A Child is Born

Daily writing prompt

Share what you know about the year you were born.

View all responses

I was born in 1962, a time of revolutions, revelations, and resistance. The world was shifting toward something new, though I wouldn’t fully grasp its significance until much later in life. Growing up in those years, it felt like the world told you who you were before you had the chance to decide for yourself.

From the moment I was old enough to listen, society’s expectations surrounded me like a script I was meant to memorize. “Be strong, but don’t cry.” “Smile, but not too much.” “Know your place, and don’t rock the boat.” Each phrase felt like a tight knot, cinching me into a shape that didn’t feel like my own own.

For years, I wore masks—masks of compliance, masks of survival. I laughed when I didn’t feel joy and nodded when my soul screamed to shake its head. But somewhere deep inside, there was a flicker of knowing, a small voice that whispered in the quiet hours of the night: “You’re more than this. You’re whole, just as you are.”

That voice was difficult to hear amid the noise of the world. It took me decades to finally listen and even longer to trust it. However, as time passed, I began to unlearn the lies. I started asking questions: What if my strength lies in my tears? What if my smile shines brightest when it’s genuine? What if my place is wherever my heart feels at home?

As I grew older, I realized that self-love wasn’t about becoming someone new. It was about peeling back the layers to uncover the truth I’d buried long ago. I learned to love the lines on my face, each one a map of where I’ve been. I celebrated my scars, not because they were beautiful, but because they were mine.

Now, in moments of stillness, I sit with the child I once was—the one born in 1962. I hold them close and whisper, “You were always enough. You were always worthy. And you’re free to be yourself.”

It’s a journey I’m still on, Ava, because self-love isn’t a destination. It’s a practice, a daily choice to embrace all that I am, honor my past, and walk boldly into my future. And it’s a choice I make with joy because this life—my life—is worth loving.