🎂 Happy Birthday to Everyone But Me

Let’s talk about birthdays. Supposedly the one day a year that’s yours. A celebration of your existence. A moment where people pause and say, “Hey, you matter.”

Except… mine never felt like that.

Growing up, my birthdays were dressed up in glitter and distractions—skating parties, pool parties, balloons and cake—but they were never mine. I wasn’t allowed to invite friends. Not unless Sarah could. My birthday was a stage for everyone else’s spotlight. I was the background character in my own celebration.

And then came my 18th. The one that still echoes in my bones.

My mom was sick. I was doing everything—cooking, cleaning, surviving. Sarah promised she’d help. Said she’d pick me up from school, do something nice. But she “forgot.” Not because she was overwhelmed. Not because she was busy. Because she didn’t want to stop at the store.

So my dad came instead. He surprised me with Taco Bell and took me shopping for my favorite meal—meatloaf and mashed potatoes. We picked out a cake together. That moment was the closest thing to warmth I had that day.

Then I got home. The place was a disaster. Sarah hadn’t lifted a finger. She didn’t make dinner. She didn’t clean. She didn’t stay. She left to hang out with her friends.

So I scrubbed the kitchen. I cooked my own birthday dinner. I lit a candle in the cake I bought myself. And I whispered “happy birthday” to myself.

All while still being mentally abused by my mom.

I went to bed early. Not because I was tired. But because I wanted the day to disappear.

That was ten years ago. Ten birthdays have passed since. And honestly? Most of them have felt the same. I have had exs not remember my birthday. or not care.

But here’s the twist.

Now they include Izzy. And Izzy doesn’t forget me.

She FaceTimes me with that chaotic energy that makes everything feel lighter. We laugh until our cheeks hurt, until the ache in my chest softens. And when she says “happy birthday,” I know she means it. There’s no performance. No obligation. Just love.

They doesn’t need balloons or a party to make me feel seen. They just shows up. And that’s more than anyone else ever did.

So yeah, my birthdays still carry ghosts. But now they also carry laughter. And real friendship. And the kind of love that doesn’t ask me to shrink.

And maybe that’s enough.