So today we pass another milestone. One that, for weeks, filled me with dread and a little self-denial. Forty.

Shouldn’t I have achieved more by now? Shouldn’t I have ticked off the goals, the big dreams, the things people I look up to already have? Cue: comparison, doom spiral, self-loathing. Lovely birthday vibes.

So, this is my first birthday letter. Forty years old and, for a lot of moments if I’m honest, I almost didn’t bother. I thought: too late, Gemma, there’s no point in starting now. But then it hit me - when I’m sixty, that will be twenty letters. Twenty chances to capture gratitude, chaos, dreams, prosecco, and cake. Twenty opportunities to immortalise me - not for self-worship, but for acknowledgement of who I am today. Owning my journey, being proud of myself, loving myself, and most importantly, letting my children know how much they were (and still are) loved. So they’ll always know how much I adored them, how grateful I was, and how proud I’ll always be to be Mum.