I Spent My Birthday Alone and It Was the Best Decision Ever

this post should be titled how to celebrate your birthday when your whole life is falling apart

Birthdays are, well, complicated.

For me, they start getting complicated after age 10. Before that, birthdays were simple. There was cake, candles, a few friends, and a general air of excitement. But something shifted once I hit double digits. For me, birthdays stopped being a thing after I turned ten.

Once I turned ten, my parents decided that now that I was a “big girl,” birthdays didn’t need to be celebrated anymore. Maybe they thought wanting a party was childish, something that no longer aligned with my newfound maturity. I, of course, did not understand this logic. I still don’t.

Since then, my parents have occasionally offered to throw me a party on milestone birthdays: my sixteenth, eighteenth, twenty-first. But every time that time of the year rolls around, an inexplicable dread takes over, and I’ve never accepted their offer.

Birthday blues are nothing new. Everyone experiences them for different reasons. Maybe it’s the pressure to have a perfect day. Maybe it’s the looming reminder of time passing. Maybe it’s the expectations we place on other people to make us feel special, only to be disappointed when they don’t.

For me, birthdays don’t bring particular happiness, but they don’t bring sadness either. It’s more like my mood is held in limbo, entirely dependent on the people around me. And honestly? That only adds to my anxiety. I don’t want to spend the day worrying about whether others are having a good time or whether the plans accommodate their budgets, schedules, or preferences.

This anxiety is heightened by the fact that I expect thoughtfulness. Since embarking on a self-love journey, I’ve realized that I want my birthday to be meaningful, not just an obligation for others to check off their list. I want people to put real thought into it: into the gifts, the plans, the gestures. But that rarely happens.

I’m not someone who drops heavy hints about what I want each year. And even if I do, things don’t always turn out as expected.

And I hate the feeling of being let down.

Whenever I’ve celebrated my birthday with other people, I’ve found myself prioritising their preferences instead of mine. Their budgets. Their conveniences. Their idea of a good time.

On my 20th birthday, my mother told me we could go out to dinner but only if I chose a place that fit the family’s budget. On another birthday, I invited my flatmate to a dinner I had been looking forward to for weeks, only for her to bring her puppy along. We didn’t get entry to the restaurant, and my plans fell apart.

Instead of feeling special, my birthdays have always made me feel the most un-special I possibly could. And I dread that feeling. Because I know I deserve better, even if nobody else agrees.

reclaiming my birthday as “my day”

So, when my 27th birthday rolled around, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was going to spend the day alone. Not because I had no one to celebrate with, but because I wanted to make the day about me, for once.

The weeks leading up to my birthday had been rough. My anxiety was at an all-time high, and life wasn’t exactly being kind. But here’s what I realized: we can’t wait for things to be perfect. My life was messy, but I still deserved to celebrate my birthday meaningfully. Even if no one else did.

a month before my birthday

I started planning. If I was going to make my birthday feel special, I needed to be clear about what would bring me joy. So, I made a list of gifts I genuinely wanted—not just things people usually default to when they don’t know what to get, but items that felt personal and meaningful. This list included:

• Candles from Bath & Body Works, because scent is memory, and I wanted my space to smell like comfort.

• Books by Joan Didion, because her writing feels like a conversation with an old friend.

• Pinterest-worthy mugs, because I love the ritual of sipping tea from something beautiful.

• Silk scarves, because they remind me of a bygone era of elegance.

• Fresh flowers, because I deserve to receive flowers, even if they’re from myself.

I wanted thoughtful things, things that showed an understanding of who I was and what I loved. I used to feel guilty about asking for specific gifts, worried that it would come off as entitled. But I realized that if people wanted to gift me something, I might as well guide them toward things that would actually make me happy.

And thankfully, they asked. My parents, who usually just transferred money into my account with a vague “buy something nice,” actually took my list and bought every single thing on it. They even surprised me with a beautiful gold watch, something I hadn’t thought to include but ended up loving.

At the same time, I also made a list of experiences. Things I had been meaning to do but kept putting off. Cooking peanut butter noodles, because I had bookmarked the recipe months ago but never got around to trying it. Trying gondh dry fruit laddoos, a delicacy I had been curious about. Baking postcard-shaped cookies inspired by a Substack creator I follow, because there was something whimsical about eating words.

days leading up to my birthday

I prepped. I looked up recipes, bought ingredients, and made sure I had everything I needed to cook the meals I had been meaning to try. I researched things to do alone on my birthday, scrolling through blogs and forums for inspiration. I wanted to fill the day with small joys, things I could look back on and remember fondly.

The evening before my birthday, I cooked spicy peanut butter noodles, whisking together a creamy, nutty sauce with just the right amount of heat. I also made gondh dry fruit laddoos, rolling them by hand and pairing them with condensed milk for extra indulgence.

Finally, I baked letter-shaped cookies, carefully cutting out the dough and arranging each piece on the tray. As they baked, the kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla. Once cooled, I decorated them — some with sugar, others dipped in chocolate.

