We seem to stop valuing birthdays in adulthood. But actually, says Anita Bhagwandas, they take on fresh importance as we age
In my 30s, I noticed more birthdays felt like a non-event, or worse, a disappointment. After a wonderful 30th birthday party, each year I noticed the drop-out rate increase. The effort people used to make started to wane. I first noticed it with my male friends; as they became coupled up, it seemed like they forgot their mates. Then, as people got married, their friends seemingly took less of a precedent in their lives, giving them another reason to bail.
The birthday death knell comes when friends have babies or relocate, meaning that attending your birthday becomes low on their priority list – and, truthfully, you can be made to feel it. Each year, the drop-out texts start trickling in, building to a flurry of ‘sorry, I’m knackered/ run down/too broke’ – often on the day of the event itself, which leaves you feeling emotionally ruined by the time the party starts (send your apologies the day after, I say).
As an unmarried person, you spend a vast amount of time (and money) celebrating other people at their engagement parties, hen dos, weddings, baby showers, christenings and their kids’ birthdays. All of which is fine, but it can feel like you seldom get a return on the investment. It isn’t about monetary recompense, it’s enough to just honour the unspoken promise to always show up to your birthday to celebrate you, no matter what.
Gradually, we seem to stop valuing birthdays in adulthood, as if they become optional. But they are one of few celebrations that aren’t attached to those traditional (and traditionally heteronormative) milestones. They celebrate us just for being here, not because of something external, such as marriage or kids, and as an adult that’s so rare. In one of my more traditional friendship groups, it struck me how the moment there’s a marriage or a baby, it’s followed by a host of gifts and celebrator y events that are almost expected. But other milestones such as getting a puppy (and keeping it alive) or buying a flat on your own (which is so hard) didn’t seem to elicit the same form of celebration. That’s not to say friends weren’t pleased or proud, but our societal conditioning has ensured that if it’s not attached to a partner – or a part of that traditional female journey – it’s not worth celebrating. You’re not worth celebrating.
When I had my book launch party last year, it struck me how uncomfortable I felt about being celebrated. Firstly because of my childhood experiences – in Indian culture (in my experience) to be truly celebrated requires you to achieve an accolade of some kind; such as getting top grades or a place at the best medical school. Nothing I achieved – such as writing for national magazines at 15, or winning multiple writing competitions �
