Birthdays are supposed to be a celebration. That’s what the greeting cards say. That’s what the TV shows show. That’s what our friends insist when they post confetti emojis and cupcake GIFs.
But for many transgender individuals, birthdays don’t always feel like something to celebrate. Sometimes, they feel more like a reminder of everything we’ve had to survive, another year where we were misgendered, overlooked, and erased. Another year of not being seen. Another year of smiling through it anyway.
And as I write this, it’s my 56th birthday.
To be clear: I know birthdays are a part of everyone’s life. We all have them. They come whether we want them to or not. But for transgender people, especially those of us who transitioned later in life, birthdays can hold an extra layer of emotional weight, an invisible burden we carry under the surface, even when we try to make the best of it.
Sometimes that weight comes from others. Sometimes it comes from ourselves. But today, I want to speak openly about what birthdays mean in the lives of so many transgender people and why they can be harder than most folks realize.
The Birthday That Wasn’t About Me
When I was a child, I used to look forward to my birthday the way most kids do. I would hope, just hope, that this would be the year someone would see me. Not the version they had in their head. Not the boy they expected. Me.
But my birthday is in early July, which means every year it collided with the Fourth. Balloons in red, white, and blue. Cakes shaped like American flags. Fireworks that were meant for the country’s independence, but not mine.
And so what might’ve started as a day meant for me always seemed to morph into something else. A cousin’s visit. A barbecue. A party that was suddenly patriotic, not personal. Over the years, I stopped hoping it would be different. Even when there was a party, it wasn’t for me. I was just another backdrop.
And then there were the gifts.
I can still remember one year, desperately wanting the newest Barbie, the one with the little pink convertible. Instead, I got a new baseball mitt. There were matchbox cars. Army figurines. Little reminders of who they thought I was supposed to be.
That was the year I started practicing the smile. You know the one.
The polite thank you. The controlled voice. The way you train your eyes not to give away the sting of disappointment. The way you rehearse gratitude so well, you almost convince yourself you’re grateful. I learned to be thankful, even when it hurt. And if you’re trans, chances are you’ve done that too.
Why Birthdays Can Be So Complicated
For cisgender people, a birthday is often a time to reflect on how far they’ve come or how much they’ve grown. For many transgender people, it can be a reminder of how far we had to go just to be allowed to exist.
There’s something about another year ticking by that can make you look back on the ones where you didn’t get to live authentically. The birthdays where you had to play a role. The ones where you made a wish you couldn’t say out loud because someone might laugh, or worse, punish you.
Even now, after transition, birthdays can stir a strange kind of grief. Not always because of the past directly, but because of the accumulation of moments we never got. The 7-year-old girl who didn’t get her tea party. The 16-year-old who didn’t go to prom as herself. The 25-year-old who avoided the mirror because her body wasn’t home yet.
And those ghosts don’t just go away with time. They grow with you.
Sometimes, when people say, “Happy birthday!” I smile and nod, but inside I feel like I’m carrying a stack of photographs I never got to take.
Being Forgotten Hurts More Than You Think
Some years, my birthday just… wasn’t remembered.
Maybe it was overshadowed. Maybe it was just lost in the summer shuffle. But more often than not, no one really made a big deal out of it. And if they did, it didn’t feel like my birthday they were celebrating.
This is why Sixteen Candles always hit me so hard. That whole movie centered around a girl whose family forgets her birthday, and while I didn’t relate to all of it, the feeling of invisibility? Of being skipped over? Of waiting for someone to notice and no one ever doing it?
That part felt achingly familiar.
There is a specific ache in being forgotten, especially when you’ve spent so much of your life being unseen on purpose. Being forgotten on your birthday feels like the world confirming that you were never meant to matter. And when you’re trans, that message has often already been whispered to you a thousand different ways.
Learning to Make It My Own
It took me a long time to realize that birthdays weren’t going to magically become beautiful just because I transitioned. I still carried the grief. The memories. The complicated mix of celebration and sorrow.
But now, I try to make the day mine.
Not for anyone else. Not for Facebook posts or parties or public attention. Just mine.
That might mean spending the day alone on purpose, taking myself to a quiet café, or walking around a city I love with my camera, letting the light land where it wants. Some years, it means writing. Other years, it means watching old movies that once made me feel seen when nothing else did.
I’ve stopped hoping for the kind of birthday I wanted as a child. That version doesn’t exist anymore. But I can build something new in its place. Something more honest. More real. More me.
What If You’re Not Ready to Celebrate?
Let me say this clearly: It’s okay if you don’t want to celebrate your birthday. It’s okay if the idea of marking another year brings more pain than joy. It’s okay if you feel numb about it. Or angry. Or lonely. Or all of the above.
You don’t owe anyone a party. You don’t owe anyone gratitude for being born into a world that hasn’t always welcomed you.
But you do deserve compassion. And if that compassion only comes from yourself this year, that’s still something sacred.
Tips for Navigating Your Birthday as a Trans Person
If your birthday is complicated like mine, here are a few thoughts that might help:
Set Expectations Early
Let people know what you want or don’t want. You are allowed to say, “I’d rather keep things low-key this year.” You’re allowed to ask for a certain kind of celebration, or none at all.
Plan Something Just for You
Maybe it’s getting your nails done. Maybe it’s going to the park in a killer outfit. Maybe it’s sitting at home with your favorite food and music. It doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be yours.
Grieve If You Need To
Birthdays can stir up old wounds. That’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that you’ve lived. Give yourself permission to cry, to write, to remember, and to feel.
Find Your People
Even one person who sees you, really sees you, can make all the difference. Reach out to that person. And if you don’t have that yet, know that you are not alone. There are trans folks around the world feeling exactly what you are.
Reclaim It, Year by Year
If it helps, think of your birthday not just as a celebration of birth but as a marker of survival. You made it another year. In a world that often tries to erase us, that alone is worth honoring.
For Those Who Love a Trans Person
If you’re reading this and you love someone who is transgender, please understand that birthdays may not always be joyful for them. Please don’t take it personally if they don’t want a party or seem distant when you wish them a happy birthday.
Sometimes, we’re not rejecting your love. We’re just managing our ghosts.
But if you want to help? Listen. Ask. Show up. Not with the loudest voice, but with the kindest heart. Sometimes the best gift you can give us is presence. Not presents.
The Bottom Line
Today is my birthday. 56 years.
It’s a strange number. Not round. Not flashy. Not a milestone by most standards.
But to me? It means I’ve made it through 56 cycles of learning to exist in a world that didn’t always want me to. It means I’m still here. Still becoming. Still writing.
And if today feels heavy for you, I hope you know that somewhere out here, another trans person is walking the same road beside you. Maybe we’ll never meet, but we are part of the same constellation.
You deserve love. You deserve joy. And even if your birthday doesn’t always bring those things, you are still worthy of them.
So take a breath. Light a candle, figurative or real. And remember: being here is already a kind of rebellion.
Happy birthday to you and to me. Even if we have to whisper it to ourselves.
