The Truth About My Birthday

I loved my birthday as a kid.  It was my favorite “holiday” of the year.  I would be so excited that I couldn’t sleep the night before.  It seemed like an eternity for July 22 to come around again each year.

Then I turned 18.  And I quickly learned that it’s just another day that you have to go to your job.  Sure, I was still celebrated, but birthdays sort of lost their luster…

Then I got divorced.  My first birthday after, my 24th, was the worst of my life.  It wasn’t until I walked into work and my secretary said, “Happy Birthday!” that I realized she was right.  I was in such a dark place that I forgot my own birthday.  It was devastating to spend a birthday alone after I thought I’d have someone to celebrate me “til death do us part.” 

Birthdays since then have significantly improved, but they still tend to become a reflective, pensive time for me.  And this year was no exception.  Thoughts like, I’m not where I thought I would be by 29 plagued me.  I’m not physically in the shape I want to be, spiritually in the shape I want to be, or employment-wise in the shape I want to be in.  I thought I would have been married by now… had a kid by now…written a book by now…be in a higher salary range by now. 

Unfortunately, Satan had a hey-day in that vulnerable little brain of mine.  And so, by the end of my birthday – a day I’m supposed to be celebrating my life – I was mentally bashing my self-esteem into oblivion. 

I realize that 29 is not 89 and that I (hopefully) still have a few years left to live my life and achieve some of the aforementioned milestones.  But I’m also realistic enough to know that I’ll probably never “arrive.”  In the meantime, I’m honestly not sure what to do with my feelings of unmet expectations other than try to trust that God has a plan…

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~ by Serena on August 6, 2010.

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