Hi, my name is Shannon, and I hate my birthday.
Don’t get me wrong, during my younger years, I was among those who celebrated their birthdays for an entire week. I wore the crown and sash, and I made sure everyone within a 20-mile radius knew it was my birthday. Back then, it was about the friends, the photos, the outfits, the things we won’t ever forget with friends. We were carefree and living in the moment. We were young.
A lot has changed since becoming a mom. I am no longer the focus, but I don’t really want to be either.
If you’re a December baby like me, you may relate a little more. I am lucky enough to have my birthday fall a whole 13 days before Christmas. (No, it doesn’t mean double the presents.) Since having kids, the years seem to keep flying by, and the holidays feel like they come quicker and quicker each year.
When my birthday hits, it’s a sudden flood of “coulda, shoulda, woulda.” Have I done enough for my kids? Should I have put myself first in this situation? Could I have been a better mom, a better friend? I tend to go down the black hole of how I could have done things differently.
Here we are: an entire year of things I said I’d do but didn’t. I swore I’d be better, but I was the same. With the hustle and bustle of the holidays in full swing, there is simply no time to stay down in the black hole. Decorations need to be hung. Presents need to be wrapped. Magic needs to be made. Wallow in self-pity, and get over it.
As the time quickly approaches again, I am really trying to enter this season with a different mindset. I did do big things this year. I was always there for my kids. Was I perfect? Nope, but no one is. I showed my kids resilience. I showed myself resilience. For the first time in a long time, I believed in myself.
Maybe this will be the year where I break free from the bah humbug birthday and shift to a new era of me—the one who allows herself to be celebrated.
Or maybe I’ll try again next year. (Just kidding, I think.)
