Imagine this: you open your mailbox and find an invitation to a loved one’s birthday party weeks in advance.

You clear your calendar, spend time selecting a great gift, and prepare to celebrate this special person. The day arrives and every detail is cared for: colorful decorations, delicious food, and a beautiful oceanside setting. You can’t help but feel joy rising in you as other guests begin to arrive.

It’s party time! There’s only one problem. The guest of honor never arrives.

As the event goes on, the invited guests begin to take notice. Multiple attempts to contact the birthday person are met with silence. Someone shouts “We’d be crazy to let all this go to waste!” and encourages everyone to start eating and drinking. Conversation picks up and music begins filling the air. Soon enough, everyone is caught up in the energy of the party.

But you can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss.

The point of the party was to take pleasure in a friend’s birthday.

How can we honor a person when the person of honor won’t show up?

This imaginary tale makes an example of what emotional withdrawal looks on the inside. Maybe you know a person (or maybe you are a person) who struggles to receive compliments, accept kindness, or embrace a chance to delight in you own presence. Maybe you know how to put a smile on your face in the moment, but internally you’re packing your bags and vacating the premises until the spotlight passes over you.

The hard truth is that celebration is a struggle for those of us accustomed to accommodating others.

When we are used to focusing on others, celebrations can feel more like a paralyzing nightmare than a time for joy, pleasure, and shared delight.

As a textbook people-pleaser, it wasn’t until I entered my thirties that I stopped dreading my own birthday. What changed?

I realized two critical things:

1. I can celebrate on my own terms.

2. The people who genuinely want to celebrate with me will say “yes” to what brings me joy.

The first learning is connected to a larger healing journey of self-compassion, acceptance, and grace. I view celebrating my own life as the fruit of knowing deep down in my core that I don’t have to be perfect to be loved. And actually naming what brings me joy? That’s a sign that I’m done depending on anyone else to do the magical guess work for my own happiness. When we experience relational safety, we can love what we love without the fear of losing relationships.

The second learning is connected to the first. Once I can truly celebrate my unique presence in the world, I can invite others who love me to do the same. At one recent birthday, I gathered loved ones around and read a few words of affirmation to them, sharing the qualities I love about our relationship in a public way. Was it goofy? Definitely. Had I seen it done before? Never. Did it bring me joy? Absolutely.

Not everyone wants to give a speech at their birthday party, and that’s more than okay.

The beauty of learning to celebrate yourself with integrity is that you -and only you- get to decide how the celebration goes.

Maybe your ideal celebration is a walk on the beach with a donut in hand. Maybe traveling to a new destination or finding a thrill to check off your bucket list is your preferred way of honoring your life. Maybe celebration looks like an act of service rooted in joy instead of self-sacrifice.

When celebration is actually your choice and no longer a survival strategy, the options are endless and celebration becomes a chance to embrace your humanity.

In my imaginary story, I picture the ending going something like this…

After a few hours of partying, the sun sets and stars poke through the dark sky. You notice a bonfire being lit across beach and direct the group to make their way over to the fireside. Right at the edge of the circle sits the guest of honor, smiling.

“Where were you?!” the party goers ask, baffled that this person was so close to the fun the whole time.

The birthday person responds: “I was right here, watching everyone have fun, waiting for the right moment to start a fire.”

What’s your fire-starting moment? What could it look like to celebrate on your own terms?

Give yourself the gift of exploring what brings you joy with support. Your future celebrations will thank you.