Early & Alone #74: Home for the Holidays

On hometowns and holiday traditions and the same old narratives

Last weekend, I went with Jeff and his daughter to pick out a Christmas tree. It’s something I’d never done before. Growing up, my parents would go to the Ann & Hope down the road, grab a $10 tree, and then my siblings and I would decorate it with ornaments. As an adult, I’ve either skipped the tree or had a fake one. So when Jeff said he was going to a Christmas tree farm to pick out a tree, I was excited.

I’d always pictured a field full of towering trees, probably snow, smiling people in Santa hats, and a little stand selling hot cocoa. In reality, the trees looked a little skimpy, and you had to trek through the muddy thicket of stumps of the trees that had already been taken to get to the ones still standing. Once you selected your tree, you had to go flag down someone wearing orange to come cut it down for you. Even the chainsaw was a little disappointing, a battery-operated deal. Still, we listened to Christmas music on the drive there and back, down the winding rural roads to the farm, and it was kind of nice how quick the whole thing was. It wasn’t the Hallmark experience I’d imagined, but it was festive and fun.

Later that evening, I went to a “Dinner with Santa” with my family. It was at a restaurant down the street from where I grew up, where my family has been going for decades. The place was packed to capacity with families and kids, most dressed up in their cutest holiday outfits to meet Santa. My three-year-old niece was decked in sparkles and thrilled to go visit with Santa and eat mac-n-cheese and generally be a supremely cute kid.

Toward the end of dinner, I realized that someone I’d gone to high school with was sitting directly behind me with her family. Still blonde-haired and blue-eyed and impossibly cute, now with mini-me kids. This woman was in a bunch of my classes, but she was popular and loud and we weren’t friends. What had already been a bit of a stressful event was now terrifying. I wanted to sink into my chair and disappear. All I could think about was what she might be thinking about me. “She’s gained a lot of weight. She’s all alone. She’s back in Rhode Island. What a loser.”

It didn’t matter that I’d just left my boyfriend’s house or that I LIKE my life or that I’m proud of my independence or that I was celebrating the holidays with my family. Or that I have NO IDEA what her story is—she could be miserable! Suddenly I was just telling myself the same old narrative—you’re a single, child-free loser who couldn’t hack it in the city so you are back home and have no family of your own to celebrate with so you’re just taking up space with real families. Oh and also you look terrible.

The only thing harder than being single at a wedding is being alone during the holidays. For me, anyway. I struggle with this time of year, for many reasons, and I know I’m not alone in that. Despite the cheery lights and capitalist veneer, the holidays are some of the darkest emotional times for many people. And the thing is, I’m NOT alone! I have a family and a boyfriend and so many friends. The annual Christmas party I’ve been attending with friends from high school for the last nearly 25 years is one of the things I look forward to most in the world. But there’s just something about this time of year, all the ways our experiences don’t live up to the expectations, that leaves me exhausted and sad and raw and lonely.

I’d be lying if I said that this also being the time of year when my ex-husband left me didn’t play a big part in this. It does. And watching kids running around meeting Santa or decorating a tree—I can’t help but wonder what that could have been like, had things worked out. Because no matter how close I am to other families, the fact remains that they’re not MINE, not in that traditional sense.

I hate writing all of this, feeling all of this. I don’t even believe that my life would be better if I had a spouse and kids and a house with a yard. I don’t believe that the woman I knew in high school is better than me. I know I’m not a failure. But I wanted to write it all out because no matter what is rational, this is how I am feeling, and I think many of you may be struggling in similar complicated ways during this season that is supposed to be about joy.

So what do we do with that? I think it’s important to name our fears and our sadnesses, even when it seems like we’re supposed to be happy during the holidays. It’s also important to have boundaries and take time for yourself. If a particular holiday tradition feels awful for you, think about ways you can give yourself grace. If you can’t get out of it, set an exit strategy and take breaks, even if it’s just to go sit in the bathroom and breathe for a few minutes. If scrolling through photos of happy families in matching PJs is hard, think about taking a break from social media—temporarily delete the apps or at least set time limits. Amid all of the scrambling to get gifts for others and decorate and cook and bake, remember to also treat yourself. Get a manicure or a haircut or a facial before that holiday party. Buy cookies instead of baking all day. Get yourself one of that cute thing you’re buying for someone else. Build your own holiday rituals that feel good and safe for you, whatever that looks like.

And remember, even though every modern Christmas movie is somehow a romance, you’re not less-than if you’re single and you’re not alone. The holidays can be about more than Santa and kids and presents. It can be about preparing for winter, giving yourself space to feel and grieve and reset, gathering with your chosen families, making new traditions.

Bright Spots

Keeping this brief because I’m planning a “best of 2022” issue next time which will include plenty of recs. But despite all my complaining and blathering about the holidays and trees, I do love a Christmas tree. Something about them is so cozy. Here’s a pic of Gizmo enjoying some time under Jeff’s tree.