Hunkering down
Since I was very small, I've loved Christmas - the blare of carols in stores, the family get-togethers, the snow, the food, the candles, the colors, the television specials, pageants, and concerts, the private and public rituals of the season. Decorating the Christmas tree is one of my favorite activities, and I tend to be surprised that so many other people see it as a chore. A good deal of this I owe to my Dad, who grew up with some not-too-pleasant Christmases, and who went out of his way to make the holiday special for my brother and me.
This year it's just not happening, though.
Oh, I decorated the tree, and I enjoyed it. I still like looking at the little, defiantly-cheerful lights pushing back the dark. I've baked a few batches of cookies, have done some shopping, have listened to holiday music, and have watched myself get crankier and less pleasant as the past few weeks have passed by. And I was really fed up with and sick of myself. I should be able to push past the grief for a few days, to make the world a warmer, kinder place for those around me, to enjoy the beauty of the snow without wishing it would cover me up and make me disappear into white numbness.
Today something snapped. Well, I snapped. And I had to tell myself that I know exactly why I'm cranky and unhappy and that I can't ignore or suppress it. The truth is that I want to be snuggled up at home playing with my baby this holiday and that this is impossible and that I'm not at peace with any of this yet.
Spreading holiday cheer and enjoying the season? Those things aren't part of my job this year. My job is to get through the next few days without hurting anyone around me. If I have to skip work, I will. If I have to self-medicate with ice cream, Scotch, gin, or hot boozy drinks, I will. I'm not saying every moment of the holidays will be grim and terrible, but if any happiness sneaks into these days I need to recognize it as pure gravy, not as the expected fruits of the season.
This is me waving the white flag, giving up the fight, hunkering down and praying that the new year comes quickly. Because this time of year can be quite pleasant if the theme is Baby, It's Cold Outside, but can be quite another creature entirely when Baby is gone.
Come quickly, new year.
This year it's just not happening, though.
Oh, I decorated the tree, and I enjoyed it. I still like looking at the little, defiantly-cheerful lights pushing back the dark. I've baked a few batches of cookies, have done some shopping, have listened to holiday music, and have watched myself get crankier and less pleasant as the past few weeks have passed by. And I was really fed up with and sick of myself. I should be able to push past the grief for a few days, to make the world a warmer, kinder place for those around me, to enjoy the beauty of the snow without wishing it would cover me up and make me disappear into white numbness.
Today something snapped. Well, I snapped. And I had to tell myself that I know exactly why I'm cranky and unhappy and that I can't ignore or suppress it. The truth is that I want to be snuggled up at home playing with my baby this holiday and that this is impossible and that I'm not at peace with any of this yet.
Spreading holiday cheer and enjoying the season? Those things aren't part of my job this year. My job is to get through the next few days without hurting anyone around me. If I have to skip work, I will. If I have to self-medicate with ice cream, Scotch, gin, or hot boozy drinks, I will. I'm not saying every moment of the holidays will be grim and terrible, but if any happiness sneaks into these days I need to recognize it as pure gravy, not as the expected fruits of the season.
This is me waving the white flag, giving up the fight, hunkering down and praying that the new year comes quickly. Because this time of year can be quite pleasant if the theme is Baby, It's Cold Outside, but can be quite another creature entirely when Baby is gone.
Come quickly, new year.