Tomorrow is my son’s birthday, and like every year, it brings a quiet mix of joy, love, and gentle tension. Have you ever felt that mix of emotions? He’s sensitive and gets overwhelmed easily, by noise, by crowds, by attention that feels too big.
So, when I asked if he wanted a party this year, he shook his head. No friends, no loud games, no big cake with everyone singing. He just wanted us, his family, and something that felt safe and familiar.
I struggled with that at first. Not because I didn’t want to respect his wishes, but because I was worried. Worried that by not having a party, he might be excluded from his friends’ parties later. That he might feel left out in the long run. That people might see him as standoffish, or worse, start to leave him out of the social rhythm kids move through at this age.
Part of it was about me too. I love birthdays. I love the build-up, the decorations, the fuss, the joy of gathering people to celebrate someone they love. I cant help but assume that would make him feel special too.
But what brings me joy doesn’t always bring him comfort. He doesn’t like surprises. So instead of big reveals or hidden gifts, he makes a birthday list weeks in advance, carefully thought out, specific, predictable. It gives him a sense of control and safety.
He doesn’t like to talk about his birthday too much. Not like our other kids who count down for months. For him, anticipation builds anxiety, not excitement. If we mention it too often, he pulls back and doesn't want to acknowledge it at all.
I have to thread this impossible needle, tone it down, but still make it special. This year, we’re keeping it small and simple. Just us, no party, no loud celebrations. No forced excitement. In that quiet space, he’ll feel safe. He’ll be able to give his full attention to his carefully chosen gifts. And he’ll feel celebrated in the way that works for him.
These birthdays aren’t the ones I imagined before I became a parent. But they are what he can finally articulate that he wants. They’re teaching me, sometimes uncomfortably, to let go of the picture I had in my head and meet my child exactly where he is.
It’s not always easy. I still catch myself trying to add more, one more balloon, one more surprise, one more “fun” thing to make it feel right. And then I remember, it is right for him.
Tomorrow, there won’t be a crowd. There won’t be a big cake moment, but there will be lots of love. Maybe that’s the real gift, learning to celebrate someone the way they want to be celebrated, not the way we were taught birthdays should look.
What have you had to unlearn in order to truly show up for your child?
