Optimist vs birthdays
On turning 36
I love birthdays. They’re an excuse to celebrate being alive. And yet, they always remind me of death.
The world is heavy with loss right now, which certainly isn’t helping. It makes celebration seem wrong—defiant, even. But then again, survival itself feels defiant. Every scan that comes back clear, every plan I dare to make—it’s all an act of defiance.
Survival isn’t just living; it’s choosing to hope.
I’ve heard people say they don’t like birthdays because they dislike getting older, but I think it’s deeper than that. Isn’t a fear of ageing really just a fear of death?
I’m not worried about getting older. I quite like it, actually, especially as I’m deeply aware of the only other real alternative. Just the other day, I was scrolling through a Substack post when I saw a comment that stopped me cold. It wasn’t meant for me, but it may as well have been:
Friends, it got to me. It got to me in a way that I just wasn’t prepared for.
Questions flooded my mind:
Was this true? Was my breast cancer destined to return? Are all these lofty goals I’m making absolutely worthless?
I don’t have answers, but I do have a choice: I can assume I’m living on borrowed time, or I can assume I have a future. The latter seems a far better use of energy.
And as cancer survivors go, I think I’m doing pretty well. I don’t think about my cancer coming back all that much. Sure, it pops into my head every now and then. If I’m experiencing a weird new thing with my body—an eye twitch or an aching bone—there’s always that little niggling doubt: is this ageing or is it metastatic cancer?
I’m sure this is par for the course. And other than these few little hiccups, I feel relatively secure in my remission, with many significant milestones under my belt.
Still, birthdays make me think about death. How could they not?
Every birthday is an age Emily will never be. So I think about her. The sound of her laugh. The way she could find the silver lining of every cloud. The hopes she had that never came true. About who she’d be at 36. And about the other friends I’ve lost. About who I’d be if I’d never been sick.
There’s no good answer to any of this. I do know that.
And in the absence of answers to impossible questions, I must choose to live life in the unknown.
Is it possible to remember my late friends, think about death and also celebrate my small but happy life?
I do believe it is.
So, I will take a deep breath, blow out the candles, and make a wish. For my life, for my memories, and for all the days still to come.
Let's settle this now: Do birthdays make you think about death? 💀 🍰
Thanks so much for reading! Please hit the ❤️ button if you made it all the way to the end; it really buoys my sensitive soul.
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I’ll be back next week. Until then, thank you for reading, and take good care of yourself!
Emma
xx
Happy Belated Birthday, my sweet and beautiful friend. This was such an eye opening piece. Such a glimpse into the mind of someone who’s on “the other side” of cancer. Thank you for showing us that triggering moment and sharing the feelings it stirred. As always, your writing makes me think.
For instance, I’m getting married in June for the second time. I was previously married fur 26 years before my then-husband asked for a divorce. After that, I felt so broken for so long, convinced I’d never find love again.
Thankfully, after many tears and much therapy and writing, I did.
And still, even though I’ve moved beyond the trauma of that “breaking,” even though I’m so happy now, I still have moments that shock me. Will I screw this one up? Will my “real” self show and drive this one away, too? It makes me sad to have these flickers of worry and self doubt when my life has stabilized.
I’m always trying to catch my anxiety and name it, and this is a perfect example. I rarely recognize my thoughts as anxiety in the moment. Those doubts feel like so much like truth. But I’m learning.
And so, thank you for the reminder that it’s human and almost expected to slide into what-ifs. I suppose it’s our survival instincts protecting us.
For so long, I used to believe that I could conquer my anxiety. That one day, I’d be PAST it. I’m now of the belief that acknowledging and even welcoming that anxiety with curiosity and language (versus letting it live in my head rent free) is an act of resistance.
Thank you for the beautiful reminder.
Happy birthday! I loved this article. I would love to interview you for my Substack, as well. The choice to have a future is a huge one in cancer survivorship. Would love to discuss this.