Happy 32nd birthday to me.

Due to my blog receiving higher traffic than usual, my therapist (two sessions ago) encouraged me to keep writing as frequently as I could, as now is the time to capitalize on my readership.

I told her, “I actually have several topics I am inspired to talk about.” Spoiler: I have written about ZERO of them since that session.

I continued, “However, I am never going to write just for the sake of clicks, because for me, the most important characteristic of my writing is its authenticity.”

She said, “What else do you do authentically?”

I thought and thought and thought, and I finally landed upon, “Well … everything. I believe myself to be an authentic person in all areas of my life. It’s one of my better traits.”

Today is my 32nd birthday. It was a pretty cool experience to go back to my blog from last year and see where I was mentally (which, unfortunately, was a much better place than where I feel today). You can read that here.

That said, I felt the NEED to write a blog, even though I don’t FEEL like writing.

“It will be cool to write a blog every year!” I said to myself.

So, I tried.

It was all rubbish. I gave myself permission to table this.

I didn’t have a therapy appointment scheduled today, but due to my current mental state, my therapist was able to get me in for a last-minute appointment.

Some appointments (okay, most) I cry. Usually, it’s halfway through or at the end. Very occasionally, I get through an appointment tear-free.

I assumed my therapist was caught a little off guard by my instant sobbing when I sat down instead my normal composure, so I provided some important context:

I said, “Today is my birthday. I hate my birthday.”

She asked, “What is causing so much grief around your birthday?”

I said, through my sobs, “I am 32 years old, and my life didn’t turn out at all how I planned. I have NOTHING figured out.”

She said, “Is that true? That you have NOTHING figured out?”

I sighed. “Logically, no.”

“Then do you think it may be beneficial to drop that intrusive thought?”

The obvious answer was … yes.

To me, birthdays feel like a eulogy of the prior year. And that’s a hard pill to swallow when on the surface, you can’t see or feel tangible evidence of accomplishing much – when you read a blog you wrote from 365 days ago, and you don’t know where that optimism and hope is at the moment. When earlier today, you were literally Googling, “Can I choose to not be depressed?” and “Can I force myself to be happy?”

I don’t want to be a party pooper on my own birthday, but I have worked really hard at giving myself permission to feel my authentic emotions – to have grace with myself.

Today, I am sad. And that’s okay. I may look back at THIS blog in 365 days, and THIS author (me!) may feel unrecognizable.

This blog feels a bit scattered with no real angle, but I suppose that’s an accurate representation of how I feel … lost.

But anyway, happy 32nd birthday to me!