Horrible Holiday Expectations
And how they send me spiraling into a deep depression several times a year.
A few days ago, I read a post on one of my favorite subreddits (r/ShowerThoughts) that enabled me to finally articulate the way I feel about the holidays.
The post was titled:
“Christmas feels more like a deadline than a holiday.”
After reading the title several times to myself, I exclaimed it aloud in my car, alone, at a red light. Finally, someone had strung together the right words to perfectly encapsulate my feelings about Christmas. The dread and anxiety I’ve felt about the end-of-the-year holiday was now narrowed down in one simple, concise and perfect statement. A perfect statement that I felt I could share with the rest of the world. (Or at least, the small fraction of the world that listens to me).
I proceeded to repeat the eye-opening phrase to every person I came in contact with, hoping to replace overall Christmas dread with renewed understanding. My efforts, however, were not met with wide smiles, head smacks and refrains of, “Oh so that’s why I want to jump off a bridge every December!” (as was my initial reaction). Instead, my new realization was met with mildly amused grunts and head nods as my reluctant audience returned their attention to their respective “37 Perfect Gifts For Your Best Friend Who Loves Hot Sauce” BuzzFeed listicle.
I don’t know why, but reading that post on r/ShowerThoughts made me feel better. As a kid, I use to love Christmas. My sister and I would happily count down the days until we were swarmed with presents while, unbeknownst to us, our poor mother (who worked full time) dedicated entire days to mall shopping and most of her December evenings to clandestine gift wrapping. Whenever Kim and I overheard her say, “I f*cking hate Christmas!”, our smiles would falter as we wondered how something that filled our hearts with joy, could bring our mother such dread and despair.
The older I got, the more I understood and commiserated with my mother. A statement that, if she reads, she will never let me forget.
For me, this year’s Christmas was my most expensive yet. In addition to purchasing two round-trip cross country flights, I found myself worried over finding the perfect gift for everyone who I anticipated would give me (and my partner) presents. I racked my brain for things I remembered about uncles who I haven’t seen in years and future in-laws who I had only met once. As my anxiety grew with each remembered distant relative, my bank account balance dipped lower and lower as I jogged frantically through shopping malls and stayed up late refreshing my Amazon tracking information.
The more I worried, the more I realized that Christmas, while once lovely and special for Jackie ages 1–16, was now a pain in the fucking ass for Jackie ages 26 and up.
And I’m not alone.
Whenever gift-giving, party planning or anything holiday related comes up in day-to-day conversation, almost everyone I speak with rolls their eyes as they sigh heavily. Can we take a moment and reflect how terribly fucked up that is?
And it’s not just Christmas. It’s every holiday.
For Halloween, I feel the pressure to have the perfect costume. For Thanksgiving, I feel the pressure to bake the perfect pumpkin pie. For New Years, I need to be wearing a glittery dress and be somewhere with someone who will kiss me at midnight. For July 4th, Labor Day, and Memorial Day I need to be doing something outdoors so I can see fireworks and eat hot dogs. For my birthday, I feel the pressure to kick off a new year with a grand party; what am I even celebrating? Keeping myself alive for another year? That’s basic human instinct, not an accomplishment.
What I’m trying to say is, my entire year revolves around meeting pre-defined holiday expectations.
And I’m really fucking sick of it.
This year will be the last Christmas that I put myself under the pressure to please. I will stop trying to create holiday perfection and rejoice in the messy and beautiful existence that I share with a wonderful fiancee, fantastic friends, supportive family and a bunch of ragtag dogs. I will do my best to forgive myself for my faults and shortcomings and instead celebrate my quirky imperfections and average accomplishments. My holidays may not be perfect, but they will be a perfect reflection of me.
