Burning Beneath

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about who I am—especially now, just after my birthday on June 9. I’ve never really fit neatly into categories or labels. People talk about star signs or personality types, but I’ve never cared much for that. Still, I know one thing for sure: when I enter a room, I don’t reach for my phone—I reach for the energy. If it’s a gathering, I start picking up the vibe and threading joy through the space, like weaving light where it’s needed. That’s just who I am.

I’ve always been the one who smiles, who laughs, even if I’m hurting. And if someone is down, I have this instinct to lift them up, to fix what’s broken—though I’m learning that sometimes, people don’t need to be fixed. Sometimes, they just need someone to sit beside them and be there. I’m still learning that.

What’s wild is—I don’t know how I became this way. I grew up in a home where hugs didn’t exist. “I love you” wasn’t said. Good mornings were never shared. My upbringing was harsh. But somehow, inside, I’ve always stayed tender. The smallest things still move me. My heart still catches those quiet, beautiful moments. And I’m grateful for that.

One of my biggest fears before having kids was that I wouldn’t know how to show love—not because I didn’t want to, but because I never saw it growing up. I was terrified I wouldn’t know how to give what I never received.

But as it turns out… I did.

Since the moment I had my children, affection has flowed out of me like it had always been there. Hugs, kisses, rubbing their hair, holding their hands, pulling them in close—whether they’re small or grown, I never stop showing love. And they feel it. My youngest won’t even let me leave the house without a kiss. He looks at me like, “How dare you even try to go without it?” That kind of love? That’s a gift. And I’ll never take it for granted.

I’ve broken a cycle.
I’ve become the kind of love I never got.
And maybe, that’s exactly why I’m here.