(All recipes are provided in the footnotes.)

It felt ritualistic, the way I moved through each step, the way I plated everything with care. Like I was setting the stage for a birthday that was entirely mine.

Another thing I had always wanted to do was have a photoshoot, something just for me, to document this version of myself at 27. I had spent so many years avoiding the camera, feeling awkward in front of it, feeling like I didn’t have the right to take up space in photos. But I wanted that to change. So, I started looking for photographers who could help me capture the day, someone who understood the kind of dreamy, effortless portraits I had in mind. It felt indulgent, but in the best way possible: like I was finally allowing myself to be seen.

I also worked on my mindset. Birthdays had always carried a certain weight for me, a quiet sadness built from years of feeling overlooked. But I reminded myself that I didn’t have to carry that sadness forward. Just because birthdays had been disappointing in the past didn’t mean they had to be disappointing forever. I could rewrite the script. This one was going to be different. This one was going to be mine.

the day itself

Here’s the thing: I had just started a new job a few weeks before my birthday, which meant taking the day off wasn’t really an option. I didn’t want to seem unprofessional so soon after joining, so I mentally prepared myself for a workday. Still, I made sure to bring little joys with me: I packed my favourite dessert and the cookies I had baked the night before, to share with my co-workers. A bouquet of pink lilies had arrived that morning, so I swapped out the old flowers at my desk for the new ones, adding a little brightness to my workspace.

And then, as if the universe had been paying attention, something unexpected happened — I got the day off. A last-minute schedule change, a stroke of luck, whatever it was, it felt like a gift.

With a free day stretching ahead of me, I decided to do something I had always wanted but never quite made time for: watching a movie alone at the theater. No coordinating plans, no waiting for anyone. Just me, a tub of caramel popcorn, and the kind of solitude that doesn’t feel lonely, only peaceful.

When I got home, I was greeted by an unexpected surprise. My best friends had remembered my birthday after all! Sitting at my doorstep was a carefully curated package: a bouquet of fresh flowers, a box of rich, fudge brownies, and a beautifully wrapped gift box filled with fragrances. It was thoughtful in a way that made me pause, taking in the warmth of the gesture.

They had picked things I would actually love, not just generic birthday presents, and that meant everything. If they were reading this, I’d give them a massive shoutout. But they have no idea this newsletter even exists. Which, honestly, makes their kindness feel even more special. They did it not for acknowledgment, but simply because they cared.

the weekend celebrations

Over the weekend, I finally indulged in a long-awaited photoshoot: a chance to capture a moment of self-expression that had been years in the making. It wasn’t just about the pictures; it was about celebrating who I am now and who I’m becoming.

I also booked an online tarot reading session to reconnect with myself on a deeper level. I took that time to reflect on the past year — which, let’s be honest, felt more like a relentless trial than a celebration — and to set clear intentions for the year ahead. It was a weekend of both creative expression and soulful introspection, a personal retreat that recharged me for whatever life throws next.

Then came a spontaneous cruise along the Hooghly River. The summer breeze was warm and a little unruly, playfully tousling my hair as I sailed past the twinkling cityscape of Kolkata. The city lights shimmered on the water, each glimmer a reminder that, despite all its chaos, this place is home.

To round out the weekend, I shared a cozy dinner at Biswa Bangla, a fine dining restaurant in Kolkata, with my mother. Between laughter and gentle teasing about my newfound birthday glow, I felt deeply connected and grateful — a reminder that even when I’m busy reinventing myself, there’s still space for genuine connection and a little indulgence.

what I learned

Spending my birthday alone didn’t make me feel lonely. If anything, it made me feel empowered. I wasn’t waiting for someone else to make the day special for me. I made it special for myself.

It taught me that I don’t have to rely on other people to feel celebrated. That I deserve joy, even when life is hard. That sometimes, the best company you can have on your birthday is your own.

ideas for spending your birthday alone

If you’ve been thinking about celebrating your birthday solo, here are some ideas:

• Take the week off and go on a vacation. Escape somewhere new, even if it’s just a nearby town.

• Book a photoshoot. Capture yourself at this stage of your life—you won’t regret it.

• Treat yourself to a spa day. Massages, facials, manicures—go all out.

• Indulge in a fancy meal. Whether you cook it or dine out, eat something decadent.

• Book a tarot reading or astrology session. Reflect, reset, and set intentions for the next year.

• Spend the day reading in a cozy café. Order your favorite drink and get lost in a book.

• Get your nails or hair done. A little self-care goes a long way.

final thoughts

Birthdays don’t have to be about grand celebrations, expensive gifts, or elaborate parties. Sometimes, the best birthdays are the quiet, intentional ones — where you do exactly what you want, on your own terms.

So here’s my advice: if birthdays have always made you anxious, disappointed, or just plain sad, try reclaiming them for yourself. You don’t need a room full of people to feel special. You just need you.

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Recipes:

1. spicy thai peanut butter noodle recipe

2. gondh dry fruit laddoo recipe

3. cookie recipe