SAXTONS RIVER — I somehow manage to forget in between, that each year, from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day, families are gathering, dispersing, regrouping in various configurations to celebrate a time of year that, in my memory, is anything but joyous. And certainly not a celebration of connections. Or family.
So when my editor called for memories of the holidays, my visceral response was to cringe.
Oh, no! It's here again, my mind sighed and my body seemed to wilt into my chair. Here we go again, I thought as I pictured a collective public celebration of a time of year that is sometimes crushingly lonely for people like me - and full of outright triggers.
And I started to think of the individual people who would be reading these joyous memories with just one response: I wish that was me.
But that is not me.
My holiday memories are not happy ones. In fact, my memories are filled with trauma, and the holidays are triggers - even dangerous triggers for some, if they also deal with depression and addiction, frequent companions to those who have been traumatized during these holidays.
Even reading other people's memories can set someone off. I know this. I have experienced this.
What exactly those memories and triggers are at this time of year may be different in specifics, but the effect is the same: We do not enjoy the holidays. In fact, we dread them. Some of us will do anything to avoid them.
* * *
I'll never forget the Thanksgiving my mother rose early to start the turkey, and as scents rose from the kitchen where she took turns basting the turkey, taking a drink, and then repeating for hours.
Later, with the old Vermont house toasty and warm for once and our nostrils savoring the scent of rosemary, sage, and thyme rising from the stove, the Thanksgiving meal was ready, and the six of us sat down at the table.
That year, I was probably 12, and the eldest of four siblings, the youngest but 2 years old. When we were all seated, my mother, instead of passing me the plate she had just served, smashed it over my head without provocation or warning, much to the shock and astonishment of everyone including my father, but most of all, me. I still bear the scar on my scalp to this day.
I'll never forget how, on a Christmas day that dawned bright and hopeful, I opened a gift to find a warm, cozy bathrobe, one I had longed for and needed.
By dinner, the gift had been rescinded and taken away from me, breaking my heart.
* * *
While my father tried to evoke a normal holiday spirit, the betrayal of a mother who could do this was what undid me. I barely survived those years with my mother, and they left a deep impression of what the holidays really were in our family. I knew no differently.
That these sometimes violent but always unpredictable outcomes were fueled by addictions and my mother's own demons around holidays, I now understand.
For our family, holidays carried a thin veneer of hopeful expectations that I remember manifesting fleetingly, if they came to pass at all. As the holidays drew near, a tension rose in our home; as children we did not understand, but to this day, that tension is the most familiar memory of holidays for me.
As an adult, without understanding the connection, I repeated this seasonal tension for years. While never manifesting to the extremes set by my mother's addiction, this was all I knew about holidays.
At some point in my 40s, I decided enough was enough, and I did the only thing that seemed to alleviate this inevitable, yearly, seasonal drama. I stopped celebrating as others did at this time of year.
I began to celebrate Solstice, which happens a few days before Christmas, comes without the expectations or gifts. This celebration of the Natural world I can get behind - and it was completely dissociated from my memories.
For years, while she was alive, my mother tried to draw me back into the drama, using shame and guilt unsuccessfully to bring me to the superficially bright, barely-hidden-tension-filled familial table.
But after several experiences of Holidays 6.0, I withdrew participation. Not surprisingly, letting go of the guilt and shame, I immediately felt better.
* * *
My story is unique only in that this is my experience. A variation of these memories rear up each holiday for far too many people, in families where addiction and trauma are one and the same. The illusion of “holiday” plays out year after year, until someone decides not to participate or enable that pattern any longer.
Those are the people who, like me, decide that it is better to forego the triggers and have another kind of day instead.
Sure, we like getting invitations for Thanksgiving from good-hearted friends, neighbors, or acquaintances, embodying the spirit of the day. But kindly understand that, for many of us, to attend would only emphasize our disconnection from any sort of celebratory feeling, and perhaps even force a trigger.
In fact, the holidays themselves are a trigger we would rather avoid.
For us, Christmas is so far from a warm, loving, family holiday. We might long for the idyll of waking up to the voices of children opening presents in front of a fire, Christmas tree sparkling with lights.
But for too many of us, the holidays are a trigger we find both difficult and unavoidable. And perhaps that also ought to be acknowledged, just to make sure both sides of the story are heard - and then, perhaps, more compassionately understood.
These stories are as real for people around the world at this time of year as those of warm, loving, family-oriented memories are. For those who experience good memories, it's important to acknowledge that this other reality exists.
* * *
I am one of the lucky ones in that I have come to terms with how to cope with the holiday triggers. I have created my own rituals which honor the return of the Light, and my understanding of how that relates to the reawakening of my heart and soul to harmony, affection, and love.
While I don't “belong” anywhere, I have come to understand that I “belong” to the whole human race, and that everyone is family.
It might be at a table set for one on a quiet Christmas morning, but I do find joy in my heart that so many are with their families, and most importantly, gently loving one another.
I continue to celebrate Solstice alone, in my own way. I hand-make and send Solstice cards starting at Thanksgiving, and it is an act I do reverently - my votive to our shared Divinity I recognize in all life. At Thanksgiving, I celebrate the harvest in gratitude for producing the modest food on my plate.
I have practiced my new rituals for decades now, and they fill me with gratitude and even joy.
But, to be honest, when Jan. 2 dawns each year, I let out a big sigh of relief that I have negotiated another holiday season successfully - though not always - without a flashback.
I know that I am luckier than many who experience holidays as a trigger.
I understand that the best thing I can do for my fellow holiday loners is to let them know that they do not have to be anyone they aren't or do anything they are not up to, or comfortable with.
And I can let them know that that is okay, and that being alone is even the best thing they could do for self-care.
I understand. I'm there, too.