How I Spent My Birthday and What It Taught Me

​Today is my birthday.

I didn’t have a party. I didn’t do anything big. On the surface, it was just another quiet day.

I woke up and checked on my husband, who’s recovering from dengue. He was feeling better, which I was grateful for. 

We went out for breakfast at our usual place.

I was happy he could eat normally again. 

We stopped by my favorite coffee shop, where I got a small birthday discount and some unexpected treats (biscuits and pudding from Japan). 

It was a sweet moment.

Then we went home to rest. He needed it.

I posted a video, replied to birthday greetings, fed my cats extra treats because it was my birthday and that felt right. 

In the evening, my family asked what we were having for my “celebration,” and I jokingly said we’d just do an online feast. 

I’ve never really been into big celebrations anyway, I can’t even remember the last time I had a birthday party.

Nothing was wrong.

And yet, as the day went on, I started to feel empty.

As midnight got closer, the questions got louder.

Was this day supposed to feel special?

Was I supposed to feel special?

What I realized is this: even on my birthday, I was still the one doing everything.

Checking. Deciding. Making sure everyone else was okay. Even choosing what to eat still fell on me.

And when you’re always the one carrying things... even small, invisible things... there’s no moment where you get to rest into being cared for.

That’s when the loneliness hits.

Not the kind where you’re physically alone, but the kind where you feel unseen. 

The kind where you’re surrounded by people, messages, and responsibilities, yet still feel like there’s no space for you.

I found myself asking questions I didn’t have answers to:

Why does a birthday sometimes make the quiet louder?

Why can I feel grateful and lonely at the same time?

Is being seen online the same as being held in real life?

When I tell myself I’m useless or unlovable,

am I telling the truth or am I just exhausted?

What did I need today that I didn’t get?

And why can’t I even name it yet?

Maybe feeling unseen doesn’t mean I’m invisible.

Maybe it means there’s a part of me asking to be met more gently.

If you’re reading this and quietly recognizing yourself in it, I want you to know this, and I’m reminding myself too:

You’re not ungrateful for wanting rest.

You’re not asking for too much by wanting someone else to take the lead sometimes.

You’re not broken for feeling lonely on a day that was supposed to feel special.

Some days, simply being here is already work enough.

And maybe that still counts...especially on quiet days.

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