Birthday blues? Why my big day is the ultimate rejection therapy

Every year, Chanté Joseph dreads it, but every year she also plans a lavish celebration while consumed with anxiety that nobody will show up. So, what would a psychologist have to say about ‘birthday blues’?

For my 29th birthday this year, I continued a long-standing tradition of dragging my friends to a fun activity. In the past, I have organised pole classes, aerial hoop lessons, and once even arranged skydiving and zip-lining experiences for my mates. This year, we celebrated at Overgravity Gymnastics for a two-hour session of tumbling and flips, followed by dinner at Emilia’s. Bringing my friends together to celebrate my birthday and seeing them all gathered in matching T-shirts just having fun fills me with immense joy. It’s just a shame that the run-up to my birthday is an entirely different story.

In the weeks before the big day, I am overcome by fear, worry, and panic. This kind of intense anxiety even has a name: birthday blues. Don’t get me wrong, I know ageing is a gift and the alternative to not having a birthday is a grim fate which we will all meet one day, so there really is a lot to be grateful for.

However, that doesn’t stop a huge number of people from feeling a wave of sadness at what is supposedly a joyful time of year. The reasons many people feel blue on their birthdays are plentiful: a fear of ageing, wasted time, feelings of self-doubt, comparison, and societal expectations of what a birthday should look like. For me, they embody the biggest fear of all: rejection.

Mark Vahrmeyer, a Brighton-based psychotherapist, describes birthdays as “culturally embedded” and that by celebrating them we are “affording them significance and meaning [and] we are participating in a proposition which gives us self-worth and a sense of belonging”.

It is easy to see why not celebrating your birthday or having people not show up for you can make you feel deeply unhappy and rejected, as if there is something wrong with you.

What we also don’t consider is what Tasha Bailey, therapist and author, calls our “birthday story”. “Everyone has a ‘birthday story’,” she tells me. “It’s shaped by how past birthdays felt, whether you were celebrated, forgotten, or somewhere in between. Those old feelings can show up again each year. Try journaling about what you’re feeling now and the memories they might be linked to. It’s a gentle way to unpack what’s really going on and what’s being triggered.”

For me, birthdays are a constant reminder of the fraught relationship I have with rejection. Remembering the times my friends at school would stop speaking to me for no reason. Or the times I’d see everybody hanging out and be left wondering where my invite was.

These are small things, but when you add them up can make putting yourself out there feel daunting, which is why every year, sending out birthday invitations feels like a referendum on my social status. Every “yep, can’t wait!” feels like a validation of my coolness, and every “hmm, not sure if I’m free, I’ll get back to you” feels like a punch in the throat. A non-response to my carefully crafted “breezy” birthday WhatsApp invite is enough to plunge me into a spiral of self-doubt and angst.

I know that these things carry such little weight in the grand scheme of things, but they can feel blisteringly painful. I now know that this is partly due to the way my brain is wired. My brain is just not made for birthday joy.

I have a diagnosis of ADHD, and as much as it is about executive function – most commonly associated with tasks such as time management, memory, and self-organisation – it is also about emotional regulation.

Birthdays can be great fun, but for some, the lead-up is defined by anxiety (Chante Joseph)

Rejection Sensitivity, the idea that even thinking about being rejected can feel physically painful, is prevalent among those who have ADHD. The mere idea of celebrating my hypothetical birthday and people not showing up is enough to send me into a doom spiral. I then fuel this mental state by convincing myself that people who are usually very fond of me suddenly hate me. None of this is true, it just feels that way.

Even asking people to celebrate my birthday feels close to begging. And this feeling isn’t reserved just for special occasions. For me, asking people for anything feels hugely vulnerable and exposing.

I am also overly conscious that we’re living in the era of the low-maintenance friendship. It is now seen as emotionally insensitive and disrespectful to demand too much from your friends; cancelling last-minute plans is acceptable if you’re just not feeling it. We are the “self-care generation” after all.

And herein lies a very modern paradox. Ultimately, nobody wants to be inconvenienced, yet we all yearn for the joy of community, companionship, and try to disguise painful feelings of loneliness.

‘By taking the risk and seeing the people who do show up, I always end up having an incredible birthday’ (iStock)

I grew to internalise the idea that asking for things made me “needy”, and so if I am asking anything of anyone, I feel that it is my duty to make it as easy as possible for them to say yes. I have tried to make hanging out with me a seamless, low-maintenance experience. When it comes to my birthday, my MO is to do the work and make all the plans so that people feel like they’re gaining something more than just my company. I am trying to make myself and the day rejection-proof.

If it is all so excruciatingly exhausting and painful. Why, you may ask, do I put myself through it and even bother to keep celebrating at all?

Put simply, it is because the only way out is through. By giving people the opportunity to show up for me and celebrate my “special” day, I am doing my bit to combat all the internal negative beliefs I have about myself and my relationships.

And you feel inspired to not skip out on your birthday this year and don’t feel quite ready to invite 17 people to gymnastics then, as Baily recommends, ‘go small: a meaningful birthday isn’t about how many people show up. It’s about how seen and supported you feel by the ones who do. If big parties feel overwhelming, break it up into a few relaxed dinner dates with a smaller crowd. You’ll create more intentional, low-pressure moments that actually feel good.”

Chante Joseph with friends at one of her birthday celebrations (Supplied)

She also recommends celebrating yourself first. This looks like “Write yourself a birthday card or letter. Reflect on the year you’ve had – the highs, the lows, the growth. Putting it on paper can feel grounding and take some of the pressure off others to make the day feel special.”

By opening myself up to rejection, I can see that it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I didn’t die because someone didn’t turn up; they don’t hate me because they couldn’t make it.

Most importantly, by taking the risk and seeing the people who do show up, I always end up having an incredible birthday. My celebratory sensory overload is dialled up to 10. If I gave in to the thoughts in my head, I’d spend every year under the covers ruminating on the saddest moments, wondering why no one was ever there for me. But sometimes all you need to ask.

Do you hate to celebrate? Let us know in the comments below...