Does Tea Keep You Alive? A Birthday Reflection

I used to love birthdays but life has shifted in ways I never imagined, and special occasions often bring more emotional weight now than joy.

They remind me of the gap between how things are and how I once thought they’d be. They bring reflection, comparison, sometimes grief — not because life is bad, but because it’s complex.

So this year, instead of trying to force joy or ignore the hard stuff, I decided to meet myself where I am. I wanted to capture the truth of this moment — not just for today, but for the future.

That’s why I wrote this letter to myself. A message to read on my next birthday. A reminder of how far I’ve come — even if, some days, it doesn’t feel that way.

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To My Future Self

Today is my birthday. I am 42 years old.
I used to love special occasions.
But lately, they don’t seem to fit with our family anymore.
They bring a sense of anticipation that doesn’t suit my son, and so, it doesn’t suit me.

Last year 2024, my birthday was awful.
I was off work, sick, and convinced I was living through the worst days of my life.
This year 2025, I am better prepared.
I made sure to expect nothing of my birthday — to just let the day be.

But even without expectations, special occasions seem to invite reflection.
And so today, I can’t help but compare where I was, to where I am now.

The truth is, I am still in the hardest time of my life.
Not because things are bad — we have made so much progress.
I know now what my son needs. I know what I need to do to help him thrive.
Some days I do it well. Some days I fall short.
But I have learned to live with that.
Still, the weight of it all — the relentlessness of giving everything, every day — has pulled me down into the trenches and I just cant get out.

So I am writing to you from the trenches.
From the place where every day is survival.
From the place where I am existing, just barely.

The other day, my son asked me,

“Does tea keep you alive?”

And I laughed, because maybe it does. For me anyway.
Tea is my small comfort, my ritual.
It’s the thing I reach for as the world demands everything from me.
It’s a joke between us now. I say to him…

“If I don’t get my tea, I’ll die!”

Morbid? Maybe.
But somehow it lightens the load, even if only for a moment.

Still, the body keeps the score.
Physically I have been really unwell.
A cough, a cold, a lingering sickness that just won’t leave —
five weeks and its only just finally starting to dissipate.
No wonder he asked if tea kept me alive.
Even with my tea in hand, I sounded like I was dying.
And inside, part of me has.

Mentally, I have been struggling too.
And that feels strange, because we are doing better.
My family is a team.
We are making it work.
But now that I can see even a flicker of light ahead,
I realise how dark it has been for so long.
How much I have carried.
How deeply I have been changed.

Recently, I had the chance to do something just for me — something I had longed for.
I signed up. I was excited.
But when the day came, life pulled me back — valid reasons, of course, but reasons that don’t ease the hurt.
I stayed home, and I knew it was the right thing, but it still broke my heart.
Small as it seemed, it was a reminder:
That sacrifices are everywhere.
That my life is stitched together by compromises, every single day.

Even now, thinking about it, tears threaten.
Because it wasn’t just about missing one thing — it was everything.
Every tiny, unseen sacrifice.
Every time I chose someone else’s needs over my own.
Every plan quietly folded away.

The sacrifices you make as a parent are endless.
The sacrifices you make as a parent to a child with additional needs are infinite.
They are invisible to most people.
They happen in the quiet, in the unseen hours.
They are exhausting in ways I don’t have the words for.

My son is nearly 7 now.
And he is still extremely dependent. Extremely.
When he’s with me, he’s with me — every waking minute by my side.
He follows me from room to room, needing me always within arm’s reach.

Everything we do takes thought. Everything.
Planning.
Adaptation.
Every small success is built on mountains of invisible work.
And it’s working — it is.
But knowing that this will be my path for a long time,
and feeling the cost of it,
has sent me to the trenches.

And the trenches are a lonely place.
So fucking lonely.

There are people around me.
Good people.
But still — the weight of responsibility falls on me.
Always on me.

So to my future self, here’s what I want you to do:
On your next birthday, read this.
Sit with it.
Remember where you were.
And notice what’s changed.
Even the tiniest shift counts.
You don’t have to be out of the trenches completely — just breathing a little easier is enough.

I hope the days feel lighter.
I hope you’ve had some laughs.
I hope you’ve made space for yourself — even just one cup of tea’s worth.
Because maybe tea doesn’t literally keep you alive…
but those small, stolen moments?
They matter more than anyone knows.
So keep drinking that tea.
And if nothing else — if everything still feels just as hard,
then let this be proof that you’ve done hard things before.
You’re doing them now.
You kept going.
And that still counts for everything.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Me

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