Celebrating your birth day
Tomorrow is the anniversary of my birth day. I didn’t slide quietly into this life. My poor mum had a pretty horrible time when her waters broke early. 48 hours later I was yanked into this world, not breathing. Our quick thinking midwife dislodged the phlegm and I’ve never been the same since…
My birth day used to be fun. Once upon a time I would wake on this special day full of anticipation of what the day would bring. What I knew was that it would be merry and I would receive presents that were well thought out – or least mostly well thought out. Not that it’s all about the gifts, it’s more that people had taken the time out to think of me and I acknowledged that I was a person of worth.
It all started to go awry when I met a certain Dickie Quick. He went to great lengths to tell me that birthdays and Christmas were a waste of time and he ‘didn’t do’ these days. He did occasionally buy me a card and some dreadful gifts. When I look back these were more about how much disregard he could demonstrate. What it did, that I hadn’t realised was serve to diminish my self-esteem, just another notch.
My 50th birthday was particularly painful. I’d tried to organise something way in advance and I had people tell me what they wanted to do. What about what I wanted to do I thought? In the end, I cancelled it all and sulked, like a child and that was that birthdays lost their sparkle. In hindsight, I was probably already feeling unloved, not by my friends, but the man I lived with.
Recently I’ve realised how much I have come to disregard myself on my special day. I feel it coming towards me like a train crash. I want to cry because apart from my mum it seems that no one cares. Of course, that is not true because friends care and everyone who is on Facebook knows how gorgeous it is to get all of those lovely messages from such kind people. No, this is something deep within me, that started with a man who went out of his way to destroy me. A narcissist that I allowed to slowly and insidiously crush me.
It’s funny how these events open up wounds that you thought you’d healed. How the fear washes over you when you least expect it. How failure pushes into your heart space screaming fucking useless bitch. This should be behind me and for the greater part is. It is simply days like this some scummy grommet crawls out of a tiny nook, to torment me.
Two years ago, I actually had a pretty awesome birthday with friends in Granada. We stayed in a fab apartment near the Alhambra, visited the Arab quarter and drooled over all of the pretty things and naturally we drank wine and scoffed tapas. It was a fabulous birthday, only tinged with sadness when my friends went home. Last year I went out to dinner with friends and that was also a lovely evening.
So why do I still have this odd feeling? Whatever the reason, tomorrow is the day that I honour who I am and get this lump in my chest out, which still cries not good, loved, or wanted enough. Tomorrow is the day that I wake up and remember to spoil myself – every day.
I have learned that life is to be celebrated, regardless of what others think or how they behave. We can smile wryly and comment on our lessons and becoming better people because of the crap. Yeah, that may be true, but what about taking some reflection time to consider the why we are here and what a blessing life is? Every day is a special day in the arms of Mother Earth and Father Heaven, none more than the celebration of the day that you were born.
What might it be like to live life as if you were celebrating your birth day every day? This is my notice to take this on board.
If tomorrow was your birthday what would you be doing? What suggestions do you have for the perfect birth day celebration?
Derechos de Autor: Imagen por StockUnlimited