The very first person to wish me happy birthday today, had never wished me happy birthday before.

The very first person to wish me happy birthday today, had never wished me happy birthday before.

Because until this year, we didn’t know each other.

He never even knew I existed, though he was the only thing I knew of the other half of me.

We met in February.

Brother and sister.

Grown adults, starting from scratch.

We’ve only hung out a couple of times. But today, he showed up first. Not out of habit. Not out of obligation. But out of choice.

And that means everything.

He sent me this:

“Those born on June 24 are gifted, ambitious, and hardworking. They are often completely involved in their vocation and will have their own particular approach to what it is they do.”

He didn’t know what that would mean to me.

But I did. Because for most of my life, I’ve had to define myself alone. I had to lead with no map, create with no history, fight battles with no understanding of where that fire in me even came from.

I knew who I was.

But I didn’t know why.

And then someone with my blood looked at me and said: “This is who we are.” That quote didn’t just describe me. It explained me. And in that moment, I didn’t just feel loved. I felt seen.

You can be a full-grown adult, running a movement, building a life, helping thousands, and still carry this quiet, aching grief for something you never had, the chance to know where you came from.

My mom wouldn’t even tell me my father’s name. All I was ever told was that he had a son.

No pictures. No stories. No clues. And over time, I stopped asking. Not because I stopped caring. But because I knew that if I kept asking, I would lose the only “parent” I had.

That’s the invisible weight so many children carry, even into adulthood. Choosing one parent meant giving up the right to even wonder about the other.

Now that I do know who my father was… Now that I’ve met one of his children, my brother, and have started communicating with my siblings, now that I’ve read the words my brother sent me and saw myself reflected in them;

What I feel most isn’t anger.

It’s regret.

Regret that I didn’t fight harder to find him sooner. Regret that I’ll never get to hear his voice, or ask him who he thought I might grow up to be. And the haunting wonder of who I might’ve become if he, and the rest of my family, had been in my life all along.

But today isn’t about that.

This birthday is about happiness.

It’s about belonging.

It’s about healing.

And this year… my birthday wish finally came true. ❤️