Reframing the Holidays

This Christmas, maybe we should prioritize how we feel instead of bending to everyone else's unspoken expectations of perfection

"It's the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle belling
And everyone telling you, "Be of good cheer!"
It's the most wonderful time of the year"

I’m Not Ready

With the exception of the year I moved cross country with seven cats the week before Christmas, this has been the most stressful year of my life. It hasn't all been negative stress. Along with caring for my mother, and dealing with my husband's broken ankle, I've been rediscovering my life’s experiences and myself in the context of my neuro-distinct brain. I've been pushing my limits at work, leading change on a complex program. I've been strengthening my voice through my journaling. I've been developing my thoughts into ideas worth sharing. I've been networking, talking and writing with people all over the globe with various interests, building community. I'm busy living my best life.

And I'm not ready for Christmas. I've been buying gifts all fall, and throwing them in a closet. I don't even know what's in there. I haven't written the Christmas Letter or organized the family into signing the 60+ cards we typically send out. I wrapped 6 gifts in 3 hours yesterday. AuDHD is fun isn't it! None of the gifts are actually from me. They are from my mom, or his mom.

I'm doing my best. But I’m not ready for Christmas.

It’s not just me. Maybe it’s the stage of life I’m in, but I’m surrounded by friends and colleagues who are frantically preparing for the holiday. It feels like we are missing the point. Where did all these expectations come from?

My Mother isn't Ready for Christmas.

At this point in her life, my mother is mostly in bed. She uses a power chair to get around. She has a lot of pain and vertigo and an 82 year old body. She loves to pick out and give gifts. Her Christmas spirit is undeniable and she wants to go shopping.

We've set her up with some retail sites on her iPad, but that isn't the same as looking at things in the store. Of course once we are there, she must deal with crowded aisles, and items too high on the shelf for her to see them.

I have horrible social anxiety around crowds. The last thing I want to do the week before Christmas is go to a store. Online retail is a blessing right now. I monitor her purchases, and she feels like she has the autonomy to still surprise me with a gift. But she forgets how much she cannot reach, or see, and longs to go shopping.

Yesterday, my husband came to me. "Your mother is panicking."

"Now what?" I asked.

"She's asking me to pick out a Warhammer model."

"I told her we weren't going to get you Warhammer this year. It's too hard, and you already have all you want right now."

"She wants to get me Warhammer."

Maybe panicking was an unnecessarily strong word. "I'll talk to her again."

A few minutes later, I'm in my mom's bedroom, and she tells me, "He has trouble with their website too. He said no one likes how they changed it. I ordered some more items from Amazon, and I was able to get what I wanted delivered on Monday." For a moment, I am relieved.

Then she continues, "I need your help. I've been asking for weeks, but you are too busy." She proceeds to give me a long explanation of the importance for her of balancing our gifts. The three categories she always tries to fill. Something practical, something fun, something in between. She details the method she taught me 50 years ago, as if I’m not aware of how she prepares for Christmas.

That evening, my mother tells me that her stomach has been bothering her again. She says she thinks it is because of how worried she is about getting ready for Christmas.

How do I support her need to create an ideal Christmas with the constraints of age and time on all of us? I think of the conversation I had earlier with my husband. The one where after I said "I'll talk to her again." I followed that promise with more words. "I hate this. I had a wonderful day yesterday, and now I feel like I shouldn't have spent my time the way I did. I should have been getting ready for Christmas instead of reflecting and writing. It's just such a rare day I can spend like that, and it felt so good. And now it feels so bad."

For me, holidays tend to be a category of memories of small and large traumas throughout my life. I believe it is even worse for my mother. We keep our holidays really quiet. And yet, with no expectations from anyone other than ourselves, she was panicked that she wouldn't be ready, and I was frustrated that I had too much to do. Christmas is so often portrayed as a picture-perfect holiday. In reality, yesterday it felt stressful and frantic and exhausting.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

A Different Approach

Experiencing this mismatch of expectations with my mother highlights how we as a society tend to focus on unspoken conventions and standards for behavior rather than on the emotional wellbeing of everyone involved. Instead of getting caught up in the pressure of creating a picture-perfect Christmas, what if we focused on the experiences and feelings we truly want to cultivate during the holidays?

I began to realize the incredible opportunity of such a choice when a friend described how their family prepared for Christmas this year. All their close relatives are at various stages of the neurodiverse discovery journey. They are discussing it openly. They planned out the week, meals, activities, even quiet rooms for sensory issues. They prioritized everyone's emotional wellbeing in making their plans. That seemed so wonderful to me. Upon reflection, I realized that there is another way to approach the holiday. One that prioritizes how we want to feel rather than how things are supposed to be.

For me, Christmas is a luxury of time off work. My organization shuts down five working days each year. Supplementing that with PTO usually results in almost two weeks of time where I’m not thinking about work. I want to make the most of that time - this year that means writing and planning and laughing.

For my mother, it seems like Christmas is about spending some time together. She loves to give gifts. She also needs to feel wanted, now more than ever.

To help myself create a less stressful Christmas, I sat down with some intentionality. I described my ideal holiday and considered how I was spending my energy. What I uncovered is a desire for joy. That means writing, playing with the cats, building Legos, and spending time with my mother and husband. It doesn’t mean endless hours wrapping gifts, especially when my husband can wrap them in half the time it takes me. And this year we might not send those Christmas cards at all.

The absurdity of being frustrated with my mother because I have too much to do became obvious, and I can see the importance of putting aside the stress to help her have the holiday she wants. If joy for my mother is seeing us open gifts she has selected, then helping her achieve that should be a priority. I don’t know if I can shift her perspective to see that it isn’t the gifts that give me joy, it is her love and presence. But I can try, simply by creating more opportunity for love and presence. We don’t have to go shopping to do that.

For the next few days I have a plan. Two or three hours are set aside each day to reflect, write, and plan for next year. I’ve asked my husband to help with wrapping gifts. I’m putting the Christmas letter and cards on hold. We’ve ordered Christmas dinner from a local restaurant. Tomorrow I will ask my mother what still feels unfinished for her. Together we can plan a joyous Christmas.

I turned this thought exercise into a worksheet, with the hope that it can help you break free from the pressure of unnecessary expectations and create a holiday that truly aligns with your desires. I encourage you to sit down with a cup of cocoa and your favorite pen, and use this tool to map out a holiday season that prioritizes your well-being and brings you joy.

There’s a lot of seriousness in the world. This week, let’s laugh, connect, and create joyful memories that will last a lifetime.