Happy Birthday! Get Back To Work
Days leading up to this day, the air felt uneasy. Watching the days on the calendar getting closer to the date only made me more anxious instead of excited for myself. When the day arrived, I woke up with the dread of getting out of bed and hearing my loved ones congratulate me. Hearing that they’re proud of me felt like hearing a lie.
It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel real.
As the night grew darker, I sat across from my family at the dining room table. I could see the expressions of happiness and joy across everyone’s faces. My mother took what seemed like a million photos of me, and everyone just looked at me with expectations of happiness in their gaze. As they clapped and sang for me, it all became a blur. The only thing in my vision was the brightness and glistening of the candles on my birthday cake and this sinking feeling in my chest.
While today was a day of celebrating another day of my life, all I could focus on was trying not to sob in front of everyone. And not tears of joy.
I looked at the candles on my cake. 16.
I ended that day in tears alone in my room, regardless of having felt endless love and support from everyone around me. Going to bed with tears in my eyes, tired from crying, I looked up to my ceiling and wished for a better year
The month of November rolled around once again initiating the sinking feeling in my chest. I am a grown adult now. I should be better than this. But regardless of the years passed and the accomplishments I made amidst so much time, the same feeling of sadness consumed me.
I sat in the car with my mother as we drove home. She turns to me and asks, “Have you thought about what you want to do for your birthday?”. I regretted this question, knowing I had the same answer for her every year.
I stare out the window, disassociating from the sensations of the car.
“Not really. Probably something small.”
I always felt weird celebrating myself. It felt like something I should keep to myself instead of shouting from the rooftops for people to hear. This mindset would follow me into my adult years tracing back from when I’d be conscious of what my birthday meant.
The day my birthday came that year and that sinking feeling greeted me once again. I didn’t feel a real difference in age, just empty at this point. But why? I couldn’t understand. I look at my iPhone calendar with the first notification being: Happy 19th birthday Natalia!
Another year, yet I still feel so sad. All I wanted the moment the day started was for the day to end and for life to feel normal again.
10 AM, Nov. 4th 2023 – I am now 22 years old. I didn’t want to leave my bed. I’d stayed the night at my mother’s house to have a small gathering for my birthday. It felt weirdly nostalgic being back, yet still lingered that same bittersweet lore in the walls.
Growing up, I struggled a lot with my self-esteem. I especially struggled when it came to days where I was expected to be happy. I was expected to be happy for another year that I’m alive and have accomplished so many things. Yet just like all the years prior, all I could focus on was that sinking feeling in my chest and yearning for the day to be over before it had started.
This year alone, I spent the last 6 months last semester studying abroad in Denmark having the best time of my life. I came back to the states and signed a lease on my first apartment near university. I started my first internship. I started working a barista job with decent pay and great co-workers that make me look forward to going to work.
I had a lot to be proud of this year. I knew that deep down.
I looked at my phone, already having texts from my loved ones and specialized discount codes for the rest of the month.
As I looked at the messages, each of them filled me with endearment for them. I was glad that they would think of me; friends, family, Facebook mutuals. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel sad that I couldn’t feel this same feeling for myself.
Whether it stemmed from the trials and tribulations of being a woman, my lack of self-esteem regardless of years in therapy, or the fact that I’ve always felt lost in the direction of who I am. It’s like a cycle that keeps continuing the same routine of anguish for myself until the next year rolls around.
The older I get, the emptier this sinking feeling would feel. If I’m being honest, I’m surprised I’d made it this far. I knew that after today, the only thing I had to look forward to was another long shift at my barista job and another 365 days under the sun of trying to change things around for myself.
I look at jokes and memes online of being a girl crying on their birthday and knowing that the older you get, the less happier you are with yourself on the one day that you’re supposed to celebrate your life, is not an uncommon experience.
I realized late in life that I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. I’d never really verbalized it to my loved ones knowing that they probably wouldn’t understand. In fact, they’d be mad. Mad at the thought that every year that they’d celebrated my birthday with me and watched me grow up, I wasn’t happy.
I couldn’t help but think: Why am I so difficult to understand? Why can’t I just be happy for myself? The one day that is supposed to be about you feels like a day that shouldn’t be a part of the calendar.
As I sat across the dining room table with my family, I watched their eyes gleam with joy and singing to me. I looked at the expressions on their faces and looked at the brightness of the fire cracking from the two candles on my cake.
Suddenly, it was all a blur again. All I could focus on once again was the distant sounds of my happy family singing for me and the sinking feeling in my throat trying not to cry. All I could do was smile and stare at the candles.
22
“Make a wish!” says my mother. I sat in silence to gather my thoughts and all I couldn't muster up before blowing out my candle was: Let me be happy, please.
As I blew out the candles, the sound of cheering and whistling filled the walls of my family home. Here’s to another year.