I always dread my birthday. Not because it’s a bad day or has bad memories. Not because I don’t want to get older (I don’t, but that’s not the reason). But because they have never been particularly fun. Especially as an adult.
It has been drilled in year after year that a birthday is ‘just another day’ and that I shouldn’t care about celebrating. That ‘we don’t have birthdays at our age’ by my much older relatives. It has created a bubble of guilt that demands that I feel bad about wanting the annual anniversary of my birth to be considered a special day.
As an older teen I looked forward to being old enough to go out for birthday drinks with my friends. I’m now in my early 30’s and for the most part this hasn’t happened. Those few times that it has I have found myself having to either strong-arm my friends to come out or I’ve had to pay for a couple to come. Money has always been an issue, so paying for three people to drink… not so fun.
Tomorrow is my birthday and in the past few days I have had a wobble as the date loomed. I have looked to it with dread, knowing that I will (and have) hear the same people disregard the whole thing. Knowing that it will be, for all intents, just another day.
So I have made a promise to myself.
I am going to buy myself a gift and take a day doing whatever makes me feel happiest. Because if anyone can make my special day, well… special, it’s me.
I’m going to begin right now by giving a huge thank you to a friend (who I won’t name) for the lovely gift card that bought the top I am wearing in this post.