Last week was my birthday. The day before, I recorded this video for TikTok, where I finally admitted something I’ve been masking for decades — I don’t like birthdays. In fact, I kind of hate them.
It’s only now, with the clarity that comes from understanding my Autism and ADHD (AuDHD), that I’m seeing the full picture. For years, I told myself I enjoyed them — the celebrations, the cards, the gifts — but that was all part of the performance. The mask. Now the mask is slipping, and underneath it is a quiet, tired truth: birthdays are hell.
There’s the performance of it all. The expectations. The pressure to smile, react the right way, and say the right things. The small talk. The hosting. The social mapping and mental prep that goes into every interaction. For a neurodivergent brain, it’s exhausting. It’s not just “a day.” It’s a project. And not a fun one.
Then there’s gift-giving—something that should be lovely but so often feels loaded. especially when it’s used like a currency by people who need to be seen giving and need to make a statement. The narcissist’s gift isn’t about you—it’s about them. You’re just a stage for their performance.
I love my family. But even that love comes with demands. When people come to celebrate you, you become the host. And if you’re like me, that takes planning, masking, and emotional labour. I have to map out conversations in my head, brace for overstimulation, and plan for sensory fallout. Honestly? I’d rather just not.
The TikTok video got a lot of response. Turns out I’m not alone. Misery loves company — and in this case, the company was comforting. It validated me. I needed that.
But the validation didn’t stop my body from reacting. By the time the day rolled around, I was so worked up that I made myself physically ill. IBS flared. My stomach felt like a rugby team had used it for target practice. I got a headache so intense I started hallucinating, losing sense of where I was. I couldn’t eat. I was dizzy. I wanted to vomit.
And then I had to do it anyway.
The small talk. The gift-receiving. The correct responses. The “thank you” messages. All while fully masked. I got through the day, but I was a wreck at the end of it. I needed a whole weekend to recover — just to feel remotely human again.
And even now, the Facebook messages are still looming. I don’t really use Facebook anymore, but there they are — little social obligations piling up in digital form. More pressure. More performance.
Some people gave me good advice — plan to be away for your birthday. Create a bubble. Protect yourself. Make sure there’s no demand. And I think that’s what I’ll do next year.
Because guess what? Next year I turn 50.
And everyone is already expecting a big hullabaloo. A party. A gathering. A celebration.
But I’m not sure I want one.
What I want is to feel okay.