I realized that money, status, or any material thing I tried to fill my life with would never chase that cloud away. Even after I had my son, that emptiness lingered. Digging myself out of it was easier said than done.

Climbing out wasn’t cinematic. No overnight breakthrough. Just a decision I kept making when it would’ve been easier not to. I put my pride down. I chose myself. I walked into therapy when I didn’t have the words. Ten years in. Two years of EMDR. Undoing damage I didn’t ask for but had to take responsibility for.

Now the last five birthdays feel different. I wake up thankful. Not perfect. Not healed in a fairytale way. Just present. Still here. Breathing with intention.

I’ve forgiven the ones who hurt me. Not for them. For me. I made amends where I could. Let go where I had to. Peace cost me my ego, and I paid in full.

I thank God.
I thank myself.
I thank my friends, my family, my circle that held me up when I was quiet about my pain.

I get to show my son what survival looks like without bitterness. I get to show little me that we didn’t fold.

Twenty-nine years.
And this time, I’m glad I stayed.

Nathaly Ramos.