Being Human during the Holidays

The holiday season can be magical and festive with parties, gifts and reconnecting with loved ones near and far. It can also be busy and exhausting with preparations and events.  Most people feel both of these at this time of year. But one thing that came up for me as December approached this year was a weighted melancholy.

Black Friday was a brisk but sunny day in Manhattan, and we had decided to get our Christmas tree. I had scouted out the best deal on the Upper East Side and knew that the trees wouldn’t last long at that rate, so five of us bundled up and headed out. We decided to add some joy to our adventure by walking to our favorite bakery first, snagging some goodies and cups of hot chocolate and then hitting the tree lot next door.  

Since the trees were all still bundled in netting, it wasn’t a difficult choice. Normally, we  banter back and forth for quite some time before our family can agree.  My husband wants the absolute biggest possible tree, and I want one that can fit easily in our compact New York City living room. Today, it would be a bit of a mystery. I went inside to pay, showed the receipt outside to the worker, and the tree was ours. Now, we only had a ten block walk home, then seven flights of stairs to start our Christmas wonderland.  

While there was laughter and merry making (and lots of pine needles), I noticed something else inside of me that I didn’t have time during the adventure to name. There was something heavy sitting on my chest, making it a little hard to breathe.  It wasn’t the time or place to tend to it, but I made a mental note that I had something in my body that needed my attention, and I would make space for it soon.  

Once the tree was secured in its stand and we all had caught our breath (84 steps!), the decorating commenced. There was music and delight as each ornament taken from the box sparked a memory of times past.  Familiar carols played in the background while stockings were hung, lights displayed and even paper snowflakes were intricately cut out.  It was a quintessential Christmas memory.  But it was not perfect, nothing ever is. Life is complex. My heart still felt a heaviness. 

My younger self would have dismissed that feeling, or even more likely, I would have condemned it. “Why can’t you just be happy, Erin. What is your problem? You always bring things down. Just be grateful for what you have.”  But the new me, the one who understands my story, has deep compassion for that sorrow that visits me from time to time.

When the festivities had died down, I took a few moments to myself, in the quiet of my room. And, as I got alone, I could feel the constriction in my chest moving up through my throat, and then forming tears in my eyes. I was experiencing an ache that needed to be cared for with gentleness. 

I’ve had significant losses in my life, and I was feeling a quiet grief. The losses didn’t happen at Christmas time, but since this is a time of family and memories and nostalgia, it was coming up for me. As tears spilled out of my eyes, I allowed myself to grieve, to miss, to long for what I could never have again. 

As I remembered and named my losses, the tears continued to roll down my cheeks. I didn’t need to wipe them away, I just let them flow. They were cleansing, healing. And after some time, something remarkable happened. It’s like the storm clouds of sorrow slowly parted and the sun began to shine. As the emotion moved through me, I started to feel so very grateful for what the Lord has brought me through and where I get to be now, in my life.  

I didn’t force it. I didn’t make myself write a gratitude list, or tell myself that I shouldn’t be sad.

I welcomed my sadness, invited it in. I let it move through me, and it left me in a tender yet sunnier place. 

What I have learned through my healing journey, is that I will no longer tell myself that I shouldn’t feel what I feel or that what’s in the past has past. My losses are a part of my story, and I still bear the scars. They are a sacred part of my humanity.  What better time of year to honor my humanity than Christmas, when Jesus came to earth, fully God and fully man.  

Grief will come to me again.  Not always at the time or the place that I want it to. But, again, I will notice it in my body; a tight chest, a foggy brain or a sluggish lethargy.  I will make space, welcome it in, sit with it, and let it tell me what it needs to say. This is part of being human and it is holy. 

If you feel like you shouldn’t have sadness during a celebratory time, I encourage you to allow yourself space to just feel how you feel, to invite it all in and care for it.  And if it threatens to overwhelm you, reach out for care from someone who will validate your feelings and sit with you in your heartache. 

Yes, it's the holidays.  But, we are human beings, and our feelings are complex.  We can feel so many things at the same time.  And each of those deserves space, care, and a welcomed invitation.  

As hard as it is to have walked through suffering, I wouldn’t change it because my story is where God has met me, has changed me, has healed me and has given me purpose.