I Love My Birthday and That’s OK

“You have the longest birthday of anyone I know,” my 7th grade science teacher told me the morning I turned 12.

That was the first time I clocked that maybe my annual birthday countdown, which began loudly on Earth Day (April 22) every year and continued, loudly, every day until it was May 22, wasn’t normal.

As I got older, I eventually came to realize that for most people, birthdays are just A day (if acknowledged at all), but not THE day.

I became less vocal with the countdown, but kept celebrating every year with annual birthday trips to different countries and parties whenever possible (the planning for both of which always began in February).

Sometimes (often) I felt like I was being extra and would feel a twinge of embarrassment. But I also couldn’t stop. A few years ago, I finally realized why I loved them so.

Birthdays were the one safe day I had as a kid. Out of 365, this was the one guaranteed safe from shouting, from outbursts, from having to walk on eggshells and the threat of violence. Not even Christmas was safe from those — but birthdays were sacred.

(There was even one December morning my dad decided that since it was his birthday, as a present to us, he wouldn’t yell all day. I remember thinking, Wow, birthdays carry some kind of magic! Alas, the magic was not repeated any following Decembers.)

It was the one day a year my parents made me feel like I might actually be loved. I got to wear the nice outfit and get presents and ice cream cake. May 22 was the day I was allowed to celebrate myself, intentionally ask to be noticed, and make requests of people without being berated for needing “too much”. Being too much.

I used to think I’d tone down the celebrations once I got older. I’ve gone to therapy, worked on asking for things, treating myself and feeling special the other 364 days of the year. But that little kid inside of me will always love birthdays because its association with safety and permission is just too strong.

This month, I turned 34 and went to Saigon with a friend for that weekend, continuing tradition. Two other friends treated me to drinks the evening of at a stunning cocktail bar, then they all came together a week later to fulfill my whimsical/nerdy dream of hosting a PowerPoint party. (It was also the first time I ever had to work on my birthday, and my colleagues decorated my desk and bought me coffees.) It was all so incredibly lovely.

I’m so grateful for these indulgences of my birthday whims. But I am also accepting and embracing that I can ask to be loved, and those who want to show up for me will, every single time.