My birthday is just like any other day as far as I'm concerned.
This post is dedicated to those who know me and wondered why I don't like celebrating my birthday. I gave it some thought and came up with three reasons why celebrating makes me uncomfortable.
I Never Enjoyed My Parties
As a child, Mom always organized birthday parties for me. It was a kind gesture, but I never enjoyed them.
I would've preferred to spend the day playing with toys or riding my bicycle. Even as a child I was an introvert who didn't feel comfortable in social situations.
However, Mom would go to great lengths to organize a large party inviting her adult friends. Sometimes her friends would bring their children, but they were usually significantly younger or older than me. I didn't know how to talk to them.
Before guests arrived to a party, Mom would dress me in the most lavish hot pink, poofy dress. She'd slip my feet into the most shiny and uncomfortable dress shoes to ever exist. Then she'd finish off my attire with jewelry.
I hated dresses, dress shoes, the color pink, and jewelry my entire childhood. Again, I would've preferred to spend the day playing with toys or riding my bicycle. I was always told how to celebrate my birthday and how to behave in front of guests.
It felt like Mom was putting on a show for others instead of celebrating me, her only daughter, becoming another year older. As a child, I wanted her attention on my special day. Perhaps that's selfish of me to say, but I never felt like Mom thought about my wants or needs on party days.
Yet, I'd wear the awful outfit so her friends would see me as she wanted me to be seen. I'd get compliments about how cute I looked, but I was uncomfortable and bummed.
Some parts of parties were fun. I enjoyed blowing out the candles on the cake after I made a wish, only for a wish to never come true. I enjoyed opening the gifts even though I knew I wouldn't be allowed to keep most of them, as I explained in My Favorite Christmas Gift Ever blog post.
No matter whether a birthday party took place at home or at a restaurant like Peter Piper Pizzas or McDonald's, the guests were primarily Mom's adult friends.
Starting with my eight birthday, Mom also invited my entire class to the parties. Mom didn't realize that I was an introvert who didn't often talk to or play with my classmates. I often played by myself during my birthday parties because my classmates were off doing their own thing.
It wasn't just birthday parties I never enjoyed. Mom used to be a social extrovert and held many house parties to celebrate different occasions. It just happened that she used my birthday as an excuse for a party even though I often told her I hated them.
It Felt Selfish to Celebrate Me
Before guests would arrive at my birthday parties, Mom would sit me down and explain how I had to behave and treat others. I was told to check-in with "my guests" often and make sure they were happy.
For example, if they wanted a drink, I was responsible for dropping what I was doing to get them a drink. It was wrong to think of myself before others, especially when others were around me.
It was engraved in my brain that doing what I wanted on my birthday was selfish.
Some birthdays were more tolerable when Mom didn't organize a party for me. Celebrations became a family affair with Mom, my brother, his wife at the time, and my nieces and nephews. During my teenage years, these celebrations took place at home.
Mom wanted to throw me a lavish party for my sixteenth birthday. She believed a daughter's Sweet Sixteen should be grand with many guests, food, decorations, and gifts.
I didn't want a party and got Dad to talk Mom from organizing a party. I remember them arguing about what I wanted and what was best for me. Fortunately, Dad won that argument and there was no party. It was just a simple day hanging out with my parents.
Yet, Mom wouldn't stop complaining about how I should've had a birthday party. The family wanted to celebrate the day with me, but instead I was only with my parents and didn't consider everyone else's wants.
For my eighteenth birthday, Mom organized a surprise party with a few from my high school. Unfortunately, I was ill with food poisoning that day. Even though I was hurling frequently and in significant pain, Mom told me to hide my illness and think about "my friends" who gave up everything just to be with me that day.
I tried to please Mom and "my friends" by pretending that everything was fine. However, someone shoved a cake in my face, and I was done with the party. I locked myself in the bathroom because I needed to hug the toilet anyway. I was yelled at for being rude and selfish. I was later grounded for my bad behavior.
Even as an adult in my twenties, Mom would constantly remind me to not be selfish think about what others wanted on my birthday. Just because it was my birthday didn't mean the day was all about me.
Most years, we ate at an Asian buffet because the family, as Mom put it, didn't like the places I wanted to eat at. She'd always ask, "Where do you want to eat on your birthday?" I'd suggest a restaurant only for her to say no because I didn't consider the family's needs and wants.
Personally, I hate buffets. Every time we'd go to a buffet, I wouldn't eat much and waited what felt like a long time for everyone else to finish their food. Mom would yell at me (literally) about how I wasted money by not taking advantage of and eating more food at a buffet.
The Asian Buffet we'd go to always made me ill anyway. Their food didn't sit right in my stomach. My birthday would be so-so and the day after would always be awful on the verge of taking a trip to the emergency room.
When I moved away from my hometown for a better job opportunity in my early thirties, I left my family behind. Mom would get angry because I wouldn't take the day off from work to visit them for my birthday. I also refused to make the two-hour drive to be with them after work only to return home that evening in time for work the next day.
By this point in my life, I didn't see the point in celebrating my birthday when it never felt like a celebration of me. Again, it's probably selfish of me to think of only myself on my birthday.
I Don't Care Anymore
Now, I can't help but wonder, 'What's the point?!' I don't see why I should celebrate my birthday, especially when I have some regrets in life.
I regret not being more selfish throughout my twenties and thirties. I wished I spent more time focused on myself, my happiness, and my overall well-being for longer than just these past three years.
I've spent my entire life trying to please everyone, especially Mom. I tried desperately to not be selfish because selfishness was a sin. I didn't take the time to live and enjoy my life since I could only live my life, not Mom's.
I guess I'm still young enough to make selfish changes, but I feel like I missed out on opportunities that likely won't happen going forward. I'm introverted, avoid social gatherings and crowds, and spend much of my time at home since I've been unemployed for a few years. I doubt I'll meet many new people.
There was one birthday where a friend wanted to treat me to dinner and bowling. He said this was the one night we weren't "going Dutch" and that he'd pay for whatever I wanted on my special day. Honestly, I was excited to celebrate my birthday that year! I only wanted to bowl, so he wouldn't have spent much on me anyway.
I told Mom I had plans with a friend on my birthday after work. However, she didn't take that well and proceeded to yell about family togetherness and how she spent years teaching me not to be selfish. She didn't want my friend to join us because my birthday celebration was a family affair.
I was stupid and cancelled my date to spend the evening doing whatever Mom wanted to do for my birthday. Yes, I seriously regret that stupid decision I made. I only thought about making Mom and the family happy because it was the selfless thing to do.
Now in my late thirties, I just don't care. My past birthdays proved that there was no point in celebrating myself unless it was to someone else's liking. I've also learned that the best days are the days without parties and gifts. I'm happier simply Celebrating My Birthday In-Game and without gifts, guests, bad food, and uncomfortable social situations.
My birthday is just like any other day. Fortunately, most days are good days. I'm grateful to be a year older without major health issues. I'm grateful my loved ones are alive and well. I'm grateful to have a roof over my head and food to eat every day.
I'm grateful that I'm in a position where I can finally be selfish and focus on myself. I'm especially grateful to my Dad, a man who's suffered severe depression, help me find happiness so I don't fall into mental despair like he's done before.
Life's been good the past few years. I can't complain. I shouldn't complain anyway. Every day is a day worth celebrating to me.
What's Next?
I received my second Moderna vaccine yesterday and feel awful. I'm doing nothing else for the rest of the day, but I'll be sure to share my second shot experience with you sometime next week.
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Thanks, and have a great day!
Simply Jelly Jam
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