Birthdays, Dreams and Aging

Some months ago I dreamed I was fleeing a city that was about to collapse. I ran and only stopped when I reached a dark forest. I stood on the threshold terrified, but confident it was the only way to safety. Right before entering, a mother gave me a bundle - her baby - and asked me to take it with me. At first I refused and said the forest was a dangerous place for a baby - but the mother insisted. “Listen to the wise trees that speak in whispers, they will guide you”, she said. I took the bundle from her arms and when I uncovered its face… the baby was me. Her eyes were bright and she laughed the most delicious, pure, childlike laugh when she saw me. She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder, signaling she was ready to go. I held her tight and into the forest we went.

This dream stayed with me and felt very alive on the morning of my 35th birthday, which I celebrated recently. As a woman, the comments that follow “happy birthday” are usually around how young you still look, meant as a compliment. In turn, you’re expected to make some kind of self-deprecating remark about being old, and to begin to hate your birthdays or hide your age the older you get. If you don’t, eyebrows are raised and eyes roll, accompanied by “toxic positivity”, “delusional optimism” and “spiritual bypassing” comments. But in a society where those in power profit from our fear, shame and insecurity, loving oneself fiercely at every age is one of the most powerful acts of resistance.

The older I get, the closer I feel to the baby in the dream - the little girl on the picture. I am proud of myself for learning how to mother her, for having the courage to take her with me through dark forests, and for learning the language of the wise trees.

Here’s to another year of many adventures together, loving each other fiercely.