I turned 34 this month, and I’m happy to say that my birthday was a wonderful day. I received gifts from my husband and mom, and cards and texts from friends and family. But perhaps my favorite thing I received that day was something I gave myself: permission to celebrate.
It seems like the older we get, the more we’re supposed to insist that our birthdays aren’t worth recognizing. We’re not supposed to request gifts or expect singing. I don’t know if this is because turning a year older can be a little scary, or because with age comes the expectation that we aren’t worthy of a fuss.
Well, I am worthy.
And with age has come the realization that I don’t need to wait for someone else to throw me a party.
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