Christmas cheer

I don’t like Christmas, never have. But not drinking on Christmas adds another layer to my dislike of the holiday. Last Christmas, my first sober one, was the hardest yet. I’m not sure why that came as such a surprise, but when I watched my husband pour Baileys into his morning coffee, my envy hit like a gut punch, and every drink I witnessed after that first one hit me harder than the last.

The whole day was event after event of biting my nails while watching people drink their Christmas “cheer.” I’ve never seen cheer. I can without a doubt contribute to alcohol consumption, But everyone around me was so convinced alcohol was the source of their happiness that I began to buy back into the lie that booze sold me long ago. Without it, I would be left cheerless and very aware of why I drank so much on every other Christmas Day.

You see, I am the project manager, employee, caterer and orchestrator of Christmas morning. I start planning In October because otherwise, I’m so overwhelmed by December that my mind is broken and unable to compute what has been done and still needs doing. An easy answer to this feeling of overwhelm would be to delegate. I could allow my husband to take some of the burden, but As I’m getting better at delegating for some things, Christmas has yet to be one of them.

Christmas’s failure or triumph is riding all on me. Although my kids are always grateful, and I seem to exceed their expectations yearly, I still feel the pressure to make it great. This pressure on me is by me and only me, but that doesn’t make it feel less heavy. The disease of perfectionism is real and intense for women everywhere at Christmas, And like most, as the days close in. I dot I’s, cross T’s and stress about every little unnoticeable detail.

It’s like building a tower out of cards for months to see the joy it brings your loved ones to push it down. Every thoughtful gift, so quickly set aside for the next, and every bite of food eaten without thought of its preparation. I’m not sure what I expect. The tower was built to be destroyed, and I do feel appreciated, but I’m always overwhelmed by the chaos and the mess it leaves behind and underwhelmed by the quiet that follows.

Also, no matter how much work and thought goes into these gifts, they’re still just a bunch of stuff. All this stuff gets added to the already too much we’re buried under. The guilt of all the excessiveness weighs heavy on me. I’m left feeling gluttonous, like I’m somehow responsible for the poverty around the world. It feels wrong to have all this stuff and, worse, to be unable to appreciate it.

I’m so happy that Christmas makes other people happy. But when the gift-giving ends, quiet falls onto the house, and I feel sad. I feel sad, and I feel thirsty, very, very thirsty.

I know now that whatever I’m thirsty for isn’t at the bottom of a drink. I know the booze never did make me feel different about this day. The drinks just numbed it, and I’m now dedicated to feeling all of my feelings all the time, the good and the bad. I finally understand how important both are.

I’m glad to be present at each moment. Even the ones that suck. Tomorrow will be different as I watch my husband go through his first dry Christmas. I hope that without watching him drink, the temptation to reach for the comfort of alcohol won't be there. But whatever the day brings, I’m ready for it.

For me, Christmas might always be hard.

And that's ok.