When I Was 33

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Hey sister-friend,

I found myself reflecting on a chapter I rarely visit.

August 2004. I was early 30s.

A young wife. A mother of two toddlers, and a pre-teen trying to find their place in the world.

It was a time full of movement, love, and noise. So much noise.

But oddly, I don’t remember many specific details from that season; just the constant feeling of being needed.

Back then, my days were wrapped in them.

Feeding, chasing, teaching, soothing. Driving. Folding. Cooking. Cleaning.

There was no pause button. No self-care days. No “me time.”

I was living in a loop that I didn’t know how to step out of.

My marriage had its own rhythm, one that didn’t always match mine.

Some days, we were in sync. Other days, it felt like we were just trying to stay afloat together while parenting on fumes.

In the world outside my home?

Beyoncé had just gone solo. MySpace was buzzing. Flip phones clicked open.

But inside my world, I was learning to be a grown woman in real time, while raising three little humans.

I look back now and see her.

That 33 year old version of me.

Exhausted. Fierce. Tender.

Invisible and powerful all at once.

She didn’t get flowers. Or affirmations.

But she kept going.

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If you’re in your own version of 33, whatever age that may be, this is just a reminder:

💛 You’re allowed to come up for air.

💛 You’re doing better than you think.

💛 Your future self is rooting for you.

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