March 8TH: A BIRTHDAY WRAPPED IN THE POWER OF WOMEN.

As the calendar edges closer to the 8th of March, I find myself sitting quietly with my thoughts, turning inward, reflecting on the journey that has carried me here. Birthdays often bring reflection, but mine arrives wrapped in something larger than myself. It arrives with the voices of women across the world. I was born in the only month where my birthday shares space with a day that belongs to every woman; International Women’s Day.

This year, the theme reads softly yet powerfully: Give to Gain.

At first, I asked myself a simple question: What does International Women’s Day really mean to me?

So I searched, read, and listened to the echoes of history. I learned that it began not as a celebration alone, but as a movement. The very first International Women’s Day was organized to honor women textile workers who had stood together in courage. Their victory was not only theirs; it became a spark that lit a fire across nations. Women began to gather, to speak, to march, to demand their right to vote, their right to be seen, their right to be heard.

For more than a hundred years, that fire has continued to burn.

Since 1911, this day has belonged to every person who believes in equality. It celebrates women’s achievements, raises awareness about discrimination, and calls for action toward a more balanced world. It is inclusive, powerful, and collective. Every voice matters. Every story matters.

And so I return to my question again.

I am a woman.

What will we be celebrating this Sunday?

I or we will be celebrating freedom.

Freedom from a relationship that never knew its own direction. Freedom from waiting for clarity that never came. Freedom from the quiet weight of uncertainty that once lived in my heart and our hearts.

We will be celebrating survival in a world that often looks at a single mother with doubt before it offers respect. A world that sometimes whispers that she cannot carry the weight of motherhood alone, as if strength has conditions.

Yet every day, we have proven otherwise.

We will be celebrating the courage it takes to stand tall when society expects you to shrink yourself. The courage to refuse the small spaces offered to you and instead claim the room you deserve.

We will be celebrating the silent battles fought in courtrooms and in hearts. The moments when someone who was absent tries to step back into a child’s life through papers and signatures, not through presence or love. And the quiet nights that follow, when promises are broken, tears fall, and a mother becomes both comfort and strength, wiping away disappointment from the faces she loves most.

We will be celebrating resilience.

The resilience of discovering that the man you dreamed of building a life with chose to build part of that life elsewhere. The resilience of carrying heartbreak but refusing to let it define the rest of your story.

Strength, I am learning, does not always roar.

Sometimes strength wakes up early in the morning.

It prepares children for school.

It answers work emails.

It runs a business idea between chores.

It folds laundry while planning tomorrow.

It shows up for an employer, a household, and a family, often all in the same breath.

For the past one year and two months, I have watched myself juggle worlds.

Work.

Housework.

Business dreams.

Responsibility.

Motherhood.

And through it all, I keep giving.

Giving time.

Giving energy.

Giving love.

Giving patience.

Giving hope.

And slowly, quietly, I begin to understand the theme.

Give to Gain.

Because in giving, I have gained something far greater than I imagined.

I have gained independence.

I have gained wisdom that only experience can teach. I have gained the strength to stand on my own feet without apology. I have gained the deep understanding that a woman’s power does not come from perfection, but from perseverance.

Most of all, I have gained myself.

This International Women’s Day, as I celebrate another year of life, I will celebrate every woman who wakes up and keeps going despite the weight she carries.

The mothers.

The dreamers.

The survivors.

The fighters.

The women rebuilding their lives quietly and bravely.

We are stronger than the doubts placed upon us.

We are stronger than the labels given to us.

We are stronger than the stories written about us without our permission.

And so, as the sun rises on the 8th of March, I will not only celebrate my birthday.

I will celebrate the woman I have become.

A woman who gives, and in giving, gains courage.

A woman who bends but does not break.

A woman who walks forward, even when the road behind her was heavy.

Because the truth is this:

A woman’s strength is not measured by how easy her life has been, but by how fiercely she continues to rise.

And rise we do.

Again and again.

Like the sun that never forgets the morning.