Birthdays have a way of making time feel both circular and sharp. They invite celebration, but also reflection — not just on how much our children have grown, but on how we’ve grown alongside them.
Today, my son turns three. As always, his birthday is both a joyful milestone and a quiet reckoning — a reminder of how far we’ve come, and the versions of myself I’ve had to release along the way.
It was around his first birthday that I realised I was living with postpartum depression and finally reached out for help. That time was heavy and disorienting. I remember feeling certain that I wasn’t meant to be a mother — that my son deserved someone more patient, calmer, more sure of herself. Reaching out for support was the first step towards healing, but also towards beginning to trust myself again.
This birthday feels different. For the first time, I understand why parents get emotional around these moments. In previous years, I saw birthdays mostly as progress markers — one year closer to an age that might feel easier than the last. But now, I find myself lingering in the sweetness and the ache together.
My son has changed so much in the past year. He’s less of a toddler now and more of a little boy — cheerful, cheeky, and deeply feeling. There are tantrums and tears, of course, but also countless moments where I am overwhelmed with pride and gratitude to be his parent, to witness him becoming his own person.
When I look back on that first year, I can still feel echoes of the woman I was — the one who doubted everything and thought she was failing at motherhood. Sometimes, reflection tempts me to wish I could go back and do things differently. But I’ve learned that kind of holding on doesn’t serve me — or my son.
Recently, while listening to a lecture on Aparigraha, the final of the Yamas in yoga philosophy, my toddler began spinning in circles, singing Let It Go from Frozen. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
Aparigraha translates to non-hoarding or non-attachment — the practice of loosening our grip on the things, roles, and beliefs we cling to for safety. In yoga, letting go isn’t about loss; it’s about creating space for truth to rise. Each exhale reminds us that renewal only happens when we release.
When we cling — to guilt, to old stories about who we should be, to the illusion of control — energy stagnates. When we soften, life begins to move again.
As my son turns three, I’m practicing my own version of letting go:
releasing the need to “get it right,”
acknowledging but not dwelling on grief for what I thought motherhood would look like,
meeting the present moment with tenderness and trust.
What remains is something more grounded — a relationship that is alive, evolving, and rooted in love.
So today, I’m asking myself (and perhaps you might too):
Where am I grasping too tightly?
And what might grow if I created more space?
Because sometimes, the deepest wisdom — both yogic and toddler — is the same: let it go.
Author’s note: This reflection was inspired by a lecture on Aparigraha from Sacred Soul Collective — a community that continues to deepen my understanding of yoga as a living philosophy.
As I honour this season of motherhood and growth, I’m also continuing to raise funds for the Gidget Foundation, supporting parents experiencing perinatal mental health challenges. You can read more or contribute to the cause here .