My husband and I are not big fans of birthdays. While we’re grateful to have lived well into our seventh decade, birthdays are really, on an unconscious level, the birth trauma all over again. Few of us have felt welcomed into the world. Most of us, as we traveled down the birth canal, heard our mother’s screams and strange voices telling her to push. We felt her vulnerability and we may have felt guilty for causing her so much pain.
When we finally arrive into a world of harsh light and cacophanous sounds, many of us were slapped on the rear end while held upside down.
We may not have been put on our mom’s belly right away, but were whisked away to be weighed and vaccinated. We felt estranged from she who carried us all those months.
Especially as we grow older, many of us realize the sacrifices our mother made for us. We may feel sad that we could not have done more for her while she was alive, but the truth is, we cannot repay our mother for all she did for us.
So it’s no wonder we put candles on birthday cakes. The light welcomes us into the world another year and while we are glad to be here, for the gifts life brings, we cannot forget our day of entry. I for one prefer to feel what I’m feeling and to let the day unfold the way it wants to. That may include watching the birds from the window or going for a walk with my camera. My husband and I know to let the other be and if we need it, we’ll make a cup of tea or offer an open ear.
birthday feeling the moon’s age