Camp 32: How a Birthday Party Healed My Birthday Blues

The Birthday Blues Are Real

The Year I Gave Myself Permission to Be Celebrated

Over the years, March 4th has become a milestone marker for me—not just another birthday, but a moment that’s often met with a swirl of emotion. Every year, my phone lights up with “Happy Birthday, bitchhhh!” texts and memes that make me laugh, but under it all, there’s usually a familiar tinge of disappointment. The birthday blues, creeping in like clockwork.

As my birthday approaches, I tend to withdraw. In recent years, I’ve opted for solo travel or something low-key and avoidant. Part of it is how my social battery has changed since COVID. Another part is that I’ve never really felt properly celebrated—especially as a kid. My birthday always fell during spring break, a time when life picks up speed and everyone’s attention is scattered. The plans would fizzle, people would disappear, and I'd quietly accept it.

My girlfriend and I were born just eleven days apart, and she carries the same birthday blues. That quiet feeling of not being celebrated to the fullest. So we made a pact: for our 32nd, we were going to do things differently.

Turning 32 feels like a big deal. As an unmarried lesbian who doesn't want a wedding or kids, I don’t really get the milestone celebrations that society throws for other life events. No baby showers, no big white dress moment—so if I want to be celebrated, I have to create that moment for myself.

This year, I wanted something different. I wanted to be celebrated. I wanted to feel joy. (Even though I canceled the party in my head at least five times.) I hate being disappointed. What if people didn’t show up? What if it ended up being another reminder of how friendships have shifted over the past few years?

Still, I couldn’t shake the desire for something beautiful and playful. I wanted childlike joy. I wanted to feel curious again. I wanted to be surrounded by my people—who, thanks to my nomadic life over the last seven years (five states, a few international detours), are now scattered across the globe.

The Camp 32 idea was actually born years ago—originally pitched to myself as a future bachelorette party theme. (I’m not engaged. I’m just a marketer who loves planning things in advance.) But 2024 was a hard year. Really hard. There were moments when I genuinely didn’t think I’d make it to 32. So when it came time to celebrate, I asked myself: why not let people love me?

And that’s where it all began - Camp 32.

Turns Out, Letting People Love You Feels Really Damn Good

It took six months, 33 invites, and a few rescheduled dates to get to Camp 32.

We eventually landed on North Georgia—after vetting four different venues. It was the perfect midpoint: close enough for NC friends, peaceful enough to feel like a getaway, and close enough to Hartsfield-Jackson, one of the best airports in the US (I’m willing to fight about this opinion). In the week leading up to the party, I was equal parts anxious, excited, and deep in planner mode. The playlist had been finalized, last-minute confirmations went out to the caterer, and I braced myself for a flurry of “sorry, I can’t make it” texts. After all the planning, about 15 people did cancel over the course of 4 months—which, if you know events, is expected (that 20% rule is real). But damn, it still stung.

Forty-five minutes into my two hour and twenty-minute drive, it hit me. I was proud. Proud that I took control of my own moment. That I curated joy with my people. That I made space to be celebrated alongside my girlfriend.

Still, I was nervous. Would everyone mesh? Would the group dynamics be weird? We had a mix of college friends, our friend’s partners, and people from both of our circles. We spent weeks mapping it all out—strategically placing people in cabins, crafting a Bingo icebreaker that included everyone’s fun fact, hoping it would click.

And then—people started showing up. The hugs were deep. The excitement was loud. Someone called it “a Bri event,” and suddenly, all my anxiety dissolved. In that moment, the thought settled in: maybe I am worth showing up for.

Camp 32 wasn’t just a party—it was healing. Whether my “campers” knew it or not, something shifted in me. Since we’ve been back, I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

This birthday changed how I view birthdays, community, and being celebrated. Camp 32 reminded me that love doesn’t have to be earned. It can just… exist. And I can receive it.