“My Birthday Is My New Year: Notes From a Daughter, a Mother, and a Muse”

By: Nicole (a.k.a. the woman who survived grief, motherhood, and a malfunctioning mini fridge—with edge control still intact)

So listen.

I know everybody’s out here popping bottles, throwing glitter on their birthdays like, “Yaaass, born day behavior!” And I love that for y’all. I really do. But me?

Nah.

My birthday is not just a party—it’s a portal. A reset. A reroute.

It’s my New Year. The start of 365 days forward into the future. 

Because I wasn’t just born—I arrived.

And so did she.

The woman who made me.

The woman who whispered me into the world.

My mother. My blueprint. My co-star in the first scene of my entire existence.

Tradition? Never Heard of Her.

While everybody else was out getting shots and brunch, I was out here giving gifts to my mama on my birthday. Yeah, I flipped the whole holiday. Because real ones know: when you’re raised by love in human form, you celebrate the source.

Every year, I’d ask her to tell me my birth story like it was a bedtime tale.

And sis delivered.

She’d be like, “Girl, you came out with a full head of hair and an attitude. I knew I was in for it.”

And we’d laugh.

I’d cry.

She’d smile like she was watching her greatest work walk and talk.

And for one whole day, I got to celebrate the woman who made me possible.

This Year? It Hit Different.

This is my first "birthday" without her.

No morning phone call. No “you know you were stubborn even in the womb” stories. No gifts to wrap. No candle to light for her.

Just me. And this silence. And this ache that shows up uninvited like a messy ex.

But grief is wild like that—it doesn’t RSVP, it just lives with you.

Still…

I woke up.

I breathed.

I stretched out all that pain, and I said to myself:

“Okay, Nicole. We grieving AND glowing this year.”

Because the Muse is Still Here.

See, what I realized is—my mama may be gone, but her magic? It’s in my marrow. It’s in the way I love my child. The way I make art out of heartache. The way I laugh with my whole chest even when life is raggedy.

I am the legacy now.

I’m the daughter, the mother, the muse. The remix and the re-release.

So yeah, this birthday? It’s not just about turning a year older.

It’s about turning the page.

Walking into the next season of my life with soft steps and strong boundaries.

It’s about loving me better. Creating louder. Resting more.

It’s giving “main character energy with ancestral backing.”

So Happy New Year to Me.

To the version of me that loved hard, lost deeply, and still chose joy.

To the woman who remembers and rebuilds.

To the mama who became the matriarch too soon but still makes it look fly.

I’m not here to “celebrate my birthday.”

I’m here to honor my becoming.

And this year?

We realigned. We cried cute. We dreamed big.

And we started again.

Because every queen deserves a New Year crown.

Mine just happens to come with lashes, healing playlists, and homemade waffles and grits, and me with a journal trying to figure out my love language.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got joy to create and boundaries to enforce.

Its-Tech-Nicole-ly a New Year, Baby. Let’s go.

If you’re feelin’ moved by the spirit (or just vibin’ with my "birthday" energy), feel free to hit this pile of cash  and bless ya girl. It’s giving soft life fund. It’s giving healing ain't free. It’s giving ‘yes, I accept birthday money—thank you for asking.’😂😭🤣 💅🏾✨