It’s a dreary May day, the sun is hiding behind the clouds, rain drizzling from the grey sky and there is a slight (almost imperceptible) chill to the warm air.
Today is May 24th. I’ve always loved that number (Christmas Eve, anyone?!) but my absolute favourite number is 25. Why? Because awesome things fall on the 25th. Christmas, my birthday, Christmas, my birthday, you get the point.
Tomorrow is May 25th, my birthday (cue internal meltdown in 3, 2, 1…). Though this year, I’m really dreading it. Honestly, I think all of us, at one point in our lives, start to dread our birthdays.
Just think about it, sure, our hearts grow wiser but damn, wrinkles, grey hair, facing the daily ageism of a society that perpetuates young is better, a culture which feeds on the narrative that your life starts to end once you hit your late twenties. It’s a tidal wave against self-acceptance, a tsunami against liking ourselves.
Of course, there’s going to be some of you out there that will tell me, who cares? I can already hear a few of my friends tell me off for writing all of that. And that’s the thing, I don’t care. Most days. The caveat is that there are those days where I try not to care but I do. I don’t shame myself for feeling that way, what’s the point of making yourself feel worse when you already feel terrible about yourself?
My birthday is tomorrow (can I officially start screaming in terror now?) and I am trying hard not to overthink it.
Today, I’m okay. Tomorrow? Who knows? I’m probably going to feel horrible for an hour or two and then just realize, why fight something I can’t change? Radical acceptance has really helped me move forward and see the positives in my life. It’s one of those things that’s hard to do but also very empowering.
I’m trying to feel empowered about my birthday but I can’t help but ruminate on certain thoughts (that I’m well aware are very toxic, thank you, J.). A friend recently turned 25 (ah, the good ole’ days, am I right?) and I remember her lowkey meltdown texts I was receiving, “I’ve done nothing with my life”, “I still live at home”, “I don’t have anything to show off!”, “other people my age have their lives together”. Those are all paraphrases but imagine how I felt reading all of those, with my own birthday looming before me.
I’m turning 30, 30!!!! (okay, the exclamation marks made it worse) and I have those same thoughts. Except mine go further and of course, are more toxic, “everyone else I know has their lives together”, “I still don’t know what I want to do with my life”, “I’m pathetic”, “why am I such a mess?”, “I thought I’d have my life together by now”, “I thought I’d be someone different”, “I thought my life would be different”, ad nauseam.
I know my downfall is when I compare myself to others. I know I shouldn’t, they’ve never lived a day in my shoes (and I wouldn’t want to live a day in theirs), they haven’t survived and lived through what I have. I can’t compare myself to others when I am myself. Logically, I know that.
Yet, on some of my bad days, I do. It doesn’t help that being Vietnamese, there are always comparisons, “X’s grades are better than yours”, “Y is making more money/has a better job than you!”, this goes on and on. I don’t think anyone is aware of how insidious these comments are, I think their intent is to motivate. How is that motivation? I don’t know.
So tomorrow is my birthday and I’m turning 30. I can’t say that number aloud and I’m cringing as I type it. Radical acceptance, where are you right now? I’m turning 30 tomorrow. 30 years old. Okay, I still hate it. I was hoping I’d feel better writing it out but nope, I still feel terrible. I think it’s the number that’s scaring me.
In the past, I always rang in my birthday with dread and self-deprecation, dismissing the one day where I have an excuse to be even more hedonistic and over the top than I already am. Despite all of that, I never felt good about myself, or about life.
When I turned 16, then 18, then 21, then 22, then 23–every single age, every single birthday, I hated life and yes, I hated myself. Hated myself for something completely out of my control; growing up, growing older.
But now? Now, I feel better about life and about myself, more than I ever did but it’s the number: 30, that has me petrified and out of sorts. Today, acceptance is not going to happen but tomorrow? Even if it kills me, I’m going to smile, and be cheery, and eat as much junk food as I want.
In some of my friends’ eyes and in society’s terms, I’m a damn old woman (can I start shaking my fists in the air and yelling about the youths of today?) but I don’t feel that old. Except when I get up too fast, or when I have to bend down to change my dog’s water bowl at 5:30 in the morning…okay, I’ll stop there or else I’ll go on and on and then I’ll actually feel old.
There’s always going to be those toxic thoughts in my head but damn it, I’m not going to ring in my 30th birthday feeling terrible about myself. As far as I can remember, I’ve always celebrated my birthday melancholic and depressed but not this year!
This year, I’m going to smile until my face cracks and I’m going to laugh until my lungs burn. I’m going to be happy! You hear that, world? I’m going to be an old woman who likes herself!
I’m going to be a 30-year-old woman (ouch) who likes herself, has no clue what she wants to do with her life, is messy and beautiful, and eats way too damn much, and laughs way too damn loud!
My birthday is tomorrow and I’m going to be 30.
Honeysuckle Haiku 