Mama Turns 37: A Love Letter to My Younger Self
I remember being 33. I turned 33 while being pregnant with my first daughter. She was my third-born child. I remember being so proud to be 33 and pregnant — mainly because when my mom gave birth to me, she was 33. I remember thinking it was so cool that I got to follow in my mama’s footsteps and have this ancestral connection to her with my first-born daughter and third child at 33.
Being pregnant at 33 was hard as hell. My body ached in so many ways. I was tired tired. I was sore. I hurt. I could barely walk.
But yet there was a part of me that smiled on the inside. She smiled because she knew I would be 33 when I gave birth to my precious Merci Jai.
My husband and I had always talked about naming our first girl my middle name, Joi. However, it didn’t feel right. Instead, we landed on Merci with an “i” and Jai with an “i.” It mimics my name — her two names end in “i.” Merci is a reminder of the tenderness and mercy that God had toward us to bless us with this third baby. Jai means victory. It is a reminder that we still had the victory, even though my husband and I were struggling during that period of time in our lives.
My husband had walked away from a job. I had left a job a year before and settled into a familiar place. But I felt so sad, so anxious, and so overwhelmed. I struggled with prenatal depression during this pregnancy. I felt so scared that I would not attach to my baby — my baby who would be born while I was 33!
On my 33rd birthday, I got my hair permanently loc’d. I figured it would grow faster because of the pregnancy — and it did grow!
Meeting Merci on 5/18 came with sweet relief. It felt like I got to hold her forever when she was born. She just laid in my arms and rested. Now Merci is three, almost four. And I will be 37.
At age 37, I couldn’t be more proud of myself. I couldn’t be more proud of my motherhood, my marriage, my husband, my children, my family. My own personhood and sense of identity are complex and wrapped up in community, connection, and love.
I often say how grateful I am to live close to my family because I feel surrounded by love. I often pray and ask God to help my children feel fully surrounded by love.
At age 37, I can still remember my little 7–8-year-old self. Or my tween-age self. The biggest lie I remember telling my younger self as a child is that I was alone, that no one loved me, and that I was too much.
I remember this because I feel like these are things I’ve had to heal in my adult self-body. And I often look back at the little Joi inside of me and tell her, You are not too much. You are just enough. And you are never alone.
When I’m really feeling good, I remind this adult body that I am whole — not broken, but whole.
Today I am reminded of how I carry all the younger versions of myself in this 37-year-old body. It reminds me of the times my Auntie Zeff would call me Joibelle. She still calls me that to this day. I think she has been one of the women in my life constantly reminding me that I am me, not just a mom.
Maybe it’s because she still calls me by my childhood nickname. Maybe it’s because she’s always seen me, even when I’ve been surrounded by my kids. She’s just seen me — her Joibelle. She’s been able to acknowledge how I have grown and matured. But when I see her looking at me, I know she just sees Joibelle.
She has been one of the many reminders to me that I carry younger versions of myself with me everywhere I go. And I know that the younger versions of me are HELLA proud of this 37-year-old Black Mama.
As I celebrate my 37-year-old self, I hope you celebrate you! Remind yourself: You are not too much. You are just enough. You are never alone. And you are whole.
You are whole. You are worth celebrating. Cheers to 37!
Happy Birthday to me!
by Joi McGowan
