Growing up, I dreaded summer break. While my friends smiled and screamed at the top of their lungs, “Thank God school is out!” I was secretly anxious, terrified, but mostly jealous. For me, summer break meant spending my birthday alone.
Most of my classmates and friends’ birthdays were during the school year. This resulted in our entire class joining in singing “Happy Birthday” when someone’s special day came, cake and ice cream being passed out during lunch, or someone bringing balloons and cards for each other. If someone threw a party, practically everyone in our class showed up. We’d dance to the “Cha Cha Slide” or something by *NSYNC for hours and filled our bellies with pizza or whatever snacks that were provided. Going to these parties and seeing the excitement on my classmate’s face when our peers sang “Happy Birthday” to them gave me the expectation that although my birthday was not during the school year, I would receive the same type of love. Only I didn’t.
My 13th birthday was the summer before my classmates and I started eighth grade. I had planned something big at my house for it. I wanted to have one of the best parties of the year/summer. My mom and I spent a lot of time coming up the invitations to give to my classmates before school let out and to resend over the summer. I thought maintaining healthy relationships with my peers throughout the school year and giving gifts to as many as them as I could to ensure that when my time came around, there would no hesitation and everyone would attend.
About three weeks before the party, I called everyone that I sent an invite to, to double check that they were coming. Only no one said they could come. I was devastated. I spent the whole school year trying to buy friendship, trying to be liked my peers just to know what it felt like to be celebrated. Maybe it was because I’m an only child on my mom’s side and I’m not close to my brother and sister on my dad’s side. I barely have cousins who talk to me. Not having anyone to celebrate my birthday with after majority of my classmates did during the school year was heartbreaking.
As each year passed, I continued to try to get people to celebrate with me but I could only get one or two of my peers to come. For a long time I thought I was the problem. That my peers just didn’t like me and my friends didn’t care about me. With my birthday being two days after Fourth of July, I eventually recognized that everyone was celebrating with their families or were out of town. But it didn’t stop me from feeling alone and like I wasn’t good enough. Instead, it made me start hating my birthday.
Each year when my birthday comes around, I still get this unsettling feeling. My stomach clenches tightly and my nerves are all over the place. I remember that devastating feeling I felt on my 13th birthday when someone doesn’t want to celebrate with me or doesn’t have the means to. While it may not seem like a big deal, it was to me. All I wanted was to feel celebrated by my peers.
Although I’ve never had the big lavish party like I dreamed of and wanted, I have grown to love my peace-of-mind and be grateful that I’m still alive and in my right mind. I just hope that one day, the unsettling feeling I have when my birthday comes around vanishes.
Maybe one day I won’t hate having a summer birthday.