33 Candles

You know that feeling you get when it’s almost your birthday? The giddy, childlike anticipation for the moment you will blow out your candles, surrounded by your closest friends and family, and bask in the celebration of you?

Yeah, not me. I have hated my birthday for as long as I can remember. Cake and confetti? I’d rather not. I even tried to stop Facebook from announcing the dreaded day to the masses… to no avail. Truly, I have wished on many a star to just bypass March 31st all together. “Birthdays are like buttholes… everybody has one.” I have been known to state.

I am also a steel trap when it comes to feelings. That junk stays under serious lock and key. So, when attempting to unearth the heart behind my birthday aversion, I have largely come up empty. The most logical cause would be a fear of getting older. And this would make sense for many people- but not for me. Aging has brought more joy with each passing year. I was not a peaked-in-highschool girlie, quite the opposite actually. College was much of the same. But each passing year has brought more healing and purpose than the one before… so a fear of aging doesn’t fit.

Maybe, I thought, it’s a reminder of the goals I haven’t accomplished. I’ve always been highly achievement-focused, so am I just acutely aware of the “not yets” in my plan? A possibility, but still not hitting the nail on the head. I was at a loss, and the Marches ticked on.

This year, I stumbled upon the cause completely by accident. I was eating lunch with my sister-in-law. We had been talking for hours, nothing specific or especially noteworthy, and I asked her about her birthday. “I act like I don’t care, but I secretly would love to be celebrated. I think we all do.”

BOOM. There it was, out of the mouth of one of the most extroverted and well liked people I know. And as her words brushed up against an old wound that I wasn’t even aware of, the sharp pain took my breath away. I was reeling for days after. Could it be that all this time, hating my birthday was just a defense mechanism?

A birthday is a celebration of a specific person. Nowhere to hide, nothing to deflect the attention… all eyes on the birthday girl. It sounds sweet and sentimental for most, and terrifying for me. I have operated my whole life under the narrative that I am unlovable. Too much, too broken, and absolutely not worth celebrating. In recent years I have quieted that inner voice to a whisper… but old habits die hard. Turns out, even a whisper can be convincing when you were long ago hardwired for self hatred. All of a sudden, the lie I had claimed as truth was impossible to ignore: “You are not worth celebrating. Expect nothing, even demand it, to ward off the heartbreak of having it confirmed.”

I had been mulling over this epiphany for months before I finally had to confront it head on. It was the middle of March when my husband initiated the long anticipated conversation. And when asked what I wanted to do for my birthday, the well-rehearsed lines for dignity preservation fell effortlessly from my tongue. “Nothing. Don’t plan anything, I don’t want to acknowledge the day.” The exchange could have been over, taking with it any chance at the kind of vulnerability that leads to healing, but my husband tried again. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

I hesitated. A previous, unhealed version of myself would double down, or end the conversation all together. But then I surprised myself.

“I would love to be celebrated. The little girl in me would squeal at the idea of a surprise party, a cake with my name on it, and people who chose to spend their time investing in me.” It all came tumbling out, and I cringed at the vulnerability I had just displayed. I’m not sure what I expected, but the result was not shame… it was relief. It was disbelief that my own self-fulfilling prophesies were the chains holding me captive to loneliness.

This year, I have taken everything safe and comfortable, and thrown it out the window. I am learning to allow myself to be celebrated, and to even believe I am worthy of the attention. Turns out, staying the same was far more painful than the discomfort of risking rejection.

I don’t know what labels have seeped into your soul , or even what you think when you come face-to-face with yourself , but I would be willing to bet it is not what your Creator calls you. And unfortunately for most of us, life is a culmination of discovering and stumbling through various unhealed corners of our hearts.

Now, before you go blaming yourself, let me add this: your defense mechanisms served you for a time. Every disordered thinking pattern, every wall, every stiff arm that you adopted along the way wasn’t for self-sabotage… it was for self-preservation. You were trying to survive. But now that the dust has settled, it’s time to release that white knuckle grip. To remove those name tags. Now, we get to risk the rejection in order to feel the peace of being known and held by someone else. How exciting!

March 31st is a great day. If for no other reason than it’s the first day pen went to paper for the Story of Caroline. 33 years of crawling my back way from rock bottoms, and standing victorious on mountain tops. I won’t cheapen that story anymore. And if nothing else, I am going to celebrate another year of growth and healing like the absolute miracle that it is! One candle at a time. It’s my birthday- and I’m going to celebrate big.