Yep, it is here. Officially. It’s THAT time of year. Again.
Temperatures outside are finally starting to drop, and the amount of sunlight in a day is shrinking. Hallmark is back to running their annual movie barrage of “cis, white, straight & straight-sized privileged men and women finding love in a hetero- & Christian-normative society”– I mean – their “Countdown to Christmas” movie marathon every weekend. President Biden ceremoniously pardoned turkeys Liberty and Bell last week from escaping a “fowl” fate (although, West Wing fans know that while a president can draft a turkey into military service, they cannot actually pardon one.) Mariah Carey has successfully defrosted, and this week, she is back on the Billboard Hot 100 list. Statistics are still coming in for this year, but last year, over 141 million emails were sent out just on Black Friday alone. Ads and messages about “how to avoid holiday weight gain,” “buy this gummy to lose weight before Christmas,” and “lose weight the easy way this winter!” bombard me from every angle.
It is officially the start to the “holiday season,” and everything – good and bad -- that comes with it.
From my teenage years until my late twenties, my older sister usually hosted Thanksgiving, and my parents hosted Christmas. My sister and I are alike and have always gotten along very well, but her then-husband is a homophobic, narcissistic, and manipulative jerk (and, yes, “jerk” IS me being kind). Even in their early days of dating, he made it clear that he did not care for my parents and I, and, trust me, the feeling was mutual. There was always an underlying current of tension, and it was amplified on Thanksgiving, especially because his parents (and occasionally, his sister) would join us. Once my nephews were born, the chaos, noise, and subtle animosity grew. To me, the day was always much more obligatory than celebratory.
My highlight was always after everyone left. My sister and I would always sit at her kitchen table with two sets of ads from the newspaper and develop our Black Friday shopping plan. There was usually a strategy involved, and we made a list with the order of the stores and items we wanted to buy (and if it was a gift, who it was for). After a few hours of sleep, we headed out, and despite the crowds, we always had a great time together. It was rare in those days for me to get one-on-one time with just my sister, and I have a ton of great memories from those nights.
I will never forget when we were in the middle of Bed, Bath, & Beyond (may it rest in peace), and according to our list, we were there so my sister could buy a particular gift. I found something I wanted, but I could not decide between two colors. I held them both up and asked my sister. In the middle of the crowded store, she looked at me with annoyance and loudly said, “We’re not here for you!” I realize that most people would have been furious, but it rolled off my back, and I did not take any offense to it at all. Bickering is how we have always shown affection with one another, and it is never intended maliciously, nor do we ever hold grudges. Everything is always forgiven and forgotten within a few minutes (which may have something to do with the fact that we both have ADHD, now that I think about it.) My sister truly didn’t even know what she said until later when we were in the car, and she wondered aloud why everyone gave her dirty looks. We started laughing, and we could not stop, even as tears streamed down our faces.
It's easily been fifteen years – and what feels like a lifetime – since that night in the parking lot, and my sister and I still jokingly say “we’re not here for you!” to one another. Now we both do our Black Friday shopping in our pajamas from the couch. She still hosts Thanksgiving, but it’s totally different now – different house, different food, different crowd, and even a different (and wonderful!) husband. It’s now a day full of joy and laughter instead of obligations, or at least that is what I have heard. I have not been back to my hometown for Thanksgiving since 2013. When I lived on the west coast, it was logistically too difficult and expensive to fly back for such a short visit, and even now, it is a six-hour drive, so I prioritize a longer visit in December instead.
In all honesty, my Thanksgivings over the last ten years have been a bit of a hodge-podge. The first year I lived in California, a new friend invited me to join her and her family. It turned out to be a great experience with someone who quickly became (and remains) a close friend. It became a tradition – she and her parents welcomed me for every Thanksgiving that I spent in California. The Thanksgivings since I moved back to the east coast have been generally memorable but not necessarily enjoyable. One year, I joined my uncle who lives locally and my adult cousins with their kids. It was good to see my cousins for the first time in probably twenty years, but it wasn’t something that I care to repeat. Another year, I tried a Turkey Trot 5K, and I was miserable the entire time. I have spent a few years, including this one, alone with Max and Maggie, my furry roommates.
Even though I knew it would only make me feel worse, I still scrolled through social media on Thursday. As expected, I saw my feed full of posts with smiles, families, food, placations of gratitude and thankfulness, and (my personal favorite) “#blessed.”
After running a business built online and driven by social media, I know the secret: what we see -- and what we present -- on social media is curated and intentionally misleading. We show (and see) what we want, but it is never the whole story.
Behind the pictures of a large extended family is someone hiding who they really are to spare the discomfort of another. Behind the pictures of a smiling, happy toddler is a kid who is melting down from overstimulation and a missed nap. Behind the pictures of a huge spread of food is someone wrestling with disordered eating behaviors or trying to navigate new dietary restrictions. Behind the pictures of people holding up their glasses in a toast is someone struggling with addiction or pregnant and not yet ready to share the news (or both).
Behind the pictures is where real life, for better or for worse, shows up.
As much as I still laugh at the “we’re not here for you!” comment from my sister all those years ago, I would give anything now for there not to be the smallest bit of stinging truth behind it. I have a fantastic group of tight-knit friends who all live locally, and I am grateful for their support every day. We celebrate together when life allows, and we cry together when things are hard. They are here for me, and I know I can rely on them to be there when life is messy. They never cease to inspire me … and they all have partners and family in the immediate vicinity who, for obvious reasons, are prioritized on holidays. I understand. I get it, and I have zero ill will towards them for it.
The Southern manners instilled in me from a young age prohibit me from pushing my presence on something, let alone from ever out right asking, “Can I come?” My biggest fear, outside of committing a social faux pas, is that I will be the subject of pity – the same kind of pity directed towards stray animals that have no other place to go. With pity (real or imagined) comes shame, and together they are a powerful and paralyzing combination. I try to take everything in stride, but the truth is that I am in my late thirties without a partner, kid, or immediate family close by. I am an outlier, at least according to society, and trust me, I feel it.
I bought a house this summer that has two extra bedrooms, a full basement, a garage, and a private backyard. I want nothing more than to fill it with my own family. I picture early mornings on the porch with my partner and a cup of coffee as we plan the future. I dream of rocking my baby to sleep in the nursery across the hall from my own bedroom. I yearn for dance parties to Bluey/Miss Rachel/Paw Patrol/whatever is next in the living room. I imagine walks around the neighborhood with my partner, dog, and a stroller. As the song goes, I want a house with a crowded table and a place by the (metaphorical) fire for everyone, especially on holidays like Thanksgiving, instead of being an afterthought who grabs a chair and squeezes in for a seat.