Today, I’m 37.

Not just older, though. Different.

Quieter in some ways. Louder in others.

Sharper. Softer. Less afraid to be both.

This year’s birthday has been about pausing just long enough to look at where I’ve been, what I’ve carried, and who I’m finally allowing myself to become.

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What I’ve Survived (Especially With CPTSD)

I’ve survived the kind of love that gaslights you and calls it parenting or friendship.

The kind of friendship that seeks to control and dim your light.

The kind of silence that isn’t peaceful but weaponized and violent.

Many times, I’ve had to be my own witness when no one else showed up or stood up for me.

I had to be the emotional manager in every room while feeling invisible in my own skin.

I’ve endured manipulation, triangulation, and quiet betrayals that echoed louder than screams.

I’ve been the scapegoat.

The fixer.

The one expected to carry the burden all the while expecting me to say thank you for it.

However… like a phoenix, I rose from the ashes, though sometimes shaking, sometimes silent but always aware.

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My Journey Of Growth

I’ve grown into my name. Kris.

Stripped down from the past that has become lighter, truer, but most importantly ✨mine✨

I’ve grown into love more. Not just with my partner, but with myself too.

Even when it’s quiet. Even when there’s no plan. Even when I’m unsure and he’s still finding his voice, too.

I’ve grown away from people who made me feel like a piece of shit, and who hasn’t done the work themselves.

I’ve grown toward spaces and most importantly people that let me take up space without apology.

I’ve grown soft in ways that feel like rebellion… and strong in ways that feel like healing.

I am not broken; I am transforming.

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Who I Am Currently

I am nonbinary, not just in gender, but in spirit. I’m also transmasc and genderqueer.

I resist binaries that were never built for me.

I am someone who no longer explains myself because I was bullied to do so, or felt the need to keep laying down my boundaries.

I am someone who values rest as protest and softness as power.

I’m someone whose cat, Salem, sleeps at my side all night and teaches me more about trust than most humans ever have.

Even though I’m still figuring things out, I still wake up some days wondering if I’m too much or not enough.

But those days don’t define me anymore. They just pass through without too much damage on the way out.

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Walking Into Next Year

This next year, I’m letting go of:

• The need to be understood by everyone
• The guilt of choosing joy
• The belief that love only comes when you over-function

And I’m walking toward:

• Art that feeds me
• Love that sees me
• Friendships that don’t flinch when I show my real self

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