Turning 30 Without My Mom

A little over a week ago, I turned 30.

Thirty. 3-0.

It's one of those birthdays that feels bigger than the others. A milestone. A new chapter. A chance to pause and reflect on where you've been and where you're going.

And while there was so much to celebrate, there was also a quiet sadness sitting beside it.

Because this was my first birthday without my mom.

My mom passed away in February, and if I'm being honest, I wasn't entirely sure how I would feel when this birthday arrived.

Part of me was excited.

Part of me was grateful.

And part of me was heartbroken.

The truth is, I think all of those feelings can exist at the same time.

A Quiet Celebration

I didn't do anything extravagant.

No big party.

No huge plans.

Instead, I spent the evening with my sweet man, and honestly, it was exactly what I needed.

Simple.

Comfortable.

The kind of night that reminds you what really matters.

We enjoyed dinner, spent time together, and welcomed a new decade in a way that felt true to me.

There was no pressure for it to be perfect.

Just gratitude for the moment I was in and the person I was sharing it with.

And for that, I'm incredibly thankful.

Grief Doesn't Care About Milestones

One thing I've learned over the last few months is that grief doesn't follow a schedule.

It doesn't ask whether it's a birthday.

Or a holiday.

Or a day you're supposed to feel happy.

It simply shows up.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes all at once.

And on this birthday, it showed up in unexpected moments.

When I thought about calling my mom.

When I imagined what she would have said.

When I realized there wouldn't be a birthday text or phone call waiting for me.

Those little things somehow feel so big.

The things most people don't think twice about become the things you miss the most.

Missing Her While Moving Forward

One of the hardest parts of grief is learning that life continues.

Not because you want it to.

Not because you're ready.

But because it does.

Birthdays still come.

Seasons still change.

New chapters still begin.

And somehow, you're expected to move forward while carrying someone you love with you.

I've realized that moving forward doesn't mean leaving someone behind.

It means finding new ways to carry them with you.

In your memories.

In your traditions.

In the stories you tell.

In the little moments that catch you off guard and remind you that they were here.

Thirty Feels Different

When I imagined turning 30, I don't think I ever pictured it looking like this.

But maybe that's true of life in general.

Very few things happen exactly the way we imagine they will.

And maybe there's something beautiful about learning to embrace that.

Thirty doesn't feel like I thought it would.

It feels softer.

More intentional.

Less about having everything figured out and more about appreciating what matters.

The people who show up.

The moments that feel real.

The life I'm building one day at a time.

What I'm Taking Into This New Decade

As I step into my thirties, I'm carrying a lot with me.

The lessons I've learned.

The dreams I'm still chasing.

The people I love.

The memories that shaped me.

And yes, the grief too.

Lately, I've been thinking that grief is a lot like glitter.

At first, it's everywhere.

You spend so much time trying to clean it up, gather the pieces, and figure out how you're supposed to move forward.

Eventually, life starts to feel a little more normal.

You laugh again.

You make plans.

You celebrate birthdays.

You learn how to carry the loss.

But then one day, you open a drawer.

Or move a bookshelf.

Or hear a song you haven't heard in years.

And suddenly, there it is again.

A tiny piece you didn't know was still there.

A memory.

A feeling.

A reminder.

And for a moment, you're right back in it.

Not because you're moving backward.

Not because you're healing incorrectly.

But because love leaves traces behind.

Just like glitter.

No matter how much time passes, you'll probably keep finding little pieces of it in unexpected places.

And maybe that's okay.

Because those pieces remind us that what we had mattered.

A Final Thought

This birthday wasn't what I would have chosen.

I would have chosen one more conversation.

One more hug.

One more birthday wish from my mom.

But life doesn't always give us those choices.

What it does give us is the opportunity to keep going.

To keep loving.

To keep remembering.

And to keep finding joy, even when sadness sits beside it.

So here's to 30.

To new beginnings.

To carrying the people we love with us.

To quiet celebrations.

To healing that isn't always linear.

And to finding gratitude in the middle of it all.

If there's one thing this birthday taught me, it's that life can hold more than one emotion at a time.

You can miss someone deeply and still smile.

You can grieve and still celebrate.

You can feel brokenhearted and grateful all at once.

And somehow, that's what this birthday looked like for me.

A little sadness.

A lot of love.

And the beginning of a brand new decade.

🤍

– Skye