It’s no secret that amidst the jingle bells and glitter of this season, the holidays are a fiasco for many people, and as they approach there’s an element of dread hanging in the air. It snakes through our days and rattles our nights, and if we don’t give it proper attention, it will morph into anxiety and depression, as that’s what happens when the core feelings of life aren’t properly acknowledged.
There can be joy, too, of course. And if joy is your primary experience of the holidays, embrace it.
But for those of you who are struggling with anything less than joy, this post is for you.
Let’s start with gifts.
Ugh.
We so much want to get it right, and yet we hardly ever do. We want to please our partner or kids, our parents or friends, buying just the right gifts that will light them up. But we usually fall short. We so much want to receive a gift that is meaningful, that “proves” that someone is paying attention. But that also might not happen.
There’s an entire art and skill to gift giving and receiving, and I think it takes decades to learn how to get it somewhat right. It’s best to accept at the outset that someone is likely to be disappointed. And that person might be you.
Then there’s the terrible loneliness of the holidays if we don’t have a partner or kids.
And the pain if you’re not in touch with a family member, or you’ve lost somebody you love.
The holidays, like all transitions, highlight every loss we’ve ever endured, and especially those we’ve suffered through in the past year.
A Time of Amplified Loss
Our most recent loss is currently being highlighted by our Christmas tree.
I love our tree. I love the decorations that we’ve thoughtfully collected over the years, reminding us of vacations with our kids and the earliest days of our relationship before kids came along. When my husband and I were decorating the tree this year, we came across the wooden tiger and lion, and I asked him, “Do you remember where we got these?” It was Santa Barbara, where he took me for the weekend for my 30th birthday to see The Lion King. Just the two of us. No babies in sight.
But when I look at the tree now I also see Tashi, who used to love to bat at the ornaments and play under the tree skirt before falling asleep on it. How many Christmases have we come around the corner to see her sleeping under the tree and remarked, “Look, there’s the best gift of all.” She was our Christmas kitty; we adopted her on December 29th, 2012. We thought she’d be here for many more Christmases, but we lost her last June.
I suspect that’s why it was only my husband and I decorating the tree this year. It’s impossible to see it without thinking about her. Despite how much we’ve taught our sons to move toward pain, the human tendency is still to avoid it.
The tree still brings immense joy, but there’s also pain. That’s okay; there’s light and dark in almost everything in life. The important piece is to name it, make room for the grief, and celebrate the joy.
Bringing Meaning
Wouldn’t the holidays be so much better if we gave maybe one gift then sat together and talked about what’s really happening this time of year: the descent into darkness and the emergence of light? And not only talked about it but had a ritual that welcomes the darkness and inquired about its wisdom?
Wouldn’t the holidays be more meaningful if, instead of showering our kids with presents, most of which they’ll forget about in a month (if that), we gave them our presence: sat with each child and shared one special memory from the past year, or our 5 favorite things about them?
Of course, these ideas only really work if we enact them together, as a collective society. We’re social animals, and while we can strive to create more meaningful rituals, we also must bear in mind that our children will return to school and their friends will ask them what they got for the holidays.
So… here we are: on Winter Solstice, staring into the candles on the last night of Hannukah, approaching Christmas Eve then Christmas Day then New Year’s. Again, the best we can do, I believe, is to make room for the hard parts – to breathe into the disappointment, grief, and loneliness – and embrace the moments of joy as they arrive. As I often share, the more room we make for the darkness, the more radiant the light. And, the more we sing into the joy, the more luminous the darkness shines.
Wishing all of you some rest and fullness of heart this holiday season.
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