It's My Birthday. I'll Cry If I Want To
Today is my 26th birthday. Anyone who knows me personally knows that this usually means theme parties, shots, exotic dancers, and a slew of new goals. This year it’s been a lot of tears, hiding in my apartment, and revisiting old diaries.
Not that some of the former parties didn’t end that way too…
I took last week off envisioning a rotating schedule small parties and drinking games leading up to today. At the very least I thought I’d wear a parade of outlandish outfits to add to an instagram carousel.
Instead I did a lot of nothing.
Right now I’m writing with a pimple patch on my face and a dead tooth (yes it’s still dead for those of you wondering). This time last year I was getting ready to perform at a bar in full makeup and stilettos. What a difference a year can make.
Here's another tooth story because clearly it's been on my mind lately:
Before I got braces I had two teeth pulled. Instead of doing both at once, the dentist made me come back two weeks later to pull the second tooth.
Guess which appointment hurt more?
The first cut may be the deepest, but the second comes with an understanding of pain. That's why this second lockdown is hitting hard.
While we all prepare to hibernate for the winter, the last thing I wanted to do was run an event. My energy is at all all time low, and I only have patience for so many virtual parties. At this point no one needs another Zoom surprise. We've sang "Happy Birthday" out of unison and off key enough for a thousand lifetimes.
My rationale is that, if I can't see everyone in person, I don't need to see anyone at all.
In saying this my fear is that I’ve exposed myself. Even on the worst days, I always had time to create an event. The lack of birthday calendar invites signals that something is wrong, and I don’t want to deal with it. For the first time ever I wish this day would pass me by, but I've set up a precedent of lavish celebrations. It's optimistic to think I could sneak away without an explanation.
Then again, how self-absorbed is it to think that people even noticed?
Not too late to send me this card....
If You Can’t Love Yourself….
The burden of birthdays is that, even though they are more relevant to you than anyone else, it’s expected that you find a way to celebrate. God forbid a year passes by without any marker or recognition. How dreadfully sad it is to have done nothing on your special day.
I say this as someone who's proudly shamed others for their lack of plans. I’ve spouted my love of birthdays for years, loudly claiming that everyone deserves a day for themselves. That’s a huge sign of self love, right?
Tomorrow I’m back in the virtual office, and I’m already bracing myself for the fleet of “what did you do for your birthday?” questions that will be thrown out mindlessly.
The sad part is that I’m always a girl with an answer. Better yet, I always have the most interesting answers to give. Last year it was a surprise road trip to see my favourite band perform two nights in a row. A few years back it was a private show of a reptile zoo.
Coming up blank lets people know that I‘m not myself. At the very least, it signals that I broke the unspoken rule of millennial birthdays: do something. In the age of body positivity, “self-care”, and moon placements, a birthday is meant to be sacred. Without the instagram stories and the glamour shot, clearly you're falling short. This is especially true when every other year has been so well documented. By not having a fun story to give I'm afraid I'm showing the world that I don’t love myself as much as I used to.
On the flip side, my week of nothing shouldn't be stressful. Unfortunately for me, doing "nothing" has its own expectations in 2020. In these stressful pandemic times, we've been shrieking “LOVE YOURSELF” to our network like it’s both the easiest and most obvious thing you can do: ”Hey, I know this month had been hard on you. Have you tried loving yourself? What about a new candle?”
During my week off I didn't get anywhere near the level of pampering we’ve come to expect and force on each other in the name of self-care. There were no facials, no long baths, and I didn't cut out any "toxicity" from my life. Instead I sat on the couch and added a million items to a cart that would never see the checkout screen.
Moreover self care has also become a copout phrase for any indulgent behaviour, whether positive of negative. Through COVID I have had days where I’ve worked out three times, written a full pitch for a kids book, and reorganized the kitchen. I’ve also had days where I’ve eaten five cookies for breakfast, cried and watched the same episode of New Girl twice.
Which one of those would you call self care?
The problem is that you could make the argument for both. And, honestly, I felt better after the latter. The full release of being a slob does more for me than the hyper-productive mania bursts. Those are just part of a standard Tuesday in my world...
When I focus too much on self-care it becomes part of the routine in a harmful, obsessive way. I think too hard about the 'right' method to unwind, the amount of time it should take, and whether or not the effects were immediate. My relaxation becomes part of the to-do list, and taking a bath becomes more of a bragging point than a luxury.
