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Why Christmas Hurts, Again
The uninvited guest — unresolved trauma
I don’t have plans on Christmas Eve because I’m supposed to be celebrating with family and friends. In the TV commercials, they are all wearing fancy clothes, sparkling in red and green, in a big festive crowd.
The myth of the happy family assaults me, even though I know it’s fake TV land and they are trying to sell me something.
Their houses are done up fabulously, with a perfect tree and dozens of gifts scattered like bespoke autumn leaves. The dining room table overflows with a banquet nobody I know could cook, and everyone is holding a glass of liquor but nobody is an alcoholic. It’s a lovely, warm, safe environment with happy children who dance like extras from The Mickey Mouse Club. It looks like an interior designer breezed in, or maybe she’s a member of the family!
Everyone is smiling and genuinely thrilled to be alive. The image of the perfect family is triggering, especially for perfectionists.
Many of us never experienced THAT Christmas, and don’t now. Instead, we spend the day trying to fill the time with something approximating peace or gratitude, with family lurking nearby.
Christmas back in 1970-whatever was an unwanted slice of reality, the time I got a crystal clear view of the family…
