You Say It’s Your Birthday…

You guys, I have a confession to make: I love birthdays! And before you roll your eyes and say to your computer/tablet/phone screen, “Ugh, I HATE birthdays,” hear me out. I haven’t always had great birthdays. I actually have a long history of disappointing birthdays. I mean, one of the better of the disappointing birthdays was the year I turned 21. I had full blown strep throat, a huge paper due the next day and my mother had been in the wind for 3 years – womp, womp. So don’t come at me with all the reasons why you hate your birthday or how no one ever does anything for you or you loathe the idea of watching your youth slip slowly from your grasp. I get it, believe me. But I’m fresh from celebrating mine and I’ve had some thoughts.

In truth, as a child, my mother did a great job for many years of making a big deal out of my birthday. She baked elaborate cakes, bought gifts, and hosted sleepovers for my crazy girlfriends whom helped trash my room and break a bed (or 2) from jumping too much. She made homemade pizza and breadsticks at night and had popovers or pancakes or something fun for breakfast. She let us be kids and be silly and loud and make a mess and I’m forever grateful for that.

But there were many years where my birthday was not only not celebrated, but was only barely remembered by a handful of people. And when I realized that the mother of my childhood was no longer available to perform her feats of birthday magic, I, at first, felt incredibly sad for the loss of those hilarious, fun, and magical birthdays of my youth. After I allowed my sadness to run its course, I felt indignant. I jumped immediately into feeling angry and sorry for myself and the unfairness of being given this existence where no one cared about me or my birthday. Obviously, that was ridiculous, but I had to have my moment of frustration to move onto the reality: people aren’t going to celebrate a birthday if they don’t even know its happening. You see, you can’t be mad at people for not remembering your birthday, if they had no way of knowing it was happening in the first place. Unless it’s your parent or sibling who didn’t remember, then you get to be mad all you like.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that I need to be celebrated. Of course not. In fact, what is funny is that, although I, of course, enjoy feeling loved and acknowledged, as almost anyone does, I often also feel awkward being fussed over. I usually feel like I need to help out in some way in order to balance the scales. Psychologists could have a field day dissecting my people pleasing tendencies and Acts of Service Love Language against how it feeds into my lifetime battle with unworthiness and my need to prove that I am useful and valuable. Don’t worry, I don’t really believe these things. I am a healthy, confident, and positive person with a lifetime of baggage that I’ve spent decades unpacking. One of my greatest gifts is self awareness, which has made identifying my issues easy and my ability to combat them even easier. But, I digress.

Back to birthdays. I had a realization sometime during college. This was when Facebook was in its infancy and people didn’t receive alerts to tell them it was anyone’s birthday. This was when people were old school and had things like birthdays written into their desk calendar or planner or they just plain remembered. Try to reserve your shock and awe; it really happened. But, I realized that, aside from my boyfriend and a handful of close relatives, not many other people were going to know my birthday. That was just reality. So, if I wanted to celebrate or be celebrated, I had to do some of the legwork myself. I took my birthday into my own hands. I sprinkled the information like seeds in the weeks ahead of time, I asked other people about their birthdays, and I tried to casually let people know that I wanted them to know that my birthday was forthcoming. And this probably sounds silly to you and I accept that. But to me, it was really about wanting to be seen after spending a lot of time being ignored or seemingly forgotten.

So, over time, a group of us who had birthdays at a similar time organized ourselves and had a joint party – often with a theme. Our 50’s fallout shelter party was one for the history books. Some of my favorite memories from college are from those parties and the people with whom I shared them. And I loved that it wasn’t just about me and that I could share a celebration with a community that felt like family. Also, the alcohol laden jello mold was a thing of genius I could never have conceived of without the brilliant mind of my friend Kiley, whose birthday I will always remember is March 25th.

Over time, I came to believe that my birthday wasn’t just something that I wanted to celebrate because of the pomp and circumstance of it all. I celebrate my birthday as an act of gratitude. I was born on April 5th, 1983 at 6:01 in the morning. Kristine Gorman was in labor with me for 36 hours before I came into this world, purple in the face from having the cord around my neck on my way out. My brother helped name me upon my arrival having waited so long to meet me. He is 8.5 years older than me and when he found out my mom was pregnant, she told him they had to keep it a secret and his only reply was, “well, ok, but it’s going to be hard to keep the smile off my face.” He calls me at midnight on my birthday most years, including this one, to be the first one to wish me Happy Birthday. I’m grateful for these things. I’m grateful for the 37 years I’ve spent on this planet, even with all of the hard and terrible things I have seen and known. I wouldn’t want it done any differently, because every sorrow or pain taught me something extraordinary about myself and my capacities for strength and love. Every sorrow made every joy feel that much more powerful. As Kahlil Gibran says, “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” I ask you to read that one more time and let it sit with you for a moment. Whatever sorrow or hardships you have known have only increased your capacity for joy – they exist in equal tandem to one another.

And I am not afraid of getting older, either. No one should be afraid of their future, no matter what their current reality is. If you are walking through a difficult season right now, pay attention! You have a unique opportunity to stop in the middle of the lesson and catch it as it’s being taught to you. Every difficult season comes along to teach us things, expose our vulnerabilities, and open our eyes a little wider to what we have been missing. I love being 37 and I will claim every single year with zero shame. I refuse to feel shame because I earned 37 years on this Earth, not just surviving (which I was at times), but thriving! I will not feel shame because I’m not in my 20s anymore. I don’t want to be 25 again. It was fun and I enjoyed that season while it lasted, but I wouldn’t want to walk through it again. I’m an even better version of myself now because of all of the lessons I learned in those years. Are you even kidding me? I’m excited for my 40’s! I’m going to be hitting my stride when I turn 40: kids a little more grown and independent and just think about all the stuff I will know about myself that I don’t know now! 40 year old Heather is going to be crushing it!

So, yes, I love birthdays. I love yours, I love mine, I love theirs, and his and hers. I love making a big fuss and baking a cake and singing loudly and making a person feel special. This has now become a tradition in our house. And I was fully prepared to make my own fuss out of my birthday, just in case my quarantined family wasn’t prepared. But they really showed up for me this year, every single one of them. And of their own accord, too – I did not talk about my birthday ahead of time and I did not drop hints. I did buy a gluten free box cake mix that I really like and a yummy dairy free frosting, you know, just to be on the safe side. But, I went to bed feeling celebrated. Loved. Acknowledged. But, above all, I felt alive. And even if this is a year where you don’t feel that celebration from others, at the end of the day do yourself a favor and find a way to feel that way for yourself. Celebrate your year for whatever wins and lessons you experienced. Love yourself for having survived it. Acknowledge some gratitude for the breath in your lungs, the heartbeat in your chest, and the opportunity to stand back up and give it another go this year. I feel excited about what another year will bring and what things I will be able to accomplish, regardless of this current crazy Coronavirus thing. I am determined to find worth in this time that so many others feel is wasted. So let’s get it 37! Also, what is the expiration date on claiming birthday treats? Asking for a friend…