The Birthday I Let Myself Matter: Another legacy of Boarding School?

Birthdays. For most people, they're a cause for celebration. For me, they've been a minefield of complicated emotions for most of my life. I thought it might be helpful to share what happened this summer as I had a breakthrough that took me nearly 50 years to reach.

A few months ago, in what I call my "adult part," I decided it would be nice to arrange a get-together with friends for my birthday. I'm turning 50.  Everyone else seems to do it, so maybe I can this year.......

Friday morning arrived, and suddenly my angry teenage part was in full control. She showed up to my sea swimming group, where my friends had planned to celebrate me. Someone had even made me a cake.

"You can bring the cake, as long as there are no candles," I declared. "Don't you dare sing happy birthday to me."

I laid down my rules of what was acceptable and what wasn't. Then, to these patient friends, I explained all the reasons I've hated birthdays for most of my life. They triggered a deep childhood feeling that I didn't matter.

Boarding School

When I was sent away to boarding school, everything changed. School became my home, my friends became my family. But my birthday fell during the school holidays, which meant I was alone. In those days before mobile phones and the internet, there was no one to remember, no one to call. I felt forgotten and that I didn't matter.

To manage that crushing disappointment, I learned to lower my expectations. Who needs birthdays anyway? I convinced myself that wanting to be celebrated was pathetic, attention-seeking, cringy. It was easier to reject the whole concept than to face that hurt again.

The Self-Sabbotage Cycle.

In recent years, I've made attempts to celebrate my birthday, but somehow I always ended up in the same place. Feeling unimportant, like I didn't matter. A few years ago, I realised the role I was playing in this pattern.

Instead of acknowledging that late July is a busy time when people go on holidays, attend weddings, or head to festivals, I would send out invitations just a week beforehand. "Sorry, I can't make it," would come the inevitable responses. Each rejection felt like confirmation that I wasn't important enough to prioritise.

My wiser adult self could see the truth: if you want a celebration at the end of July, you need to give plenty of notice. But unconsciously, I was sabotaging myself, creating situations that would confirm my deepest belief about my own worth.

One of the Hidden Costs of Privilege.

Many former boarders struggle with asking for help, let alone asking to be celebrated. There's a complex contradiction at the heart of the boarding school experience. On one hand, you're told you're receiving an amazing opportunity that other children don't have and that you're privileged, special, and that your parents are making a great sacrifice for you.

Intellectually, you might understand this narrative. But what's hidden underneath is how it feels, week after week, to not held in mind by your parents. Many children believe that once they drop them at school or put them on that plane or train, they're forgotten while they get back to their own lives.  That your school report grades matter more than your well-being. 

Many boarding school parents are former boarders themselves, simply repeating generational patterns of emotional suppression and detachment. The message, though unintended, becomes clear: you don't matter enough to keep close.

Birthdays, like other childhood milestones, often get missed when you're away at school. What should be a common celebration for children becomes another reminder of what you're missing, another reason to lower your expectations.

So this Friday, my angry teenage part went on a rampage. She told everyone why she hated birthdays and did her best to push away those who wanted to show love and celebration.

These people heard me. They listened. They empathised. They understood why I felt the way I did, and they didn't reject me for it.  One of them even created an angry "I hate birthdays" song for me. 

"Don’t make me blow the candles
Don’t sing that stupid song
Don’t stare at me like I owe you
For pretending nothing’s wrong
Yeah, I like gifts - who doesn’t?
But not when it’s a trap
If you want to give me something
Let it come without the clap."

That night, I was able to put my teenage self to rest and wake up as my 49-year-old self, ready to be celebrated. I went to the party I had arranged and had a wonderful time with those who came. I even let them sing "Happy Birthday" without having a meltdown.

I'm still quite shocked by what occurred. It has taken me a long time to finally accept that my friends and family genuinely want to show me that I matter on my birthday and for me to let them in.

Some people couldn't come because they had other arrangements. But for the first time, I could see this wasn't a reflection of my unimportance. It was simply because it's the end of July, and people have lives, commitments, and other events.

Often, at the end of my courses, people realise that however much work they have done, there's always more to do. The journey continues, but we get better at noticing why we respond the way we do. We learn to soothe ourselves rather than shame ourselves, to share our messy parts with others, and to feel accepted despite our imperfections. This is what the journey of healing and growth is all about.

So here's my challenge: next year, go and have a wonderful birthday. Start to recognise how much you matter. If you find resistance coming up and if there's a part of you that wants to push celebration away, just be curious about it. What is that part trying to protect you from and what does it want to say?

You deserve to be celebrated. You deserve to matter. Those who may want to celebrate you now are not those who may have failed to offer you that love and belief when you were younger. 

If you're struggling with similar feelings around self-worth, celebration, or the lasting impacts of childhood experiences, know that you're not alone.  It's never too late to learn and really believe that you matter.