I am a Mabon girl.
The turning point towards Autumn.
And every year around the time of my birthday, my mother was a racecar driver for a team called High Risk. She raced for Breast Cancer Awareness with a big heart and a cautious and headstrong foot ; right to the gas pedal. Not only was her race in mud, in a hot pink car, numbered 104, but she was also racing during my birthday… crashing women “head on” in a demolition derby.
Mom had no clue what she did. For my life. Growing up with a race car mom, engines so loud I was only focused towards the race.
Engines roared beneath the ending of the season.
To me, thats what my birthday meant. Wearing hot pink every year, bandanas, sometimes tutus. Trust me, it wasn’t just candles and balloons and birthday cake.
Celebrating my mother was the best thing I could have done for myself.
Mabon reminds us that life is made of cycles. The beginning, middle and end.
Well, mom was figure 8s.
Mom raced underneath a daughter’s birthday sky. I changed. I became someone. A supporter.
Somewhere between the heart of the harvest and the roaring of those engines,
I learned that life is about holding on…
And remembering when to turn the wheel.
There are 8 Holidays.
All in a wheel.
Mom cared, she did. All the while having no idea what Mabon is. Not everyone does. This is when people sell their harvests, eat and prepare for fall during an equilibrium of day and night.
An equilibrium of a wheel of 8.
I grew up witchy. I have fun with my practice. And It drives my family to become one that grows stronger every day.
I love my mom.
Published by kacynskitessa
Mabon and 104 I am the Mabon girl.
I was born on September 22, at the turning of summer into autumn. And every year on my birthday, my mother raced. Her racecar was pink. Her number was 104. She raced not only for the thrill of the track, but for breast cancer awareness—turning a racecar into a moving symbol of remembrance, strength, and hope. So while I was celebrating another year of my life, my mother was carrying a message around the racetrack. Pink against mud. 104 the car was painted. An engine roaring beneath the September sky. To me, those races, wearing hot pink; became part of what my birthday meant. Other people might remember birthdays through candles or balloons. I remember mine through the sound of racing. Through my mother. Through that pink car. Through 104. And through the strange beauty of being born at the beginning of autumn—the season of harvest, balance, transformation, and letting go. Mabon reminds us that life is made of cycles. The track taught me something similar. You don't stay in one place. You move through turns. You cross lines. You begin again. My mother raced for awareness, carrying something bigger than herself around the track. And I grew up carrying her story with me. Maybe that's why the image feels so powerful: A mother racing beneath her daughter's September birthday sky. A pink car representing awareness. The number 104 marking its place on the track. And a daughter watching, growing, changing, becoming. Every year, the girl became older. Every year, autumn returned. Every year, the wheels turned. And the story continued. I am the Mabon girl. My birthday is September 22. My mother raced. Her car was pink. Her number was 104. And somewhere between the harvest and the racetrack, I learned that life isn't about staying still. It's about knowing when to hold on— and knowing when to turn the wheel.
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