What If I Try at Christmas?

I miss her. Mom.

Mostly on major milestones - birthdays, promotions, hard things in life, the holidays. Fuck - the holidays. . . . thumbing through index cards of Christmas cookie recipes made me cry this morning. Mom and I used to bake at the holidays, ever since I was little and had to stand on a stool to reach the counter. The memories of rolling pins, flour everywhere, talking, laughing, learning - it’s hitting me in the feels this morning.

She’s not dead - let me start there. She’s still kicking somewhere on the other side of the country. But we haven’t spoken in 10 years now. By her choice.

Let me also clarify - I don’t actually miss her. I don’t miss the mother I got. I miss the mother I needed. The mother every child needs - the kind that is stable emotionally, loves her children unconditionally, is strong enough to face and conquer her own demons. Because, well, mental illness doesn’t just affect the person who deals with it.

This post is not about all of that. It’s about finally facing Christmas, which I’ve been emotionally running from for many years. My therapist has tried to encourage me to find my own meaning this time of year - make my own traditions, make my own memories, and retain the traditions that I love, and remember the good pieces of Mom that are attached to those.

But fuck, that’s hard.

Fortunately, this year I had the opportunity to see the German Christmas markets. And seeing the people mostly just enjoying each other, and the amazing way Munich decorated itself, something in me unexpectedly shifted. I want to enjoy Christmas again.

So, I’m going to try this year. Because I had a thought - why don’t I celebrate Christmas on my own terms this year? There are some things that I love about Christmas - the candles, the decor, the pine tree smell, the food, the making, the celebration of the darkness and return of the light.

I spent some time this morning deciding what to cook myself for Christmas dinner, what I’m going to do on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. And gifts. What I’m going to do for gifts. And it’s come down to this - I love making. So instead of buying gifts, I’m going to make stuff. No one I normally buy gifts for wants anything super specific (and lord knows they all have plenty of stuff). Because I struggle with the commercialism of this holiday, I’m going to give the gifts I want to give. And those are gifts of myself. My time. My own craftiness.

The making of stuff makes me happy. And I want to revisit these activities, creating my own joy, acknowledging Mom but without descending into grief about it. So, I’m going to try this year - more than I did even last year.

So, I’m off to buy a little Christmas tree, get some baking supplies, and see how far I get.

Happy Holidays, y’all!