Holidays Are Hard

Two days ago, Tegan’s hedgehog, Oreo, had to be put to sleep. We’d known it was coming. Her function (just her body… her little personality and spunk was as sharp as ever) had been steadily declining for the last two months, ever since she had what the vet guessed was a stroke or a possible brain tumor. It turns out that being prepared for it never really PREPARES you for it. Crying with your 11 year old while her beloved pet dies in her arms is heartbreakingly, rip-your-guts-out sad, and having it happen one week before Christmas does not help.

And even if it were not for the death of a loved one, I’m still not doing all that well this Christmas season. I love Christmas, but – and I know that many of you can relate to this – seasonal depression is a major buzzkill. Everything is tiring. Everything feels hard. The thought of shopping and wrapping and baking and being festive is suffocating and overwhelming. If I’m being honest, the thought of getting out of bed and showering is suffocating and overwhelming. As is my typical pattern when I’m depressed, I’m sleeping either 3 hours or 12 hours. Nothing in between. I’m always tired. Always. Tired.

The week before last was tech week for Tegan’s play (her very first Shakespeare play!), which means very very long days, and it nearly kills me every time. I was still recovering when I had to make the phone call to the vet. And set up the tree. And run the errands. And take the girl to a promised movie. And catch up on all the piled-up laundry. Did I mention I’m very tired?

But.

Mike took over the gift shopping this year. Just sort of quietly got it done with a few covert texts to me while I sat beside him on the couch. I don’t know what all my nieces and nephews are getting from us this year, and I’m grateful for that. Grateful because it was one big to-do that he took off my plate, without having been asked.

We’re all here, and we’re all together. Last Christmas, that was not the case in the days leading up to the 25th (a story that isn’t mine to tell), so this year I’m extra grateful.

We have a roof over our heads, and clothes on our back, and food on our table. And I’m grateful for that too.

The thing is, gratitude and depression can and do exist at the same time. They’re both real, and they’re both strong, this year in particular. This year was hard. This holiday is hard.

In a world of perma-positivity, I think that people can forget that you can feel both. That you can be grateful, or happy even, and still be depressed. Or anxious. Or manic. Or grieving. Or any combination of the above. Holidays are hard for a lot of people for a lot of reasons, and we need to tread lightly, and gently, and kindly.

This weekend (the weekend before Christmas, because we’re crazy), we’ll go out and get wrapping paper and stocking stuffers and food and baking ingredients. And I’ll bake, and I’ll do all some of the things, and it’ll be okay.

My friend is forcing me to make muddy buddies, both because she knows I love them, and because she knows that it’d make me even more sad if I didn’t have them. She’s always right, which is really irritating. And she reminds me that it’ll be okay.

And the rest of the cookies will be made, or they won’t. And the presents will all get wrapped, or they won’t. And it’ll be okay.

And right now? Right in this moment: barefoot in my pajamas at 2:45 in the afternoon, looking at the tree, listening to Tegan sing and play her ukele, and watching the dog sleep peacefully on the floor… I’m okay too.

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One Response to Holidays Are Hard

  1. Unable to read your blog on Spirit Daily because pictures take up too much of the script.

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