Fine, I'll Say It: I Hate Christmas

Your initial thought is probably: “that’s awfully lonely”.

I thought so, too. But turns out it’s not. It’s blissful.

Turns out being alone isn’t lonely when it’s your choice.

So why did I choose it?

I used to love Christmas. I loved the music, the atmosphere and the lights. 

I used to spend weeks planning the perfect party, designing the perfect games and finding the perfect gifts for everyone. 

As a people pleaser, I get a free shot of caffeine every time someone goes “aww this is amazing, thank you!”

Naturally, everything had to be perfect.

I was doing it for so long it became automatic. Every year, I exclaimed that Christmas is the best time of the year! Loud enough to drown out anything that would suggest otherwise.

But all of that changed when I moved away. 

For the first time, I was no longer engulfed in the holidays and the perfectly wrapped presents under the perfectly decorated tree. I no longer felt the need to buzz around in an invisible race to “who could enjoy Christmas the most”.

For the first time, I had time to think.

And I realized…

I fucking hated Christmas.

I hated the rushed shopping, the fight for a parking spot, the sometimes meaningless gifts to my less favorite family members (we all have those, don’t lie), and the disappointment when something didn’t go as planned. 

But it wasn’t just that.

I hated the jolly conversations that were too jolly; the loud laughter that was almost forceful, and the alcohol that kept on running to keep everyone on their best moods.

I hated the silence that wasn’t allowed to fill the dining room, or the real, forbidden answers to “how are you doing” for it’d make the night less than perfect.

I began to realize such parties were meaningless. 

What was the point of a family getting together when nobody could be or say anything real? 

It felt like we all cropped out a picture-perfect family photo to wear as a mean to achieve the most magical night of the year. 

An invisible reminder that we are all too busy the rest of the year to celebrate one another. So we better make this one count. 

And then gradually, it got worse.

I became more and more myself. 

Which meant I didn’t fit in the family picture anymore.

And I began to feel the exhaustion of pretending like I don’t know what everyone is thinking: she’s living so carelessly, she made a mistake quitting her job, and we can’t understand or relate to her anymore.

Of watching them dance around the topic of me having kids. 

Of never being able to share anything I do because nothing tops being a dentist.

I know they mean well. I know they want what’s best for me. I know their advice is fear mistaken as love. They fear that this life is going to turn into something I later regret. They fear of watching me, an extension of themselves, suffer. 

I’m not mad. I love my family. And I’ll likely spend the next Christmas with them. And the one after that.

They say Christmas should be spent with the people you love. 

This year, I choose to spend it with myself. I’ve only met her recently. And I don’t have the heart to tuck her away into some corner to please other people that I love. 

This year, I need to get to know her. And to give her all my love to make up for the many years I’ve failed. 

So as you’re spending Christmas with your family, take the extra time to connect with them. 

Embrace the chance you have to get to know them. Like a favorite book you’ve read so long ago you’ve forgotten what it says.

Give them your enthusiasm and awareness.

Listen to what they have to say with love, not judgement.

And most importantly, be happy for their success. Even if it’s trivial or something you’d never want for yourself.

It’s the best gift you can give anyone.

Merry Christmas ❤️