I’ve been born more than once. Yes, I came to this world bloodied and blue from my mother’s womb, but I have re-emerged many times since. I have shed skin, broken bones, drowned in tears, danced in joy. I have been groped, embraced, coddled and tossed aside.

And yes I have, myself, given birth.

No, I am not limited to one birthday; I have many:

The day I told a mean boy to “Shut it.”  

The time I wore the clothes I chose in spite of my mother’s rolling eyes.

The afternoon a grown man went too far.

The day I decided to go red.

The hour I held a grieving friend in my arms.

The morning I stood tall after a breakup.

The night I let myself weep over unrequited love.

That moment where I admitted to lying.

That time when I laid myself bare- literally.

The day I was fired.

The days the sticks were pink.

That night when my grandfather spoke to me in dreams.

The wee hours of the morning I told a most uncomfortable truth.

That night I collapsed on the bathroom floor.

My first day ‘in the rooms’.

The fifteen seconds when I told my former husband it was over.

The cool Fall day where love walked back in.

The morning I opened my own bank account.

The first week working for Danielle Inc.

The day I finally built a fence.

Yes, I have been born again and again, blanketed only in truth, carried by God, at times weeping and others in mindless joy. I am forever letting go, incessantly holding on, always willing, often afraid.

I am different and yet exactly the same. I am rooting for you and all your births.

I am your sister.



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