Bittersweet Birthdays
It’s my birthday in a couple of days and I have to be honest — most years I fake the enthusiasm and party vibes for the sake of my family (and especially my kids).
It’s not about getting older, I feel old on my kids’ birthdays more than my own and I generally feel like time is running out all year long. 😅
For me, it’s about grief.
My Grandpa and I were born on the same day — October 27 — and every year we celebrated together. My Grandma would bake us a cake (it was also their wedding anniversary) and we’d blow out the candles. Our bond was unshakable. And to this day, he remains the only man in my life that ever made me feel truly loved, accepted, and safe.
My heart aches for him more on my birthday than any other time of year — even the anniversary of his death.
There are other deaths (2) and traumaversaries that happened right around my birthday and grief seems to be a bottomless rabbit hole once you get going. It’s always the time of year when the losses feel heaviest.
So, stepping into the joy and excitement of birthday parties and cake can feel…awkward. To be the centre of attention (which is never fun) when I really just want to hide under a weighted blanket.
Birthdays are bittersweet.
A mix of joy and grief, gratitude and discomfort, laughter and tears, wisdom earned contrasted with everything I haven’t figured out yet — and I feel everything all at once.
I will still smile and celebrate with my kids. I will still try to pause and soak up all the love from friends near and far who bless me with their birthday wishes. And this year, I’m determined to embrace the bittersweetness that shows up alongside brightly coloured paper and buttercream icing.
Do you find birthdays bittersweet? Tell me I’m not the only one in the comments below.
