Bearthdays, Mothers, and Memoir: Honoring the Cycles of Becoming

Mother's Day

I celebrated my birthday last Wednesday. My birthday comes right after Mother's Day and on the day, I hosted Mother's Day brunch at my house for my mother, grandmother, and brother. My mom wants the same thing every year, brunch. My brother and I used to prepare the food together, but somewhere along the way it become more of my thing that he would show up to. This year, however, it was a joint effort. Although this was the first year I was able to host Mother's Day brunch in my own home, which I loved and felt very grateful for, this year's meal was lovingly prepared by multiple hands and hearts.

The day before brunch, my boyfriend and I got ingredients at the DeKalb Farmer's Market. He helped me shop and navigate the intense crowd. And on the day of, I was classically running behind (but also I wasn't feeling that well, I'll get to that later), so my brother, who arrived first, pitched in to help me wash the fruit for the fruit salad and cut up vegetables. When my mother arrived, she had already prepped the salmon croquettes at her house, which she then fried at mine, and she made the eggs. This allowed me to focus on making the biggest, most delicious fruit salad I think I have ever made.

When my grandma arrived, the three of us were all still working in the kitchen, while my grandma gratefully enjoyed the show, somewhat patiently waiting for the food to be ready. By the time we ate, the food was slightly cold, from dishes being finished and ready at different times, and I was tired, but I was surrounded by family and enjoying a meal that was lovingly prepared by my boyfriend, brother, mother, and myself. This meal was also lovingly influenced by my great grandmother Ruby Mae Jordan, who will always be known as my sweet Granny. Granny transitioned in February of 2020. She was known for her salmon croquettes and grits breakfast. It was delicious and no one could ever make that meal like her, but ever since Mother's Day 2020, my mother and I prepare those dishes together as a part of our annual Mother's Day brunch to keep Granny's memory alive.

Purging

After everyone left to go home, I felt incredibly tired. I hadn't been feeling too well since the Friday prior, but it was nothing more than a headache and sore throat. I decided to take a nap and all of a sudden, my sickness quickly escalated. I felt horrible. I still had a slight headache, but that wasn't what was getting my attention. It was my throat. My throat was on fire, it felt like sandpaper. At this point, I was convinced I had strep throat. I made a doctor's appointment for Monday morning and called out of work sick. I felt terrible. I had went from feeling so grateful to have been able to host my family for our annual Mother's Day brunch to worrying about the thought of possibly getting them sick.

Turns out, it wasn’t strep. It was a viral bacterial infection causing major inflammation—throat, tonsils, lymph nodes. The doctor prescribed steroids, and my boyfriend and I bought Ricola and Theraflu on the way home. I’m not big on synthetic medicine—I won’t even take ibuprofen for cramps—so I tried to heal naturally, but by Tuesday, I could barely swallow.

After doing some research, I finally caved in, took the steroids, and they worked almost immediately. I finally felt relief. A week later, I’m finally feeling like myself again—back at work, back to writing.

I share all this because I wanted to make a Mother’s Day post and a birthday post the week of, but the Universe had other plans. When I talked to a friend about the start to my birthday week, she said, “28 came in with a bang,” but instead, I think 27 left with one.

Bearthday

I just turned 28. And the last few months of 27 were filled with reflection—learning, unlearning, realizing, shifting. I’d been thinking a lot about the seven-year life cycle and how 28 marks a new phase. I wrote about it in my journal, spoke it aloud to myself on drives to work. I could feel that this was a new chapter. But in order to step into it, I had to close the one before—by fully seeing, accepting, and loving all versions of myself, not just the curated ones. Getting sick, I believe, was my body’s way of physically acknowledging this energetic transition. A purge.

I didn’t get to celebrate my 28th bearthday the way I’d planned on the actual day—but I did celebrate it the way I was meant to that weekend.

My boyfriend and I camped on Cumberland Island, Georgia’s largest and southernmost barrier island. I’d been there once before, in the summer of 2021, on a group trip hosted by the Komorebi Movement. I fell in love—not just with camping, but with the island itself. I’ve wanted to go back ever since, and I’ve wanted to take my boyfriend since we started dating. We finally made it happen.

We fished, camped in the maritime forest, and sat on the beach under a starry night. The next day, we headed to Jacksonville, spent the day on the beach—he surfed, I journaled. I felt free. Present. And that was enough.

Malcolm X

I returned to work on Monday, May 19—Malcolm X’s bearthday. He would’ve turned 100 this year. I missed the annual Malcolm X Festival at West End Park, but I made sure to tell my second graders about him. Who he was. What he stood for.

Malcolm X was a revolutionary, yes—but he was also someone who evolved. He let his beliefs grow and shift as he learned more about the world and himself. His life is a testament to self-determination and transformation. That kind of evolution is what I’ve been yearning for, and choosing to experience too.

Memoir Writing and the Class

We are meant to grow and evolve, but we must give ourselves permission to do so. Think about how many versions of yourself you’ve already been. Then think about your mother, your grandmother—how many different women have they been in one lifetime?

There is beauty in our evolution. Make space for the parts of you that no longer serve. Offer them grace. Embrace who you are today, and set intention for who you are becoming.

That’s what memoir writing is. It’s sacred work. It allows us to remember, reflect, and reclaim. It’s not just about legacy—it’s about healing. When you write your story, you reconnect with every version of yourself and make room for the one emerging now.

This Saturday, May 25, I’ll be teaching the final class in my 3-part memoir writing series, From Memory to Manuscript. Originally scheduled for Mother’s Day weekend, I had to reschedule due to weather—but the spirit of the class remains the same.

We’ll explore themes of mothering, motherhood, and the energies that have nurtured us—whether they are physical, spiritual, or Earthly. Whether you are a mother or not, there is something for you here.

Come write with us ✨

Summer J. Robinson

Publisher. Filmmaker. CEO. Building Silver Bangles Productions, a multidisciplinary storytelling agency committed to telling and elevating stories that inspire Afrikan diasporic intergenerational healing. We do this through book publications, TV, Film, and Documentary productions, programming, and education.