🎄 Notes on spending Christmas alone

From my couch to yours on this difficult day

For about a decade, I spent Christmas day alone. I remember waking up alone and depressed on what’s supposed to be the most special day of the year. If that’s you today, I wanted you to have something fresh in your inbox. I wanted you to know that this difficult day will pass. Night will fall, and you’ll have a chance to try again tomorrow. You might feel like the only lonely person in the world, but I promise you: you’re not.

Many people sitting around unhappy Christmas tables feel desperately lonely too. Not to mention all the other survivors who’ve decided to spend today apart from the people who hurt them. I hope this essay might bring you some comfort, and that you will take extra good care of yourself on this difficult day.

This time of year is painful for me. I know I’m not the only one. 

Growing up, Christmas was always a difficult time. I was the eldest daughter caught in the middle of a vicious divorce, and Christmas was contested ground. There was never any doubt which parent I wanted to spend Christmas with, but my wishes didn’t always count for much.

Then, my mother died.

The first Christmas after her death was brutal. She’d been underground for only four months, when I sat - dumbstruck and devastated - at someone else’s Christmas table. I couldn’t understand how everyone seemed so normal. I felt like I was glued to the bottom of the ocean, while life carried on as normal on the surface.  I remember someone squealing with delight when she opened her Christmas gift. I remember the dinner which tasted like sawdust, and the pity presents I got. I remember how I tried to say thank you very loudly and clearly, knowing that my face likely didn’t communicate that. 

There’ve been a few other doozies:

🎄 The year I made meatballs for guests who never showed, and cried myself to sleep.

🎄 The year a crow died in the chimney of my rented flat, and I spent the Christmas period with the rotting carcass and the thousands of flies which hatched from it. (This was very grim but it made for a fun scene in my novel.)

🎄 The year my job hung in the balance after I fucked up a work trip.

🎄 The year I had no heating, running water or internet for 10 days. 

🎄 The year I worried about an inconclusive health scan.

Gallery of Christmases past: me in Penn Station (a pic that accompanied a short piece I wrote for The Irish Times that year), visiting refugees in Lebanon with work and on my own in my flat on Christmas Day 2017

I’ve spent many, many Christmases alone. Some were fine, enjoyable even. But most were devastating. I was deeply ashamed of being alone at Christmas time. It felt like proof of my unworthiness. A time when everyone else was with their closest, most important people and I was alone, unloved and unwanted. It wasn’t just Christmas day, but the weeks leading up to it. When the air is thin and sharp and the days are relentlessly dark. I had to endure the teeth-rattling cold, and the raw isolation of feeling devastated while everyone else seemed so happy. 

I doubt they were really that happy. This time of year is hard for a lot of us. All the things that simmer in the background throughout the year come to a vigorous boil at Christmas time. Levels of loneliness, suicidality, sexual violence, addiction relapse and domestic violence spike. For some, it will be the first Christmas without someone they loved. For others, it’s likely the last Christmas with someone they love.

When you’re grappling trauma, this time of year can be a flashpoint for pain and despair.  The festive period dredges up our deepest wounds. It illuminates every pain, every loss, every trauma. It spotlights all the things you wish were different, but never will be.

This year, I’m spending Christmas with my partner and her family in Rome. I’m not alone anymore, but my body remembers this time of year as a deep and widening wound. I’ll never forget the hollowness of waking up on Christmas morning in an empty flat, with no presents to open and no dinner to enjoy. 

My best Christmases were the ones when I accepted that I was doing the best I could, and really committed to taking care of myself. The years I leaned towards self-compassion, even though my instinct toward self-destruction roared with the insistence of a forest fire. Some years, I got out for a walk and saw neighbors walking their dogs. Some nodded hello, and I felt a little bit less alone. Some years I spent the day inside a good book (Lauren Groff's Fates and Furies on Christmas day 2017) or watching a TV show that provided just the right amount of anesthesia (Season 5 of Orange is the New Black on Christmas Day 2018). One year, I saved the packages of books I’d ordered so I had something to open on Christmas morning. 

Over time, I got better at passing the day without too much anguish. I learned to take care of myself practically and emotionally.

Here are some of the things that helped: 

🎄Pay attention to your physical comfort. This probably feels like a pathetic consolation when you’re emotionally devastated and, you know what, it is. But it’s an important way to soothe your body and help you feel safe in your environment. Highly recommend a hot bath or shower and putting on clean pajamas with thick socks, a favourite blanket and anything else that helps you feel good. The temptation to deny yourself these things when you feel shitty is very strong. But you deserve to feel comfortable.

🎄You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.

🎄You don’t have to see anyone you don’t have to see.

🎄Some years, I was invited to spend Christmas day with people. Some years, I wasn’t. Often, I chose to spend it alone. People are often well-meaning but that doesn’t mean they know what’s best for you. Trust that you do. Trust that you are doing your best.

If your best isn’t enough for someone else, that’s OK but let it be enough for you. 

🎄Usually, I wasn’t up for talking on Christmas day, and found it best to text people who might reach out to wish them a nice day and say that I wasn’t available to chat. After that, I switched my phone off or left it in another room. Social media will be full of gifts and beautifully set tables. Be kind to yourself and stay away from it. 

🎄Have a good cry if you need one. Have several if that feels good. 

🎄Sometimes, the sentimentality of the season meant I softened my boundaries. That never ended well. 

🎄Don't try to work. 2012 was the year I tried to work through Christmas and I learned that I can’t. I was much too sad. 

🎄I find it better to finish the year’s therapy in early December. Sometimes it’s better to cocoon yourself away from the things that are hurting you, rather than digging them up. 

🎄Ask yourself: Is this a December problem, or a January problem? After December 15th (if not sooner), everything is a January problem.

🎄Consider making travel plans for next year. I’ve spent a few Christmases abroad and they always hit me in a different way. Not necessarily better, but different. 

🎄When you avoid Christmas, the world gets smaller this time of year. It’s hard to go to the shops or listen to the radio or just be in the world without being hit over the head with other people’s joy. It’s painful to feel outside the rhythms of the rest of the world. But it passes. 

🎄Avoid all the pre-season advice, particularly about managing stress. If your Christmas is barren and lonely, it’s not going to feel good to hear about boisterous family meals or an overflowing calendar of social obligations.

🎄Avoid the shops. If it was now, I’d order groceries online. Back then, I focused on getting what I needed and averting my eyes from all the festive crap. 

What I want most at this time of year is to rest. To read, write, exercise and just be in that precious time between Christmas and New Years when the world goes slack. The best years are the ones I make a safe, little cocoon for myself. When I allow myself to step out of the normal rhythm of life, and just be. 

I don’t regret those Christmases I spent alone. Looking back, I see that they were necessary. Sometimes, it’s better to be alone than to be with people who hurt you.

Though it was very painful, spending Christmas alone was an essential vote of confidence in myself. That even if it felt like I had no-one in the world, I had myself. I could be my own best friend, my own confidant, my own cheerleader.

Preparing to write this, I went back through some old journals. I found that each December, I wrote about how I expected my mood to lift after December 25th. It always did. Whatever despair December brought was soon replaced with the promise of a fresh start. I just had to hold on a little longer. 

If you enjoyed this essay, you might also appreciate:

The deep retreat of Winter

Reasons I’m Glad I Lived

💕 If this piece resonated with you, please tap the heart below to help spread the word.

💬 In the comments, I’d love to read about your experiences managing trauma recovery at this time of year. If you need a virtual hug or a boost of encouragement, please reach out. I’ll be reading comments throughout the festive period and would love to cheer you on.