Festive fear

Every year it feels as though Christmas creeps earlier and earlier into our consciousness. The faint ring of Christmas tunes starts to play on the radio and supermarkets are putting their tubs of Celebrations and Quality Streets out in September. Even as a mince-pie lover, I think October is quite frankly outrageous to find these strictly December-only delicacies on our shelf. As Christmas cheer is encroaching on us, I start to feel a pit in my stomach. 

As a child I would dream and fantasise about Christmas all year round. It was the time of year when I got handed my favourite book - the Argos catalogue - and could wildly circle toys that I would ask our good friend Santa to bring me. It was when the magic of Christmas was alive and chocolate was in abundance. It was when the world seemed to slow down - just for a week or two - and pretty much anything would go. School was a loose term and teachers would often surrender and shove on a movie for any lesson they could just to avoid the chaos of sugar and festive filled children. Days were punctuated by family games and a fridge full of delicious beige finger food - what more would any 9-year-old want? 

Those memories will always be ones I cherish, of being young and enamoured by the magic of Chrisrmas. But after losing a parent, Christmas becomes a bit more loaded. For many, it can be the most painful time of year. It’s a time that’s laden with memories of loved ones no longer around, rudely highlighted by the missing space at the table. Family traditions seep into non-existence as these rituals become too painful to perform without the people there that made it so special. 

I remember the anxiety that surrounded my family’s first Christmas without my dad. I was weighed down by a great sadness and my grief felt heightened in a time where family was idolised and elevated. For my family, we were very much just ‘getting through it’, rather than embracing our usual excitement and traditions. Christmas felt like a slap in the face coming just months after being bereaved. I dreaded the day. As friends and colleagues talked about their plans, how excited they were for the holiday season, I too pretended to be full of spirit. But I longed for the time back where my family would be together. I missed my brother and I complaining about lunch taking too long, or granny wanting to watch the Queen’s speech and then promptly falling asleep halfway through, or falling out over a game of articulate - is it really Christmas unless a well-meaning board game ends in tears? 

There’s this huge emphasis on happiness and family, it’s quite literally unavoidable. Around every corner there’s a memory waiting to be unlocked of happier times, of a time when this was an enjoyable season and the days weren’t punctuated by grief and sadness. Emotions are heightened and all the little things can quickly become overwhelming. I can remember feeling on the verge of tears for many days during the first December after losing my dad. It just brings it all back - they're not here. It’s another year they are missing, another collection of memories they won’t be part of, and it hurts to think about making new memories when your loved one can’t be a part of it. 

Christmas can feel like it leaves no space for grief or sadness. Surrounded by people who find it the most joyful time of the year can leave you feeling isolated, abnormal, and even worse, a Grinch. 

I don’t necessarily think time heals this wound. For me, Christmas seems to continuously bring up emotions and difficult memories. It would be wrong to say as the years pass, the joy is restored, because for some people it’s just not the case. That’s not to say that the season will forever be ridden with pain and apprehension. But at a time when anything but happiness seems like a personal insult to Father Christmas himself, it can be a challenge to embrace the difficulty of the season alongside the lovely parts. 

Don’t be fooled by society into thinking your level of Christmas spirit is a barometer of worthy judgement. It is just one day (or one month) of a whole year. It can mean as much or as little as you want it to. Just because you’re not getting dressed up to the nines to spend all day in the living room or standing around a piano with your extended family singing Christmas songs looking lovingly into eachothers eyes, doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It’s okay to just get through it, and to be relieved when Christmas trees appear on the pavements ready to be brutally binned come the new year. 

If you find yourself grappling with grief during the Christmas period, know that it's okay. Christmas is not a one-size-fits-all celebration, and your journey through it is uniquely yours. Whether you're busy distracting yourself from the pain or finding solace in the quiet moments, allow yourself the space to navigate the complexities. So, this Christmas, be kind to yourself, embrace the moments that bring you peace, and know that in your own way, you're crafting a story of resilience and strength amid the echoes of both joy and loss.