🥂 Let’s Toast To That : She Got a Ring. I Got a Fellowship. Guess Which One Got a Party?

📖 Book Title & Author

More Than a Woman by Caitlin Moran

🔥 The Toast Moment

“It’s only when you stop being applauded that you realise how much you relied on the noise.”

And when I passed my fellowship exam — after years of sweat, sacrifice, and slow-burn survival — I expected at least a ripple of noise.

But the silence was deafening.

And it made me pause.

Was this what achievement sounded like?

This… quiet?

Surely not.

There’s an entire industry built around celebration — 🎈 balloon arches, ✨ themed Pinterest boards, 🧁 fondant cakes. So why did this moment, something I worked so hard for, arrive without even a whisper?

Why do some wins get standing ovations, while others — just as hard-fought — barely register at all?

🥂Why It Deserves Toast

I have a sister.

She’s beautiful, emotionally fluent, and the kind of person who can plan a picnic and a Pinterest board simultaneously.

By 24, she’d ticked off every major relationship milestone like it was a laminated checklist — dating, engagement, marriage — all before starting her first full-time job.

Meanwhile, I was out here collecting degrees like Pokémon cards and building a LinkedIn profile that reads like I peaked at 26 and never emotionally recovered.

By the time she was walking down the aisle in her custom gown, I was knee-deep in my third toxic job — surviving off vending machine almonds, caffeine, and ✨ unhinged ✨ willpower. We both worked hard. Just in very, very different directions.

And here’s the thing: we both hit major, arguably once-in-a-lifetime milestones.

But the recognition? Oh honey. Not even in the same hemisphere.

She got everything — the bridal shower, the engagement party, the kitchen tea, the dream wedding, the recovery brunch. People flew internationally. Group chats were renamed in her honour. Strangers congratulated her in cafés like she’d just been knighted.

Me? I passed my fellowship exam.

The kind of exam that consumes your personality and crushes your spirit. That demands you memorise obscure legal acronym like it’s your love language and cry over flashcards while brushing your teeth.

When I told people?

I got a polite nod and:

“So… is that like a Master’s?”

I’m not saying I wanted a balloon arch and a cake with my name in cursive fondant. (Although I would have accepted both.)

I just didn’t expect the nothing.

I didn’t realise how much I’d been relying on the applause.

Because the truth is: the world still throws louder parties when a woman is chosen than when she chooses herself.

What I’m Spreading on This

This isn’t just about fellowships and weddings.

It’s about the hierarchy of celebration — and how women’s professional achievements still sit quietly at the bottom of it.

Get engaged? Boom. 💥 Five-tier celebration plan unlocked. There are florals, Canva invites, and cocktails named after the couple.

Land a promotion? You might get a Teams emoji and a “nice.”

It’s wild.

We tell women to chase ambition, invest in themselves, build a life they’re proud of — and then reward them more loudly for being picked than for picking themselves. We act like independence is admirable… but only up to a point. After that, it starts to make people uncomfortable.

Especially if it’s a woman doing it alone. Especially if she’s not smiling through it like it was effortless.

So I made a rule: I throw the party.

My friends get a toast when they pass an exam, land a job, quit a terrible one, publish something, or simply survive.

They get dinner. They get cake. They get clapped for. We give speeches. We write cards. We do the whole thing — even if it’s just over dumplings and ginger beer.

Because if the world won’t build a stage for women’s solo wins, I’ll build the damn stage myself.

With glitter. And good lighting. And a guest list that gets it.

💬 Final Crumb

My sister got a diamond ring.

I got a bunch of acronyms.

One of us got a catered buffet.

But I wouldn’t trade my path.

It was quieter.

But it was mine.

And while the applause might be missing — the achievement isn’t.

The pride isn’t. The growth isn’t.

So if no one claps for the girl who studied, survived, and still showed up?

🥂 I will.

🎉 I do.

Let’s toast to her.

Let’s toast to that.