Birthday triggers: navigating narcissistic expectations

The weight of birthday memories and narcissistic pressures.

With my birthday approaching, I would like to share why it has become such a triggering time for me. Although I hope this changes someday, it remains true for now.

Birthdays growing up

As a child, my birthday always felt magical - a rare day of no shouting, lots of presents, smiles and even hugs from my mum. Hugs! Without a doubt, it was my favourite day of the year, with Christmas coming in at a solid second. Not a close second, a definite second - my birthday was even more joyous than Christmas!

My mum would really pull out all the stops to make my day special. I felt truly spoiled but also guilty, knowing the financial strain her generosity caused - and the arguments that would follow. As a child though, the joy of the day overshadowed those worries.

When birthdays became a balancing act

As I got older, things changed. From my 18th birthday onwards, I wanted to celebrate more with friends than with family. I still wanted to include my mum - sharing a birthday dinner or spending some one-on-one time together - but I also wanted to enjoy a separate celebration with my friends. What seemed ordinary to me didn’t feel that way to her. Over time, it became clear that she viewed my choice as an “us versus her” situation, even though that was never my intention.

The change

By my late twenties, my birthday had turned into a day I dreaded. While I was excited to celebrate with friends, who knew me as someone who loved birthdays, I also felt enormous pressure to plan a celebration that centred my mum. Arguments and guilt trips would start weeks in advance. She wanted to ensure she was the focus of my plans, and it became easier not to mention what I might be doing with friends or my now-husband. I just couldn’t handle the stress.

Even when I included her in my plans, she would grow paranoid, convinced I was hosting a big party without her. She often hounded my brother before and after my birthday, trying to confirm I wasn’t celebrating in some noteworthy way that excluded her. Birthdays had once been joyful, but they turned into days of walking on eggshells, filled with pressure, guilt, and arguments.

A narcissist-free year

In 2023, I celebrated my birthday for the first time without any contact with my mum. It was early on in my decision to go no contact with her. Despite her “flying monkeys” messaging me to question my decision, I felt empowered to celebrate without stress. I had a lovely day, but she was on my mind constantly.

By Christmas 2023, I started reflecting on my first year without her. Truth be told, I hadn’t intentionally thought we would go that long. I had imagined that by summer I would see her at my niece's birthday, but she decided not to attend because of me. While I was relieved not to have any major drama at a child’s birthday party, I was sorely disappointed.

Why wasn’t she fighting for me and our relationship? Why wouldn't she just turn up at the party to have some kind of contact with me and my children? Or turn up at my front door and say sorry, she loves me and wants us to have a relationship? After decades of noise, where was that loud voice now?

It had felt as though she had given up on me, and on us, before even trying.

Caught between love and narcissism

I share this because, from Christmas 2023 to my birthday in 2024, she occupied my thoughts often. With the limited knowledge I had about her health at the time, I suspected her condition might be worsening. That frightened me. I started to think about what would happen if she did die before I had a chance to speak to her. Even thinking that made me realise I wanted to speak to her as soon as possible, but I was terrified.

I was terrified that reaching out would mean going back on my decision to end contact and open the door to more pain. I feared it would signal my acceptance of her bullying, but I missed my mum and hoping for those rare moments when things might be okay. Panic set in as I worried it was already too late, yet I felt paralysed, unsure of what to do or say. She scared me. Her words had the power to wound deeply, and I knew they could push me into a downward spiral if met with anything other than love, an apology, or at least a truce.

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In 2024, when my birthday came, I remember thinking, I want to see my mum. As I wrestled with how to make that happen, unsure of the best approach, I received a call saying she was in hospital - the same hospital where she eventually passed away.

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The weight of the unresolved

Now, I carry the weight my birthday already held, along with the painful reality that just last year, I told myself, “this time next year, I’ll be talking to my mum and spending my birthday with her.”

I’m crying as I write this. I’m heartbroken that I didn’t act sooner and that our history shaped the way we were with each other. Even though going no contact brought me peace and clarity, it will always carry a deep sense of heartache too.

Thank you for reading,
Chloe x