It's been over 20 years since I last celebrated Christmas. I'm divorced and estranged from my only child.
- It's the time of the year when every ad reminds me I'd be happier with a partner or children.
- I divorced my husband over 20 years ago, and my only child decided to spend holidays with him.
It's that time of year when the world falls in love. It's that time of year to upgrade to get no ads on my streaming platforms.
Halloween has come and gone — now every ad is telling me it would be best if I had a partner or a family to drink coffee with and wear snowflake-print pajamas with. I'm told I should buy a large inflatable snowman, a Santa, a sleigh, and lights for the front yard I do not have, amid the climate crisis.
It's been over 20 years since I've celebrated Christmas. Once my husband and I divorced, my teenage child chose to spend the holidays with him. Now my child has children to create holiday magic for, and for the past six years my adult child and I have been estranged for a plethora of complicated reasons.
The holidays remind me of what I don't have anymore
The holidays have become a reminder of what I do not have, and I'm fraught with mixed feelings. I still believe in magic, hoping I'll get the one present I want: a repair between my adult child and me.
When I was growing up, my parents attempted to make up for any neglect during the year by having a large pile of presents for me and my siblings on Christmas morning — my favorite was a shiny Sting-Ray bike sitting in front of the tree.
We children felt the magic, but it was fleeting. All those glorious gifts didn't make up for the disappointments. The time we didn't make it to the Christmas Eve party thrown by my aunt, complete with a visit from Santa, because Daddy was too drunk. The times we had to keep quiet in our rooms because Daddy had a hangover or the nights we left to stay in a hotel room because he got volatile.
When I had a family of my own, my husband, my child, and I made our own traditions. On Christmas Eve, I'd roast some meat, we'd open one present, and we'd read a story out loud before bed. We opened our presents the next morning one at a time, mindful of who'd given them and grateful for their thoughtfulness. We cherished this quiet day — being together, playing games, and reading.
I avoid anything that reminds me of the holidays
Nostalgia with a mix of sadness and longing sets in as soon as the Christmas carols begin to blare in the grocery stores.
I make my shopping trips short and infrequent. I take the opportunity to watch shows on streaming platforms without the ads that tell me how my life should be. I don't buy large plastic decorations or matching pajamas.
I look for and take opportunities to help those in need. I enjoy a quiet day — maybe I'll venture out for a walk in the snow, snuggle up with a book, or share a meal with a friend.
I'm not a humbug, but I do need to protect myself from the seductions that keep reality at bay. I no longer have a family. My parents are deceased, and I miss my child every day, more so as the season of gathering with loved ones is upon us.
I've learned to take care of myself. I might feel a little magic as the urge to bake cookies or muffins for friends hits. It may be all I can do, but it's enough.