Birthdays: many people look forward to them. Many don’t. I belong to the second group. We all have our reasons. Mine goes back to childhood trauma.
I don’t remember many joyful birthdays. Either someone would get hurt that day or shortly before, or something would go wrong. So I learned to avoid celebrating my own. I wanted to protect myself from disappointment and possible disaster. As I grew older, I became comfortable with not telling anyone about my birthday. It was easier to let the day pass quietly than to hope it would feel different.
This began to change a little once I got married. My family learned to keep it simple: just us, my favorite morning coffee, and a present. I loved it. I felt safe and protected, although somewhere inside, I was still thinking, “It will be over soon anyway.”
They didn’t ask why, and I didn’t tell the story. Back then, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I only knew that I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday and didn’t know how to enjoy that day. I had buried the memories and hoped they were gone. As long as I didn’t have to celebrate, I felt safe from the fear and hurt I associated with it.
I won’t pretend other people’s birthdays were always easy for me, either. I was happy for them, but I didn’t know how to express it naturally or how to behave. Sometimes I would be too excited; other times, not excited enough. I often felt awkward, as though I was learning something everyone else already knew.
I recognized this pattern, but I didn’t understand it. For years, I ignored it and carried on.
If you are new to this site, I have been working on self-realization, shadow work, and what I experience as trauma release. For me, this means looking at the feelings, memories, and parts of myself I had pushed aside because they were too painful to face.
At a certain point in my life, it felt as though a door had opened and I could no longer go back to hiding behind the same protections. I had to look at my life, from childhood until now: my experiences, my mistakes, and the hurt I was still carrying.
For the past three years, I have been trying to understand what happens within me. My spiritual journey has included kundalini experiences and exploring what I understand as wounded feminine and masculine energies. More recently, my attention has turned toward the wounded masculine and my fear of abandonment.
As I began to understand the relationship between ego, body, and mind, I started noticing how often fear shaped my reactions. My mind could become noisy and argumentative, full of “what ifs,” trying to protect me before anything had even happened.
Through my faith, I also began to recognize a quieter presence within. I understand this as Atman, the soul: the part of me that can observe an emotion without becoming completely lost in it. It is where I feel connected to Jesus, to God, to the Universe, to Oneness. Finding that quiet does not mean the pain disappears, but sometimes it gives me enough space to understand what I am feeling.
This summer, I felt it was time for a deeper wound to come into the light, for me to face it and begin to let it go.
Someone I met said to me, “Grow up. You are not little anymore. Let go of the childhood trauma.” Yes, she was right that I am no longer that little girl. Her words stayed with me. But knowing that I am an adult and feeling safe within myself are two different things. I am still learning how to bring them together.
Then came my birthday.
It was Monday morning, and I was alone at home. I planned to work until 4 pm, go for a bike ride, and perhaps buy myself a sweet treat. A quiet day, something familiar and manageable.
Then my dad appeared unannounced at my door.
His arrival and the conversation that followed brought fear and hurt. I felt unseen. Memories from the past came back, together with feelings that are still painful in the present: that I am not enough, that I am not wanted. In that moment, it was difficult to separate the woman I am today from the little girl who had felt those things before.
For the past year, I have lived mostly in isolation, working remotely and having little contact with people. Sometimes an encounter brings an emotion to the surface that I thought I had already put behind me. In the beginning, this was difficult to understand. Through my faith, I began to see some of these moments as opportunities to notice what still needed care, as though God was encouraging me to take another step forward.
That Monday, I tried to remember this.
Usually, a conversation like that would have left me overwhelmed. This time, I managed to remain about 50% calm. Yes, I am still a work in progress. Part of me could recognize what was happening, while another part was deeply hurt.
I used to call that hurt my ego. Now I can also recognize the old wound beneath it. The feeling was familiar, but familiarity did not make it the truth about me. Feeling unwanted did not mean I was unwanted. Feeling that I was not enough did not mean I had to prove my worth.
I could understand this, even if I could not fully feel it yet.
This birthday did not go as planned. I would have preferred my quiet day and bike ride, but the experience showed me something I could no longer ignore. This part of me still needs attention. Avoiding my birthday had helped me feel protected, but it had not taken away the fear.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to look forward to my birthday?
For me, letting go would mean no longer waiting for something painful to happen simply because it is that day. It would mean allowing myself to enjoy my coffee, accept someone’s kindness, or make a small plan without feeling that I need to get through it as quickly as possible.
During this period, my physical health has also worsened. I cannot know exactly what has caused the changes in my autoimmune symptoms, but I have felt emotionally overwhelmed and physically unwell at the same time. I am trying to give both the attention they need, without assuming that inner work alone will resolve my health problems.
Since my birthday, I have felt as though I am still on high alert. I am reminding myself that the encounter is over and that there is goodness in my present life. I have an amazing job, I work from home, and loving people are nearby. When I don’t see them, someone calls or stops by, often just when I need it. I experience those moments as reminders from God that I am cared for.
Remembering this doesn’t immediately settle everything inside me. Still, it helps me return to the life I have now. I can be grateful for that life and acknowledge that something hurts.
If you are doing shadow work or trying to understand old wounds, you are not alone. Being able to speak with someone who listens kindly can mean a great deal. Not everyone will understand your experience, but you deserve support without judgment, whether that comes from someone you trust or a professional who can help you work through it.
My faith remains part of that support. I feel that God is with me, even when I struggle to feel His presence. I am learning to be gentler with myself and to accept that understanding something does not always mean I can change it immediately.
Two books that have accompanied these reflections are The Power of Now and When the Body Says No. They have given me things to think about as I continue finding my own way.
I realized that I am not a little girl anymore. Yet my inner child still carries emotions I have identified with for so long that I sometimes don’t recognize them as feelings from the past. I simply believe this is who I am.
Learning to recognize those emotions and loosen their hold is a process I am looking forward to. I want to let my inner child jump for joy, free from the past. Perhaps, one day, my birthday will be a day we both look forward to.