It isn't bold to say that what relaxes everyone else is different than what you might need. For some it’s added structure and routine, for me it’s abolishing that organization completely, often begrudgingly. That said, we've been conditioned to see very specific kinds of relaxing and self love. If it isn't a hot girl in a face mask eating pizza, what could it possibly be? How many kinds of tea do I need to buy before I feel adequately self-loved?
It's a frustrating journey to find what your version looks like, especially when the world is literally falling apart around us. There's an urgency to self-care in 2020 because we're all a little extra stressed. At the end of the day though, if you can't love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?
Can I get an Amen up in here?
Think these are COVID safe?
Was That Good For You?
Beyond crafting a day for myself, I've always spent extra time making sure people have fun on my birthday. Growing up my mom would spend hours showing me how to plan, decorate community centres, and bake cupcakes for me to bring to school. We'd often take the day off to prep and goof off. When I was really young we’d even have extra gifts for kids to open while I was unwrapping theirs so they would feel included.
The philosophy was always, if everyone has a good time, then I had a good time. Mutual enjoyment was the marker of a good year.
To that end, I've always spent more on everyone else for my birthday than I do myself. I buy alcohol, snacks, party favours, live entertainment, and craft supplies for games and photo booths. I spend weeks in prep trying to perfect every detail. It's also the one day a year all my circles mesh, and I love to bring people together. Every year a new friendship forms around my birthday.
Andra and Krista, I’m looking at you.
In not hosting anything I feel like I’m letting down everyone. Two of my closest friends threw me something small on Friday, yet I felt guilty for not coming up with it myself. It’s added labour for them that I could have taken care of in any other year. The burden of party planning should fall on birthday girl, and that's how it's always been.
I know it’s quite possibly the most narcissistic thing in the world to think of my birthday as a major event for other people, but what can I say? The way we internalize our impact is profound. Chances are you didn’t even know it was my birthday today, but I feel like I'm walking around with a giant sign screaming "I'm a year older! Ask me what I'm doing about it!"
In the deepest moments of insecurity, it's also tough to separate who I am from the events I've thrown. I think I’m a great addition to my friend group for my ideas. I always have something fun to offer, and people call me to help bring their Zoom surprise parties to life, to source entertainment, to think of strange gifts, and to brainstorm themes. I pride myself not only on originality, but on putting the work into fun. My gift is thinking about details that make the whole experience memorable, whether or not I get to enjoy them myself.
What do I bring to the table if I don’t bring fun?
I’ve never thought about what would happen if I didn’t plan something for everyone around me. By making my birthday something momentous I forced bonds and recognition. I figured that, without my added effort, the day would slip from memory and everyone would carry on, but I'm still seeing texts and wall posts flooding in. It feels, in a weird way, undeserved. If I didn't throw something for you, why would you want to reach out to me?
This one hit my soul.
Size Doesn’t Matter
My therapist asked me to explore the motivations of celebrating my birthday. She was understandably concerned about my 'all or nothing' approach. Why would it matter if I did something small? If self-care can look so exceedingly different from person to person, so can birthdays.
Even with that in mind, part of me still thinks I’ll turn it around and create the Zoom event of the century. But, maybe the greater lesson is in not doing anything. Maybe the way to show myself some love is to give it a rest. Not every birthday is magical, and that’s just the way it is.
By not hosting anything, I’ve made room for some beautiful moments of friendship. I’ve had people reach out for calls, organize small zooms, send me things in the mail, and Mark took me to an impromptu Airbnb stay away. All of these lovely gestures wouldn't have happened if I beat everyone to the punch. The defensive side of planning everything is that you eliminate the risk of being forgotten. If I do something big for myself, it won’t matter if no one wants to do anything independently. You don’t leave room for disappointment if you commandeer the entire day.
This year the messages and small gestures have meant way more than any other year. There was no huge siren of a theme party reminding everyone that was my day. I didn’t blast out invites and force eyeballs to my page. Instead I sat back and watched people who care about me send well wishes. That's a more self-reflective tone than any of the facials, goals setting, and candles I could have tried.
Not succumbing to the birthday burden has shown me that people care, and, in this climate, that's way more valuable than any theme party would have been.
Next year I hope I'll be back to the usual antics, but for now 26 is coming in as a slow burn. Whether or not it will go out in a blaze of glory remains to be seen, but I have a whole new year to plan.
As a final note, I want to thank all of you who regularly read these newsletters - that's a birthday gift in and of itself! I'd be remiss to send this out without including at least one positive note for the year ahead. My goal is to keep growing My Side Piece at least until my 27th birthday. Your feedback has been amazing, so please keep sending notes! I might not be able to see my friends in person, but I can still show up in your inbox. For this year, that has to be enough.
