A Gift to Give Yourself
I’m not mailing out Christmas cards this year.
The other day I stared at the calendar on my computer screen and realized that the yellow squares for my new writing class overlapped with the light blue squares showing an end-of-year getaway I booked with my husband. I felt a knot grow in the pit of my stomach: I have never done anything that blatantly erroneous before. Writing to the director to let her know of my mistake was one of the cringe-iest emails I’ve ever written and not because I haven’t made mistakes before. Oh, yes. I have. This one, however, was an unabashed warning that I was slipping. But oddly, once I got past the sheer embarrassment of forgetting about a class I was supposed to teach, I realized that I also felt affirmed.
Over the last couple of years, my family and I have suffered great loss and changes. Two years ago, my mother died of lung cancer. Given my dad’s failing health and his reliance on my mother to care for him, my brother and I moved him to Connecticut a few months later to live in my house. It would be good for him to be closer to my sister — also in Connecticut. She was battling her own cancer diagnosis and travel was out of the question; even the brief visits she made once he moved here were debilitating for her. A year later, she died. Her death was devastating and I struggled to deal with a new layer of grief, even as I had to continue to care for my dad. Then, a month later, I lost a good friend to a sudden heart attack.
Meanwhile, because conventional wisdom cautions caretakers to take time for themselves, I tried to hold on to a small part of my own life. Not the part where I am wife, mother, grandmother, friend — babysitting, laundry, school pick ups, grocery shopping and maybe some cleaning — those roles fit in with some juggling. I can drag out a shower or trip to the pharmacy and grab 20 minutes of me-time easily. It was more challenging to claim my time as an author and writer. A teaching writer and author. I had plans for my second and third books. My writing practice needed some shoring up and there were writing retreats to plan and classes to pitch. It became clear, even to me, that I might be piling too much on my plate. About a year after my dad moved in, I realized that the bulk of my “work” is being a caretaker. But I didn’t want to give up my career, so I found the places where I could squeeze it in. I thought I was handling it, even as colleagues described me as “overextended.” I didn’t want to believe it, but then I planned a trip to Kennebunkport, Maine on the day my next class was to start.
I hated realizing I had done that. Another time in my life, I might have — no, probably would have — tried to convince my husband to cut our trip short. So it was odd that I felt affirmed when I would typically be kicking myself for being such an idiot. However, in an unlikely turn of events, the same feeling of affirmation seemed to bring with it a clarity of priorities. We both needed this time away.
Being suffused with grief and sorrow has brought me closer to discovering who I am as a person than almost any experience I’ve ever had. I think I’ve done okay navigating through the unimaginable pain that is loss, but starting to allow myself to be accepting of myself for making mistakes or not getting everything done is something I typically haven’t been that comfortable with. Other times of the year demand our attention, too, but at Christmas, the harsh light of expectation is disguised as colored bulbs ringing the front door or a sparkly star on the tree. The pressure to perform amidst the surging currents of mourning is great. Grief takes up time and energy; it’s not always immobilizing, but it always requires your attention.
So, I might not send out Christmas cards this year, but I can send out this message of affirmation to all those grappling with the vast layers of grief that the holidays bring: You are exactly where you need to be right now. Don’t feel like baking gingerbread cookies? That’s okay. Didn’t get rolls of wrapping paper or spools of red and green ribbon? No problem. The gift of being open to the lessons of loss and what we can learn about ourselves is a more honest way to honor who you are as a person and a perfect present to give yourself this Christmas.