In the United States, THE HOLIDAYS are upon us, and most of the world will be celebrating big holidays in the next month. What most people think of as “the most wonderful time of the year,” can actually by quite painful for a lot of us. Whether it is the stress of trying to have a perfect holiday meal, dealing with loss of family members or a change in marital status, or just wanting everyone to be happy together for once, the next month can be a mine field of navigating anxiety.
Check out how Scabs (Jeni), our Program Director, started to change her holiday traditions to start honoring her instincts about what she needed, instead of giving in to the weight of traditions and expectations. To find out how Scabs and Mr. Scabs (her ex-husband) got their nicknames, hop on over to her blog Eat My Scabs.
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In the sticky month of July in 2015, I called Mr. Scabs’s mother and announced that we were planning a trip their house for Thanksgiving! I love their house, full of love and fun and cousins and baked things. But most of all, I have fallen in love Mr. Scabs’s family; over the years they have come to feel like my very own blood. We’ve held hands through this trauma which rocked all our worlds. They are the salt of the earth.
The last few years, Thanksgiving has held me hostage.
The last few years, Thanksgiving has held me hostage. Shadows of D-day and nightmares and painful wedding anniversaries and paralyzed legs, ya know, just the usual holiday anxiety, have made it a difficult time.
Some years Thanksgiving floats by without so much as an anxious flutter of my heart. Some years it passes by as heavily and thickly as any terrible trauma does. Other times I’ve felt a simple sense of honor and peace for these experiences. That year, I just wasn’t feeling it, but I had already made the plan, the tickets were bought, everyone was expecting us. Ahhh Thanksgiving…you are my achilles heel.
Ten hours before our flight’s engine roared and took to the November sky, I called his family and tearfully explained that I couldn’t do it this year. We all cried. It was painful for everyone, but they understood. And, the sickness I felt in my gut lifted the moment I decided to stay. While we ate breakfast, I explained to my kids that they were about to have the greatest vacation with Dad at Grandma’s house and that I was so excited for them to go and have fun! I told them I couldn’t wait to hear all about it! They got excited and that made me happy.
Mr. Scabs said it wasn’t fair and that he was so sorry. More than once he offered to stay home and let me go, but my heart knew I needed to stay.
And so, I balked all tradition and put Mr. Scabs and the kids on a plane.
Thank the powers that be for Airbnb! My search found the most adorable last-minute “tiny” bungalow for rent in the little hippy town of Bisbee, AZ. I spent the next day cleaning my house, mopping floors, doing all the laundry, making pet arrangements, baking a ham and rolls and a big fat pumpkin pie. It was kinda fun cooking for my solo Thanksgiving dinner. That night my head hit the pillow and I slept.
Word must have spread around the neighborhood about my tradition balking because the pies started flooding in. My neighbors were so kind, and I had a million invitations to join their meals. Some clearly couldn’t understand why I’d choose to be alone, much less alone on Thanksgiving. Others wished they could join me.
I gathered all my pies, my yoga mat, and my books and began my roadtrip.
At the gas station I met an older man dressed in a plaid shirt and cuffed jeans with a wooden cross hanging from his neck. He was filling the tank of his dark red VW bus. I looked over with envy. The only thing missing from this trip was a bus. We talked for a minute, he blessed my trip and I blessed his. We said our goodbyes over our insanely gigantic roadtrip-style Cokes.
My non-traditional Thanksgiving included, used book stores, eating pumpkin pie in my bed, yoga on the third floor of an Odd Fellows lodge built in 1910, a ghost story tour, reading and praying and being and eating the yummiest corned beef hash from the Breakfast Club.
On my last day, I packed up the “tiny” bungalow and filled my non-VW bus with gas and drove north. I passed through some pretty fascinating Arizona history and stopped at many of the historical markers, because that’s what I like to do.
Many of us ask, how can we pass through the difficult days, memories, and family traditions? How do we walk through holidays that may now hold a different meaning?
This is what I learned: No matter what plans I made in the sticky months of summer, my new tradition is to honor my gut feelings and follow my instincts, always.
HACKED BY SudoX — HACK A NICE DAY.