Christmas Misfit

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

Between the holidays and the year coming to a close, the last few weeks of December seem to be filled with loved ones, celebration, and laughter. Social media lights up with family photos, ugly Christmas sweaters, festive drinks, and more desserts than can be counted.

I’ve always loved Christmas. For years, it was my favorite holiday. The traditions of attending the Christmas Eve program, freezing in my tights as we drove around town afterward and looked at Christmas lights before coming home to watch a movie together. If we were lucky, we could open one gift on Christmas Eve as we anticipated what the morning would bring.

As the years passed, my siblings one by one moved out and started their own families and traditions, and my holidays slowly began to feel a little different. The excitement of coming home to spend time with my family now has a hollow loneliness woven into it that I can’t shake. It’s an aching that has followed me since my baby sister was the last to move out, and I became the only child still spending Christmas at my parents’ house. I’m no stranger to a solo Christmas – I can count on one hand the number of Christmases I’ve shared with a significant other. But for some reason, this past year especially, I felt exposed, incredibly vulnerable, and carried a hurt so deep I could feel it in my bones.

The previous Christmas had been one of the best Christmases I’d ever experienced as an adult. I’d brought home my new boyfriend to meet my family and he had pulled out all the stops - he got a gorgeous bouquet for every woman in my family, from me to my mother, to my sisters to my godmother. He seemed to fit perfectly into our family, and my nieces and nephews took to him quickly. With my beloved rescue pup nestled into my arms, I felt like I finally had my own little family. We spent time with his family as well, and both anticipated celebrating our next Christmas together engaged.

But the year that followed was a tough one for us, and ultimately, the joy and excitement faded, and what remained was eventually broken. The months from the last Christmas to this one held more grief and loss than I felt I could handle at times. I mourned losing my boyfriend, who was my best friend in my new city. I mourned the loss of the future we’d begun to imagine together. As a 40-year-old woman, I began to grieve the fact I would likely never experience carrying my own child – a realization that caused a deep, lasting pain. And I mourned the loss of my rescue pup, who had both taught and given me unconditional love when he passed away shortly after.

What happens when you look up, and your life doesn’t seem to fit? It’s a question that follows me like a dark shadow, always lurking behind me no matter how brightly I try to shine. I wonder how many more Christmases I’ll watch my siblings’ kids eagerly unwrap their presents while I sit alone. I wonder when I’ll ever feel like I belong in a family who shines brightest for their grandkids, knowing I’ll likely never add to the mix. I wrestle with a “family is everything” mentality when I’ve yet to create my own and no longer seem to fit the one I was born into.

For years, I have boldly broadcast my aching to find my person to navigate life with. I have shared my struggles and reminded others they are not alone. I’ve tried to stay bright, move forward, and find peace with what life has afforded me.

But if I’m honest, I’m in a season in which I’m struggling to find my way through my current valley. I question how many more holidays I can face alone. I wonder what life looks like if it’s always just me. As a child who grew up with a family of six sharing one bathroom, I long for the chaos of my own family. I miss having a close-knit community where I had morning tea with my neighbors, daily walks, and morning yoga together. I wonder how often I can throw myself into travels, new cities, and building new friendships when old ones shift into a new chapter in the suburbs with kids. How many blogs can I write, races can I run, or dogs can I rescue in an attempt to fill this void as my life stays stuck on pause?

While the holidays are marketed as a time of joy and celebration, some of us struggle through them. The loss and pain and longing look different, but the hurt is felt more than we realize. They mark the passage of time, a measuring stick of where we’ve been to where we are. Maybe it’s turning 40, or the ripple effects of Covid still impacting us long after the masks stopped being worn, or we're feeling the year's losses all over again.

But as 2023 came to a close, I found myself wanting to quietly let the year fade from one to the next in the comfort of my home. I closed my eyes long before the countdown began, ready to wake up to a fresh start. I didn’t dress up, take photos with friends, or hope for a kiss at midnight.

Instead, I’ve tiptoed into a fresh new year, hoping peace will find me again in the coming days. I hope this is the year I’ll finally feel settled in a zip code that feels like it might be home for a while. That the life I’ve built and the person I’ve become over the last two decades can feel more connected to the girl I was for the first two. I hope the longing ceases regardless of the reason why.

And I hope the new year is a little kinder, more uneventful, and brings a peace many of us would happily breathe in deeply if afforded the chance. I don’t think I’ll move mountains. I’m certain this won’t “be my year.”

But maybe, just maybe, it’ll be the year when I find peace.

And for now, that feels like enough.