I hate my birthday. Womp, womp.
My parents always tried to give me a nice little gathering when I was young, but it was tough. When your birthday coincides with the beginning of the school year, nobody is really around. Plus, I didn’t have friends. So, my parties were mostly with my dad’s aunts and uncles.
The only party I remember was at Duffer’s in Wildwood Crest. I was carrying the cake, tripped over a handbag strap, and faceplanted. As I type this, I’m realizing that wasn’t my birthday party. Once again, womp womp.
I appreciate everything my parents tried to do for me. I’m grateful I wasn’t alone without even being recognized. Thankfully, it helps that Facebook tells the whole world it’s your birthday.
The reasons I hate my birthday are internal and arguably lack merit.
In my opinion, your birthday is a celebration of who you are as a person. To do this, you must know the person intimately. You must be aware of what the person likes, wants, and hopes for. The inverse is also true. What do they not want or like?
I don’t like cake. So, if my family bought a cake for my birthday, I would feel a little surprised they didn’t know that, obliged to eat it, and like too much of a jerk to say anything about it. That is a really dumb example, but an easy one to understand. It’s also fictional. My family knows I don’t like cake.
Nota bene: My wife threw an amazing surprise party for my 30th birthday, and it is a cherished memory.
I don’t like being in the spotlight and almost always want to fade into the background. My birthday is the one time I’d like to be acknowledged and celebrated. It’s confusing for loved ones, as they cannot read my mind. They feel stressed, and I feel lonely, disconnected, and sad.
I don’t know how to communicate what it is that I want. Admittedly, I just wish people knew. When they don’t, it feels like they don’t know me, and that’s the root of the loneliness, disconnection, and sadness.
This is a first world problem. It’s making a mountain out of a molehill. I have people who love me and remember my birthday. They are here for me and happy to do whatever I want. I’m lucky. #blessed
Still, I don’t think that invalidates those feelings. They are real, though the intensity varies from year to year. I wish they didn’t exist and that I could be one of those people who didn’t care about their birthday. I should be someone who is only grateful for what I have, but I don’t know how to be that person. It’s not embedded in my DNA and has not been a learned skill. Yet.
I want to be clear that I am grateful. I do recognize the efforts of others. I also understand any resulting frustration on their end. I don’t know if I communicate it well enough, though. I should probably work on that.
My therapist suggested considering what it is I would want on my birthday. So, I’ll do that here.
I like a mix of comfort food and nostalgia. Pizza and gelato from the places I ate at as a kid really do the trick.
I fully admit that I like things. I like getting gifts and owning things. It’s superficial and typically unnecessary, I know, but I do like it.
Most of all, I really enjoy doing the things I love with the people I love. I want to cook with them. I want to brainstorm ideas for a TV show or novel. I want them to somehow be part of my songwriting process.
I think that really shows that someone knows you and they want to be part of your world, and that is a pristine and selfless form of love. It gives you the feeling of connection and the knowledge you are not alone. At its core, it forms a bond, which is one of the greatest parts of the human experience.
I hope you had the best birthday with lots of presents but no cake😁.