Tomorrow, I turn 44, and for the first time in my life, I am celebrating not just my age, but my peace.

In the past few days, I have felt an unexpected swirl of emotions: happiness, gratitude, a little melancholy.

I have been thinking a lot about the girl I used to be. And that’s the one who played with dolls, sang to her favorite movie soundtracks, and dressed up in ways that made her feel like she belonged in a storybook.

Somewhere along the way, I was told that girl had to disappear once adulthood began.

Growing up in Puerto Rico, I was often targeted for being different. I loved fashion, fantasy, and pop culture long before they were seen as empowering. My personality was “too loud,” my imagination “too much,” my dreams “too unrealistic.”

Even as I grew older, that message followed me. I learned to shrink, and to fit, to blend, to survive. And I was not happy.

But as Taylor Swift sings in “Isn’t It Romantic”: “You hate me ‘cause you hate yourself…isn’t it romantic?”

That line hits deep. It reminds me that the cruelty I faced wasn’t about me. It was about others’ discomfort with freedom, the kind that comes from fully being yourself.

This past weekend, my best friend Yoncie reminded me of something powerful: I wasn’t wrong for being myself back then. I was simply existing in spaces that didn’t yet understand joy.

And when I look at where I am now, surrounded by love, laughter, and a community that embraces individuality, I realize that little girl never left. She was just waiting for me to stop apologizing and start celebrating her.

These days, I play with dolls again. I cosplay. I write stories that connect with the younger version of me, the one who still believes in magic, music, and meaning.

And I’ve learned something beautiful: you are never too old to play, to dream, or to start over.

Mental health has been a long, winding journey for me. There have been dark moments and heavy days when I questioned everything, from my purpose to my worth, and my identity.

But then I look at my husband, my best friends, my students, and the creative world that continues to bring me joy, and I realize: I made it through. I’m still here. I’m still unshaken.

There’s a lyric from This Is What It Sounds Like that feels like my heartbeat right now: “I’m still here, singing my truth, unshaken.”

That is the energy I want to carry into this next chapter, not one of perfection, but persistence. Not conformity, but courage.

So here is to being 44 and embracing my “non-traditional” self, the woman who loves pink wigs and sparkly shoes as much as she loves deep conversations and quiet moments.

The woman who is finally okay with not fitting into anyone’s idea of what she should be.

I think of Rumi from "K-Pop Demon Hunters," fierce, flawed, and fiery in her own way, and I smile. Because like her, I’m still growing, still learning to be both soft and strong, still daring to live authentically in a world that can be unkind to those who stand out.

If there’s one thing I want others, especially women, to take from my story, it’s this: You don’t owe the world a version of yourself that fits its expectations. You owe it to yourself to be free.

So to every person who’s ever been told they’re “too much”: maybe you’re exactly enough. Maybe you’re the reminder that joy, imagination, and resilience never go out of style.

And, just maybe, that’s what it truly means to grow up. It’s not to outgrow your inner child, but to finally come home to her.

Here is to being excited to come home to an American Girl brand Moana doll after a long trip, to being excited about a Labubu-themed birthday party, to looking forward to wearing that crown and Snow White birthday shirt on October 13th as I eagerly planned for months.

And here’s to never losing myself ever again, and to accepting that it’s ok to be free and embrace everything that I am and allowing myself to be a happy and authentic Aurora.