When I was a little kid, I always pictured having the holiday experience shown in movies. I wanted a house full of family and friends, people laughing, decorations, and a sprawling table packed with food. Every year, this fantasy fell flat on its face. Instead, my holiday experience was full of fighting, crying, and walking on eggshells so no one got upset.
My expectations were crushed year after year, but inevitably I hoped each new Thanksgiving would be different. My family was small; there were only four of us because we didn’t have any extended family to invite over. My house would go undecorated, and our plans to spend the day watching movies and eating were always disrupted by a fight.
I can’t even remember what any of the fights were about, but I remember how they made me feel. I was heartbroken that there couldn’t be peace, or even just the illusion of peace. My feelings of excitement eventually faded and turned to dread. Thanksgiving and Christmas were no longer guaranteed days of rest in my household—they became guaranteed days of turmoil.
After my parents got divorced in 2017, I was hopeful that finally, the holidays would bring peace. And sometimes they did, with my mom and I watching movies while my brother kept to himself and played video games. But other years, I felt like our home was haunted by the ghost of Thanksgiving and Christmases past. I could see the eggshells scattered on the floor, and I waited until someone broke them.
It wasn’t until I was 25 and went to my best friend’s house for Thanksgiving that I finally got to have a movie-like holiday. There was so much happiness, food, and more importantly, no fighting. I wanted to be happy, too. But the entire time I was there I felt this nagging guilt that I should have been with my mom and brother instead, even though being with them for the holidays filled me with anxiety and dread.
I’ve gone to many years of therapy and one thing that they all tell me is that I can only control myself and my reactions. Holidays are full of other people, often unpredictable and dealing with their own emotions surrounding the day. So last year, I spent Christmas day with my dog and pet sitting a few cats.
The animals didn’t know what day it was; they didn’t have any expectations of me—other than wanting to be fed—and they didn’t make me feel like I was walking on eggshells.
I felt like I had finally figured out the secret to the holidays: no other people. I’m lucky enough to be able to live on my own, which allows me to control what my day looks like.
The sadness is still there; I wish these days weren’t tarnished by traumatic past years. But they are, and it’s okay—no, it’s necessary—to protect yourself from family dynamics that have caused harm.
If an excuse for self-care is ever needed, this is one. This year I plan to light my candles, eat comfort food, and wrap myself in my blankets. Most importantly, I plan to enjoy the peace and quiet.