What My Grandmother Taught Me About Strength, Support, and Showing Up

Look at that smile!

Dear Grandma,

Happy birthday. Ninety-two years of life, wisdom, fire, and grace—and somehow, I still learn something new from you every time we talk.

We didn’t always see eye to eye. As a kid, I wanted to be heard—loud, opinionated, and unfiltered. You came from a generation where children were seen and not heard. That alone created tension, as if our timelines couldn’t quite align. But now I understand that what felt like resistance was, in many ways, protection. You were protecting the structure, the expectations, and the reality you had to survive.

You grew up during a time when dreams had ceilings—especially for Black girls. You wanted to be an accountant. You had the skill, the drive, the brain—but not the permission. And still, you made a way. Even though the path you wanted was blocked, you carved a new one. You made your way into the U.S. Department of the Treasury, became an esteemed federal worker, and eventually retired from the government with honor. You created a career in a system that wasn’t built to welcome you. That alone is a legacy.

And instead of becoming bitter, you built something softer for me. You made sure that when the time came, I could go to college, take out loans, and chase dreams that would’ve been unreachable in your day. You filled in financial gaps, mailed support when I needed it most, and stood behind me even before you fully understood what I was building.

And whether you realized it or not, you were teaching me about money every step of the way. The reason I’m so good at budgeting, understanding credit utilization, and staying financially grounded? That’s all you. You modeled financial wisdom in real time—stretching dollars, saving where it mattered, and teaching me that security is built through awareness and planning, not just income. Your influence is embedded in the way I manage my business and protect the freedom I’ve worked so hard to create.

Our relationship changed as we aged. When I worked in D.C., I visited you often. Our one-on-one time gave us space to talk about things beyond family obligations: identity, purpose, and legacy. We recently sat together and talked about the freedom I experience now as a millennial woman without children, pursuing a life and business that reflects who I am. You didn’t just listen—you affirmed. You told me I was on the right path. That you believed in me. That you always had.

You used to call me lucky. And I am—but not in the way you meant. I’m lucky because you taught me what it means to be prepared for opportunity. You showed me how to be resilient, how to survive storms, and how to make room for joy in spite of them.

There are things you survived that I will never fully understand. And things I’ve been able to do that you never had the chance to dream about. That truth used to feel like a wedge—but now it feels like a bridge. My success doesn’t separate us. It makes space for healing, for deeper conversations, and for mutual admiration across generations.

You always put family first, even when it cost you rest, care, or self-expression. That sacrifice created the foundation I now build from—but I’m learning to carry it differently. I want to make sure there’s enough left for me, too. You gave everything. I want to learn to give generously, but not completely. That’s the difference in our stories—and also the evolution of our lineage.

We are both fire signs—you, a Leo; me, an Aries. And it shows. We will match your energy with precision. If you want peace, we’ll give it. If you want chaos, we’ve got that too. I see myself in you in ways I didn’t as a child. Now, I take it as a compliment.

Thank you for being a light. Thank you for being a thunderstorm when necessary—because through the storms, you gave us rainbows we could never have predicted.

Thank you for letting me dream as big as I want.Thank you for loving me out loud.Thank you for staying close, even when we were different.Thank you for showing me that creativity is its own inheritance. You sewed, you drew, you made clothes for my mother—and while I may not have your hands, the spark of your artistry lives on in how I create, dream, and express myself.

And thank you, most of all, for showing me that generational healing is possible, even when the road starts out rough.

Happy Birthday, Grandma - I love you!

<3 Ashley