As soon as I became a mom, my birthday stopped having any meaning

Host: The room was calm, the soft hum of the outside world barely filtering in through the window. Jack sat by the window, his arms crossed, his gaze distant as he thought about something beyond the view. Jeeny, across from him, was curled up in her chair, a book open but her attention clearly elsewhere. The evening felt still, but there was a quiet understanding, as if something important was waiting to be said.

Host: Marisol Nichols’ words filled the silence: “As soon as I became a mom, my birthday stopped having any meaning whatsoever.” The simplicity and depth of the statement carried a lot of weight, suggesting that the shift to motherhood could change the way we view not just our lives but even something as personal as our birthday. It was an interesting perspective, one that connected the selflessness of motherhood with a shift in how we see our own needs and celebrations. Jack, usually more inclined toward the practical, was the first to speak.

Jack: His voice was thoughtful, almost a little surprised: “I get that. When you become a parent, everything shifts, right? What was once about you, about celebrating yourself, becomes about giving and focusing on the needs of someone else. Birthdays—those moments that are supposed to be about you—lose their meaning because you start prioritizing someone else’s needs, someone else’s happiness. It’s almost like you put yourself last, because you want to give everything to your child.”

Jeeny: She nodded, her voice gentle, but filled with understanding: “Exactly. It’s not that you stop caring about your birthday, but it’s like everything becomes secondary once you have someone else to care for. Your child’s needs, their growth, their happiness—it takes over in a way that makes celebrating yourself feel almost selfish. You don’t need a day for yourself when you’re already so deeply invested in giving to someone else.”

Host: The conversation seemed to grow a little heavier, as though Nichols’ words had touched on something deeper about the nature of motherhood—about how the act of loving and caring for someone else reshapes our own sense of self and our priorities. Jack, usually more focused on individuality, seemed to soften, reflecting on how motherhood inherently shifts how we see not just our lives, but our place in the world.

Jack: His voice grew softer, almost reflective: “Maybe that’s part of the experience of motherhood—giving up that sense of self-celebration for something bigger. Your needs and desires don’t disappear, but they become less important. What once felt like a special day—your birthday—becomes just another day in the larger picture of caring for someone else. It’s not about losing your identity, it’s about redefining it. Your world starts to revolve around your child, and in that, you find fulfillment.”

Jeeny: She smiled softly, her voice warm with understanding: “Exactly. Motherhood shifts the focus of your life, but it also gives you a new kind of fulfillment. You’re still a person, of course, but your sense of purpose changes. The little celebrations—like birthdays—take a backseat because the bigger picture is no longer about you. It’s about nurturing and loving the next generation. And there’s a kind of beauty in that shift, even if it means you no longer focus on celebrating yourself in the same way.”

Host: The room felt a little quieter now, as if their conversation had uncovered a deeper truth about how selflessness shapes our lives. The idea that motherhood could shift the way we see celebration—even something as personal as a birthday—felt like an important realization. Jack and Jeeny sat together, knowing that the true nature of motherhood wasn’t just in the day-to-day care, but in the way it transformed how we prioritize love, giving, and sacrifice.

Jack: His voice was calmer, filled with a quiet understanding: “Maybe that’s what it is. It’s not that you stop caring about your birthday—it’s that your focus shifts. You become so involved in someone else’s happiness, their milestones, that your own moments become secondary. It’s not about loss, but about growth, about a new sense of purpose.”

Jeeny: Her smile was gentle, her voice reassuring: “Exactly. You never lose who you are, but you do change. Your sense of fulfillment shifts from self-celebration to celebrating someone else’s joy. And in that, there’s a new kind of happiness, a new kind of purpose.”

Host: The evening continued on, but the room felt filled with a quiet understanding—the realization that the selflessness of motherhood doesn’t erase who we are, but reshapes it in ways that prioritize others, particularly our children. Jack and Jeeny sat together, understanding that the beauty of life’s transitions isn’t in losing ourselves, but in redefining our roles and the way we celebrate life, from birthdays to the everyday moments that define our journey.