Let’s Get This Out of the Way

Yes, I expect to feel special on my birthday.
No, it doesn’t take much.
And yes, I’m fully aware I sound like a birthday snob.

But here’s the truth behind the spell:

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I Shared Everything Growing Up—Including My Damn Birthday

I share a birthday with three family members, two high school classmates, and (for extra chaos points) my ex–stepmother-in-law.
My birthday has never been mine alone.

As the oldest sibling, I was the high priestess of hand-me-downs.
I shared toys, attention, snacks, rooms, and even the blame.
So now? I crave a single day draped in my own energy.
One day where the universe turns the mirror back to me.

Just one.
That’s the spell I try to cast each year—
and every year, it fizzles.

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Here’s What My Ideal Birthday Looks Like

I don’t need a golden chariot or a full moon ritual (okay, maybe a tiny one).
I don’t want confetti storms or a flash mob.

I just want:

• A card
• Some flowers from my husband
• A gift made with my kids (with his help—because I do that for him)
• And a simple question: “What would you like to do today?”

And truthfully?
I’d probably say, “Let’s go out to dinner. Then come home, cuddle, and watch a movie with soft blankets and full bellies.”

No glam. No glitter. Just love that feels intentional.

But that spell never gets cast.
Last year, my husband said “Happy Birthday” a day late.
Poof.

When the Day Feels Less Like a Celebration and More Like a Curse

Facebook birthday wishes have dwindled to family.
The only person I didn’t mind sharing a birthday week with—my Grams (born on the 22nd)—is gone now.
And when she left, the last bit of birthday magic went with her.

In 2022, I finalized my divorce on my birthday.
As if the universe whispered,
“Here, have freedom—but pay for it in grief.”

So yeah.
It’s “just another day.”
But it shouldn’t be.

A Deep Cut From Childhood

I was around six or seven when my dad’s mom decided we’d have a joint birthday at her house.

We walked in, and the cake read:
“Happy Birthday Karen”—not mine.

All the presents? For her.

That’s when I learned:
Some birthdays aren’t for the one being born.
They’re for the ones who demand the spotlight, no matter who’s meant to shine.

That sting never left me.
It settled in my bones, right next to the part of me that still blows out candles in silence.

Meanwhile, I Am the Fairy Godmother of Birthdays

For my ex-husband? I conjured everything.

• Threw a surprise party at his mom’s work
• Invited long-distance friends who drove hours
• Projected Mario Kart on the wall
• Played board games all night
• Baked custom cupcakes
• Made it a whole enchanted evening

Another year? We flew to Myrtle Beach. Not because he asked, but because I wanted to make his day feel epic.

He’d say, “You don’t have to do anything. I just want peace and quiet to game.”
But I did it anyway.
Not because he asked—but because I was trying to fill a void.
One I hoped he might someday want to fill for me.

He never did.

So Yeah, I’m a Little Protective of My Birthday

Because I’ve had it stolen.
Shared.
Forgotten.
Drowned in silence.

Because I have made rituals out of other people’s joy.
And just once, I want someone to create a sacred little moment for me.

Not a parade. Not a crown.
Just a day where someone says,
“You’re worth celebrating. Let me show you.”

🎂🖤 So yeah. Maybe I’m a birthday snob.
But after a lifetime of being the giver of light—
I think I deserve a little fire of my own.

Even if it’s just a candle.
And a cupcake.
Under a sky that finally remembers:
I was born, too. ✨