I'm not a wife, or a mum - will I ever be celebrated again?

The biggest lesson I've learned at 40, is that we have a duty to honour each other as we get older...

I may look classy here, but you should know that I threw up the entire of the next day…

It was my 40th birthday bash Friday night.

I’ve always had a tricky relationship with my birthday. For starters it’s on a crap day (January 3rd) when everyone is partied out/doing ‘dry January’/ broke/ hibernating/on holiday which has meant that celebrations have, at times, felt a little flat. As a child my family and I would be in India during my birthday, and there too they felt lacklustre - partially because birthdays aren’t a big deal in my family, but also because the cake in India tastes like sh*t. When back home in Wales, I’d watch with envy as my friends' families would organise these huge colourful parties for them just to celebrate them being alive. One friend’s family took it to an extreme I admired; they painted most of their house blue for an underwater party.

That level of birthday dedication is quite an alien concept in Indian culture (in my experience) where to be truly celebrated requires you to achieve an accolade of some kind; like getting top grades or a place at the best medical school. Nothing I achieved - like writing for national magazines at 15, or winning multiple writing competitions - was worthy of celebration, so in turn I never celebrated myself, either. It’s why being recognised and celebrated by others means so much to me, even now - I find it so very hard to do it for myself.

Little did I know, aged 4, that this gift was an empty box - talk about harsh.

It wasn’t all bad, I did have some amazing birthdays as I grew up. My 19th was excellent because it ended up being a bit of a ecstatic year-group reunion in our local Walkabout bar (for non-UK residents, this chain of bars is truly awful - they found a human turd on the dance floor at this particular location once) after we’d all been at university for six months. I spent my 21st in La Plagne on a university ski trip where I ended up partying with friends I didn’t know that well, but all of whom made a huge effort to decorate our chalet (I’m still so touched by it, to this day.)

My 30th was also brilliant; a cross section of people in my life who came together to get wankered at a dive bar I loved. Facebook reminds me of it - and my status update the morning after - every year: “Guys, last night I lost my shoe and there’s nothing in my handbag. Does anyone have my stuff?” Even my lockdown birthday more recently was fun- my dear friends organised an incredible, mostly zoom-based day, complete with homemade cake, a singing Elvis and a hilarious quiz. I’d not really expected anything at all; maybe that’s the key, even beyond birthdays. To just to expect nothing and then (hopefully) be pleasantly surprised. But what links all of the good ones, is people making an effort and showing up just because they get to have another year of being your friend - how brilliant is that?

My 30th, and a birthday motorboat from my friend Nat.

Between those great birthdays have been plenty that have felt like a non event, or worse, a disappointment. After that 30th birthday party, each year I noticed the dropout rate increase and the effort people used to make started to wane. I first noticed it happen with my male friends; as they became coupled up, it seemed like they forget their mates (sorry boys, but this is a well-known pattern of behaviour.) Then, as people get married their friends take less of a precedent in their lives seemingly giving them another reason to bail.

The birthday death knell comes when they have babies or relocate, ensuring you won’t see them for a birthday cocktail or dance floor shimmy ever again, attending your birthday becomes so low down on their priority list - and truthfully, you can be made to feel it. Each year, the drop out texts start trickling in, building to a snow flurry of ‘sorry, I’m [INSERT EXCUSE HERE] - often on the day of the event itself which leaves you feeling emotionally ruined by the time the party starts (send your apologies the day after, I say.)

As an unmarried person you spend a vast amount of time (and money) celebrating other people at their engagement parties, hen dos, weddings, baby showers, christenings and their kiddies birthdays. All of which is fine, but it can feel like you seldom get a return on the investment. It isn’t about monetary recompense, it’s enough to just honour the unspoken promise to always show up to your birthday to celebrate you, no matter what.

This drunk, aged 27

Gradually, we seem to stop valuing birthdays in adulthood. They become optional, as if the invite reads, ‘Attend if you can be bothered, or the weather is nice, otherwise don’t worry about it.’ Can you imagine - for a moment - if a wedding invite or baby shower said that? Sure we might each only have a finite amount of weddings, or babies, so they’re not every year, granted. But what if you don’t have a baby or a wedding - will you ever be celebrated again?

Birthdays are one of very few celebrations that aren't attached to these traditional (and traditionally heteronormative) milestones. They celebrate us just for being here, not because of something external, like marriage or kids, and as an adult that’s so rare. In one of my more traditional friendship groups, it really struck me how the moment there’s a marriage or a baby, it’s followed by a host of gifts and celebratory events that are almost expected. But other milestones like getting a puppy (and keeping it alive), buying a flat on your own (which btw is so hard), or even when my book deal was announced in the press, just didn’t seem to elicit the same form of celebration. That’s not to say they weren’t pleased or proud, but our societal conditioning has ensured that if it’s not attached to a partner - or a part of that traditional female journey - then it’s not worth celebrating. You’re not worth celebrating.

Aged 29: the shots have obviously just kicked in.

When I had my book launch party last year it struck me how uncomfortable I felt about being celebrated and the centre of attention, because of my childhood experiences, but also because it just isn’t something that happens if you don’t hit those aforementioned milestones. As we get older, the opportunities to have people make a fuss over you really dwindles into oblivion, but we stay silent. Perhaps it’s not spoken about because to expect people to come to your birthday as an adult makes you seem self obsessed, perhaps even immature or petty - and by 40 you should certainly know better. Perhaps it’s that lingering societal pity attached to single women especially those over 30, that manifests in how little you (and your own achievements) are celebrated.

This birthday has made me realise just how crucial it is that we celebrate our friends birthdays and achievements outside of those traditional milestones and to celebrate each other outside our societal roles in life like wife and mother too. We need to celebrate those amazing new jobs, or that a friend has switched industries or is launching a new business. Divorces and breaking up with the wrong person are cause for celebration. Embarking on solo travel adventures, or getting the all-clear after a medical issue deserve our cheer too. All of it does, because none of it is easy.

Older, but not that much wiser tbh….aged 40.

There’s another beauty-related bonus to celebrating each other more. Generation after generation of women have been sold the idea that their entire worth lies in their appearance. I think part of the antidote is making sure we truly cherish and mark each other’s accomplishments, no matter what. We might start to become invisible to society, seldom seen in ad campaigns and or in films, but to know our friends value and celebrate us makes all the difference. It reminds us that our value lies in our community and our relationships, rather than how young/thin/appealing to the male gaze we look.

We all deserve to be celebrated just for being here, for being valuable and on every birthday until the very end. But I’d love to know what you think too…

Much love…

PS: Thank you to everyone who came to my party, I felt very loved indeed.