In defence of birthdays.

When did you stop celebrating your existence?

It’s my birthday in exactly one month, on August 14th, so it seems like a good time to publish this :)

I LOVE BIRTHDAYS. My own and other people’s. All my life birthday celebrations have been tricky because my birthday is bang in the middle of the summer holidays. When I was a child my friends were away with their parents and rarely around for my birthday - and that is not much different now. Since I have lived in three countries and have friends on all continents, it’s not like I can bring them all together in one place every year anyway. So my birthday tends to look different every time, surrounded by different people. Sometimes that is lovely, sometimes it makes me a bit melancholic.

I am one of those people who love stretching their birthdays. I will have a date with a different friend every single day in August and call them all “birthday celebrations.” Celebrations for me are not necessarily about spending obscene amounts of money. It can be as simple as seeing as many dear friends as possible, near and far, which is something I try to do every year during my birthday month. I accept congratulations and gifts all of August, not just on my actual birthday. Every year during my birthday week the perseid meteor shower takes place over the course of a few nights. I love watching the biggest shooting star night of the year with friends. I like to call this event my personal birthday gift from the universe. You get the gist. I love celebrating a new year of life. I love calling and texting my friends at midnight on their birthdays or waking them up really early, I love singing to them. I love seeing their face when they open a gift and laugh at their birthday cards, because I have a passion for weird, rude cards. Birthdays are my favourite thing. Because they are just about love.

But the older I get, the more I feel judged for making my birthday a big deal. You and me both know many people who hate on people who have “birthday weeks” and who tell you to “grow up” and stop being obnoxious.

Why does being a grown up equate to not getting excited about birthdays? Why are they seen as childish? I would argue that even excitement in itself can often be seen as childish. And indifference as mature. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Do you remember when you stopped celebrating your birthday? When does it start becoming annoying to others? You almost have to be apologetic about loving your birthday, the older you are. You are not allowed to make it a big deal, unless it’s a ‘big’ birthday like 30, 40, 50. But please don’t shout about turning 27 or 41.

This essay by

Anita Bhagwandas

is phenomenal: I am not a wife or a mum - will I ever be celebrated again?

It really highlights the fact that single, childfree people are rarely celebrated, unless they reach a big achievement. So if we don’t celebrate them on their birthdays, when will we? At their funeral?

Anita illustrates perfectly how much money we spent on our friend’s weddings and on their children over the years. Flights, hotels, engagement dinners, baby shower gifts - (some of my friends have 5 children ok!) for them to not even show up when we, as single childfree people have a birthday event.

It seems way easier to say no to a birthday invite than to a wedding invite. Because this is what we have chosen to prioritise in our society. After all, you can celebrate your birthday next year right? I can come to the next one.

Can we though?
None of us know how many birthdays we have left. Every one of your friends birthdays could be the last one you attend.

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Something I have been pondering is why so many people hate celebrating their birthdays.

I know that for some, birthdays are traumatic events. Maybe growing up they were not celebrated at all. Maybe their caregivers were not present. Maybe they didn’t have friends to celebrate with. So the day is always tainted and painful. That is understandable.


But I believe one of the main reasons we feel silly celebrating our birthdays as we get older is that our birthdays are not achievements. We didn’t earn them. They are not about something we did - they are just about us.

Could it be that we (by we I don’t mean me) are uncomfortable with celebrating our birthdays because we don’t feel worthy of celebrating our sheer existence?

We accept being celebrated for things that are always connected to other people and things: A proposal. A job promotion. A pregnancy. A wedding. A new job. A house. You scaled Mount Everest. You ran a marathon. You published a book. That seems ok, because after all, we earned it, we worked for it and we are following the template laid out for us, which means acceptance into the ranks of society.

When you don’t chase any of those things, it feels like you have to prove your worth to the world so much more. Prove that you are worthy of celebration.

I think many people feel uncomfortable being celebrated for simply existing because we are raised to work hard for a reward.

Do you believe you are worthy of celebration? Do you believe your existence is enough reason to celebrate? Not to mention that aging is an incredible thing. Think about all the people you love: I am sure you are endlessly grateful for every day you get to spent with them. They feel exactly the same way about you. So isn’t our time here on earth worth observing? Worth marking each year that we get?

In my opinion, birthdays are the most pure and most important celebration in a humans life. They are not about what you do but about who you are. No achievements, no conditions, just being loved for existing.

When did you stop celebrating that?