This Year, I Became the Gift

For the last 20 years or so, I had a tradition.

Each year on my birthday, I would choose someone who had meant a lot to me in the previous year and I’d buy them a gift and write them a heartfelt letter—something that honored how deeply they had touched my life.

At some point, I stopped buying the gifts.

The letters stayed, but they grew deeper. More reverent. More intimate.

What began as a beautiful gesture of appreciation was, truthfully, born from pain.

Because for much of my life, my birthday was forgotten.

Not just by my parents and my family. Even my longest relationship carried that familiar ache—my birthday slipping through the cracks until it was too late, and even then, the “plans” never materialized.

I learned to hold the weight of being overlooked with grace, and instead turned my energy toward others.

If I made them feel special, I wouldn’t have to feel the sting of being forgotten.

It worked—until it didn’t.

This year, something shifted.

This year, I didn’t write letters.

I didn’t give gifts.

I didn’t fill the space with distractions.

Instead… I received.

I let an incredible partner plan a day of fun, adventure, and love.

I shared a soul-nourishing meal, geeked out on storytelling, and shared a long hike with one of my sons.

And on my actual birthday, I let the wind guide me. I gave the entire day to myself—to devotion, presence, joy.

No rushing, no over-giving.

Just me, in reverence of me.

There was no panic. No need to earn love.

Just a quiet, powerful contentment.

And maybe that’s the real gift this year:

That I’ve become someone who means so much to myself that I no longer need to perform the role of "meaningful" for others in order to feel worthy.

I’ve created a life that reflects how much I matter.

I’m proud of that.

I’m proud of the relationships I nurture—and the ones that nurture me back.

I’m proud of the human I’ve become: generous, grounded, wildly loving, and finally… lovingly received.

To all of you who reached out with messages—thank you. Truly.

Your words added sweetness to a day that was already rich with meaning.

And to anyone reading this who’s still learning how to celebrate themselves:

I SEE YOU.

You are not selfish for desiring to be honored.

You are not wrong for wanting to feel like a gift.

YOU ARE THE GIFT.

And I hope you’ll treat yourself like it—especially on the days when no one else remembers to.

This year, I didn’t write a letter to someone else.

I lived it.

And it was beautiful.

In sovereign celebration,
Sharon

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