It's my birthday.

It's my birthday.

And I'll cry if I want to.

Seriously.

I've always wanted to be the girl who is so effortlessly chic about her birthday, but I have to come to terms with the fact that I'm not.  My birthday presents strong emotions that I don't feel any other time of the year and as much as I don't want to admit it, I'm a weirdo about my birthday.

It's something that came on later in life.  Though, it has very little to to do with age.  I've always wanted to be older than I am.  I'm the youngest of three and absolutely abhor when people refer to me as young, so I've waited a lifetime to be thirty (still a year away).

It's the pressure.  The idea of a "birthday" and how it needs to be So Much Fun.  I am fully aware that it is my own insecurities flying high that make me feel this way, but no other day makes me as crazy.  Unfortunately it's also the one day that people pay the most attention.  Me being crazy and people paying attention isn't necessarily the best combo.    

I refuse to let expectations get the best of me for my birthday.  In fact, I refuse to let expectations get the best of me this year.  I know that's slightly redundant, but this is my goal.  I fully recognize that my own unhappiness is in direct relation to my expectations.

This I shall change.

And next years birthday (30!!) will be the better for it.

photo via pinterest