Every holiday season is the same. I start out okay, then slowly slide into a depressive spiral as I’m hit with reminders of the past; most of my traumaversaries are in the holiday season, after all, especially around Christmas. Every year, on medication or raw dogging reality I find that all I can really do is white knuckle it through what’s the hardest time of year. 

There are a variety of traumas at play here. Part of it is from growing up below the poverty line, part of it was my parents’ chosen method of coping with the generational trauma they got saddled with, and some of it is societal trauma; being force fed images of happy families who get along, instead of a family like mine where dinner wasn’t a given and no one made sure I got access to basic necessities because drugs were more important than my welfare. 

That’s not factoring the trauma of trying to navigate adulthood while finding out where I fit in, stuck in a relationship I couldn’t get out of until just recently, and falling for the love bomb/discard cycle I was stuck in with my family. Those things then got harder when I got pregnant, because those weren’t things I wanted to pass on. 

I left my ex-husband just days before Christmas 2023. Another traumaversary. I hadn’t meant to. I had planned to stay until early January, to give our daughter once last Christmas together. That blew up in my face, and after a whole ordeal involving a crisis team I left him just days before. 

That’s what I had to white knuckle through this past holiday season. December 19th marked when I broke up with my abuser. It marked the day everything changed, for real and for good. Mostly for the best, but it hasn’t been without its share of hiccups. Hiccups that made getting anything done an all but insurmountable task. 

I have so much piled on my plate, and it’s unfortunately things I can’t delay much longer. I need to sort out work, which due to a combination of disability and financial abuse I am only now entering the workforce at 40; I need to figure out school, (which if I can get access to medication for my ADHD would make my life a million times easier) and other things that lapsed because of the abuse and the resulting stress (this mainly has to do with neglected health.) That’s not factoring in things like maintaining my writing, such as it is, and taking care of my daughter, managing all aspects my health, and trying to get my foot wedged into some doors so I can hopefully start making money without toppling the house of cards that compromises health and welbeing and ability to keep going. Something had to give, and writing was the easiest. 

It wasn’t that I gave up. I penned a few short stories for fun, I accepted an internship to help my editing career, I write in my journal constantly still, and some days I get a few words done. It was just too much to think through. Getting the characters to the next scene felt like a Sisyphean task. And with all of it impacting my health the way it does, I’ve been battling a massive case of brain fog on top of everything. It’s a wonder I’ve written anything since November, really. 

One of the things I’ve grappled with over the years is how mean I am to myself. It makes sense, as that was pretty much all I’ve heard for most of my life. My mom was a Tiger mom, a Tiger mom who wasn’t especially compassionate and caring, which translated into a lot of verbal abuse. My mom wasn’t a Tiger mom because she had my best interests at heart either. I was simultaneously a retirement fund and something to use as competition with my cousins. And while I’ve been working on reprogramming that it’s difficult at best, and takes time. But that’s why I let writing go. I can’t flog myself into doing more than my best, and I know. The previous attempts left me bedridden because it caused my chronic illnesses to flare up. If I don’t rest my body will make me, and the recovery period is so much harder. 

I also know, though, that I’m not the only one. So many people have a hard time during the holidays. Missing loved ones, missing a place to call home, having nothing to serve or people to celebrate with, it impacts a lot of people. I know the holiday season is one of those things I only survive by the skin of my teeth, but I also know that I’m not alone here. And so, now that we’re on the other side, and the days are getting longer, that the sun will shine again, and if all you do is survive, I’m still proud of you.