Move Over Scrooge

Unraveling Christmas and My Evolving Holiday Journey

It’s Wednesday morning 6AM, December 20^th, 2023. I haven’t even had a first sip of my coffee and as I launch my Scrivener application and delve into the contents of my writing folder, I find myself drawn to a piece titled "December 30, 2021." In this seemingly arbitrary selection, I stumble upon a quote that I had made a note of on that particular day:

"It is essential to evaluate our thoughts from the perspective of an objective observer, as if someone external is examining the intricacies of your mind. Carl Sagan once remarked, 'The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.' So, dear piece of stardust or celestial jazz, don't let a single thought mar your day or hinder your progress in life. Free yourself from attachments and assume the role of an observer of your own thoughts. Though this act may require time, perhaps even a lifetime for some, the initial step is simple awareness; our thoughts do not define our identity but rather form a part of the intricate tapestry of who we choose to be."

What adds an uncanny layer to this connection is that today marks December 20th, the 27th anniversary of his passing. Admittedly, as I write down these thoughts, a new date may usher in, my diluted focus always leading the way… but the essence remains. The synchronicity of uncovering this quote on the eve of his memorial… I truly LOVE this kind of stuff. It’s like the universe itself conspired to toss the tangled mess of my past and present.

It’s 5 days before Christmas. Christmas has always unraveled me.  It's a haunting reel of memories— a Christmas tree crashing down, gifts scattered like debris down the street, the ribbon caught under the heel of my brother Stevie’s boot, trailing behind him as he ran through blinding snow, the annual bout of strep throat during my college years, the adult years of never going home for Christmas, instead opting for an escape. Flying business class, the free perks Air Canada used to serve up to their 50K members quite regularly back in the day, departing on Christmas Eve, and landing on Boxing Day in Sydney, Australia—I slept the entire journey, missing the fancy Cornish hen dinner. It was the best Christmas gift ever. Madison Violet was playing at Woodford Folk Festival, and suddenly, there was no need for Christmas at all. I had done it. I figured out a way to escape the day and not feel guilty about it.

And then there's the memory of a dog bite, two years ago. These memories cling to me like an echo, stubborn beyond stubborn. It’s as if the events themselves give me permission to “Bah Humbug”. I’m tired of this person. I want to give my inner Scrooge a name. Scrapper. That was my nick name when I played hockey for the Tiverton Big Reds. They called me Scrapper because I couldn’t wait to get into my next brawl. Take my internalized anger out on the ice with anyone on the opposite team who even came close to bullying up me or any of my team members. Let’s use that name for my inner Christmas hater. I really find solace in the Internal family system and the idea that I have all these different parts in me. They live in different flats upstairs in my head.  If you aren’t familiar with this Internal Family Systems (IFS)… let me tell you just a little bit about it.

IFS is a therapeutic model developed by Dr. Richard Schwartz in the 1980s. It is grounded in the belief that the mind is made up of different "parts," each with its own unique characteristics, emotions, and motivations. These parts are thought to develop as a way of coping with life experiences, especially those that may have been challenging or traumatic. First we have our Exiles. These are the parts that carry the emotional pain. In my case, the recurring strep throat during Christmas was a symbolic representation of the physical and emotional toll that the holiday season brought on for me. This exile embodies feelings of vulnerability, discomfort, and a sense of being unwell during Christmas. A shield. A protective response to shield myself from potential stressors associated with the holiday. Yeah, that sounds about right. Let’s call her Step throat Shelby.

Next we have our Managers. These are the parts that try to keep us safe by controlling and organizing life. They often manifest themselves as perfectionism, self-criticism, and high standards. So in my little Christmas narrative here, a potential Managerial part ( let’s call her Mandy ) could be the aspect of Mandy finding a way to escape the traditional Christmas experience by flying to Sydney, Australia, and attending the Woodford Folk Festival. Mandy took charge, strategically planning an alternative way to avoid the potential distress associated with the holiday season.

The Manager is often driven by a desire to maintain control, create stability, and avoid overwhelming emotions. I slept right through Christmas Eve, we flew through the International Date Line and woke up on Boxing Day. Well done Mandy.

Next we have our Firefighters. These parts react to the pain of the exiles by engaging in impulsive or distracting behaviours, such as substance abuse, isolation (yep), binging on tv, scrolling, over eating ( can I just squeeze just one more shortbread in? ), compulsive shopping ( oh boy, I used to fall into this one) and just imagine the list going on and on and on… Exit Annie. That’s her name. Always looking for an exit sign, an escape.

So what if, just for this Christmas

, I could pretend that my memories aren't real? What if they're merely thoughts I conjured up, illusions that have taken on a life of their own? What if I could detach myself and see them as marsh mellow clouds passing through the sky rather than concrete experiences? They're not my reality but fragments of a narrative I've crafted in my mind.

And if that doesn’t work … then I'll hold onto these words of Carl Sagan, and do my best to steer clear of the shadows of sadness and anxiety. I refuse to be lured back into those well worn neural pathways etched deep in my skull. These memories that cling to me like an echo, stubborn beyond stubborn. If and when they sneak up behind me, like they do every year, giving me permission to utter a “Bah Humbug”,  I will steadfastly resist their influence.

This year marks the first without my mom and if she’s watching over me, I want her to see a transformed version of myself, unshackled from the old ball and chain of yesteryears. I want her to see me laughing and smiling with my sister, my brother, my dad, my nephew, my partner, my family, my dogs and my friends. I know she’ll drop by, and in those moments I want her to see a lighter version of me, embracing the warmth of connection and shared joy. I know this is a tall order and I don’t know that I will be able to stick to it, this year, but I’m going to try my absolute best and lean into every tool in my toolbox.

Sending love and healing to all who carry anxiety and trauma during the holidays and to everyone enduring suffering.

You are not alone.