Say No With Love Letters

How putting my phone on airplane mode on my birthday let me out of a tiny prison

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Yesterday I turned 44.

And I’ve been thinking about how birthdays carry so much unspoken weight. Not just the age thing, but the shape of the day. Who shows up. What gets said. What doesn’t. The quiet expectations. The invisible tally of love. I used to pretend birthdays were light and fun for me. I think I even convinced myself of that for a while. But if I can be honest, they’ve always been laced with tension, because we are often indirectly taught that celebration is in fact about everybody else.

So how could I change that for myself going forward?

As a young girl, I remember wondering if my mom ever felt knots in her stomach the way I did. Wondering what it was like for her to carry the expectations of motherhood while dragging her own heavy, unspoken suitcases behind her. There was never enough money. Never enough ease. And probably not enough belief in herself to feel like she had anything of value to give. Even as a child, I felt that. I could feel her trying. I could feel her straining. Eventually, I felt her give up. And the story that comes after that, I don’t think is mine to tell. But I wondered if she put pressure on herself to perform motherhood a certain way, just like I would later feel pressure to perform, to please.

I think my mom spent most of her life inside invisible walls. The kind that grow around you slowly when no one asks how you’re really doing. The kind you forget you can even question. We’re not close, there’s tenderness in that truth, but I still wonder. I’m still curious. And when I see that the curiosity is still poking out, then I know whatever pain I hold, hasn’t completely hijacked me. And for now, that’s enough.

As I move into this powerful, beautiful time in my life, I still wonder if her walls will ever fall. I wonder who she’d be if they did.

And maybe that’s what gets me the most: the quiet prisons we build for ourselves when we stop choosing for ourselves. When we stop saying what we need. When we say, “Sure, whatever works for you,” and disappear a little more each time. We can decide what we want and who we want in our lives. It is this everyday piece of living that informs what we create.

In the past, I’d let people plan things. I’d accept cards and hugs and gifts and try to show the kind of gratitude people expect. It felt like performance. Odd as this may sound, birthdays used to feel like a tiny little prison I’d put myself in over and over. Hard to admit.

The last five years have been about undoing all of that.
Learning to look at myself, really look.
The heavy parts.
The slippery ones.
The hollow places I didn’t want to name.

And slowly, birthdays started to shift.

Yesterday started with a soft nudge from Chester, his paws on my chest like a quiet “happy birthday.” He usually reserves that greeting for my partner, so it felt like a little wink from the universe.

I made coffee.
Sat with my notebook.
Wrote down my dreams from the night before (which were weird, by the way).
Then I pulled out old notebooks (years-old pages I hadn’t touched in a long time).
I wasn’t searching for anything. I just wanted to see. I wanted to notice. I did this for 2 hours.

I noticed a gap.
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Whole stretches of time where I must’ve stepped out of myself.
But then other pages, thick with ink, underlines, margin notes, long run-on thoughts…
​So much growth I hadn’t realized was there.

Looking back without getting hijacked? That’s a skill I didn’t always have.
It’s taken time to build up that muscle and I am still building it daily. It still takes intention.
Knowing that it’s possible now is perhaps the most aligned birthday gift I’ve ever given myself.

Throughout the day, I returned to three prompts.
I carried them in my pocket, turning them over gently when I felt ready:

• My ideal family/community
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• My circle of safety
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• Dear Mom…
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Why am I telling you all this?

Because I think sometimes we forget that the creative life is made up of these small, subtle tingles. The little things we actively say yes and no to. It’s not just about the big breakthroughs or the polished projects. It’s not even about grief or love or loss in their loudest forms. It’s about the layers. The stacking. The way joy rests on top of sorrow, and clarity grows out of confusion and curiosity. We can’t understand the difference between the wins and losses without the losses.

Every win in my life has been built on top of something heavy.
Every “yes” I’ve made recently was made possible by a string of past “no’s” I was once too scared to say.
​And all of my growth has come from looking back with care, with tools, and without letting it lock me up again.

My life hasn't gotten easier by any means.
But because the way I move through it has shifted completely, I know what to do when stress is there. I can’t easily be derailed. I know what to do in the pause.

I’m still facing big things. Huge life changes.
Stressful, complicated things alongside delicious, unbelievable things.
​But I meet them differently now.​
Ten years ago, even five years ago, I wouldn’t have had this in me.

Now I start with the hard things.

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I look.

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And in the right season, doing the hard thing becomes a part of your DNA.

That’s what 44 (or as I like to call each new year, version 4.4 haha) feels like.
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More mine.

So I put my phone on airplane mode so I could just be and be open to the day unfolding vs responding. I will of course reply later today, but yesterday? Yesterday was all for me and it was a delight! I spent the day making my own nutritional teas!

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If I can give myself everything I need and want on that day, my birthday, then everything else becomes extra. A bonus. A beautiful surprise, but not the thing I hinge my joy on.

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That’s how I feel about writing too.

The external praise, the acknowledgment, the recognition, it’s all extra. And I LOVE extra! But, I’m okay without it. There’s a huge difference there.

The real celebration is the choice to keep showing up.
To keep telling the truth on the page (especially in these love letters).

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To keep building a life that reflects who I really am now and perhaps next season too, not who I’m supposed to be.

So here’s to all your celebrations.
To self-fullness.

And to remembering that we can be both the gift and the one receiving it.

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Reflect + Rewrite

This Week's Reflection Question: What would it mean for your creative life to celebrate yourself, your growth, your clarity, your becoming, without needing anyone else to witness it?

After answering the reflection question, revisit what you wrote.
Is there a single line—just one—that surprised you?
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Maybe it stirred something. Maybe it made you pause.
Copy that line out. Sit with it.
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As always, if you feel called, I’d love to see it. Hit reply and share it with me.

See you next week! If this letter moved you in some way, please forward it to a friend.

with love, Chelene

Founder, Breathing Space Creative

Want to explore more of my work? I offer bespoke writing mentorships, creative support calls, and free creative resources through my ​studio​. But for now, just take what you need. I’ll be here.

New in the shop: The Unsent Letters Project​
​a gentle self-awareness offering that invites you to explore four parts of yourself—through letter-writing, reflection, and creative ritual. This is for anyone craving quiet, emotional clarity without pressure or performance.