How I’m Opting Out of the Frenetic Pace of Christmas This Year
Before Thanksgiving had even passed, the memes began to circulate on social media about how stressed moms are over the impending Christmas holiday. We are responsible for creating the magic, it seems. We are in charge of the class parties. We make sure everyone has matching pajamas, arrange a family photo, and attend every single event our city puts on. The Nutcracker! The Nutcracker in the round, The Nutcracker as told by elves, The Nutcracker – but on roller skates.
Then the elves (the ones on shelves) started to appear in friends’ homes. My kids regaled me with tales of the elaborate and creative things their friends’ elves do. Meanwhile, this year our elves sent an email delaying their return until December 5 due to inclement weather. That move, which cost nothing except 10 minutes of my time to create a new Gmail account, earned me four fewer days of moving those little suckers around the house. One more weekend without expectations was a gift to myself this Christmas.
That little gift was just the first step this year on my journey to actually enjoy Christmastime.
I won’t pretend I’ve always done a good job of opting out of the frenetic pace of the holidays in the past. The social pressure is strong and I’m extremely extroverted by nature. If there’s something going on, I usually want to be there. An entire month of celebrations in our city, Pittsburgh, is like catnip for me. I live for a well-planned holiday festival.
That’s why the decision to take a step back from things and focus on making sure I emerge from this holiday season in a good headspace feels radical.
Last year I drove to three Targets to find matching pajamas for my kids in the correct sizes.
It was … not fun. It did not spark joy, and I am not going to do it again. I don’t remember what pajamas I wore on Christmas as a kid, and mine won’t either. There is a near total chance that they will not sit in therapy one day talking about how mismatched our Christmas morning photos were. This year, I will take back three hours of my life and do something for me.
I know self-care for mothers gets pigeonholed into a box that often only includes beauty treatments and chocolate, but the truth is a fancy coffee and a pedicure while I read a good book is actually one way I can totally relax. I am replacing the scavenger hunt of 2021 with a quiet afternoon alone in 2022.
Lowering expectations on myself also means I get to actually enjoy the holiday festivities, which is an act of self-care in itself.
At one time, I purchased hot cocoa bombs for my kids made by a crafty friend. I ordered customized hot cocoa travel cups from a different crafty friend. (It’s nice to have crafty friends, because I am not). We used these to take hot cocoa on a drive to see Christmas lights – of course, in the matching pajamas.
This is all lovely. If you enjoy this type of thing, I am excited for you. I do not, so I am not doing it this year. Why was I doing this? Why was I getting all sweaty searching for all of the pieces to the matching pajamas in the laundry room and yelling at everyone as we tried to get out the door?
This year, we will wear whatever is on our bodies, get Starbucks drive-through, and look at some lights. I can’t wait. Rather than the head puppeteer orchestrating the experience or an influencer seeking that perfect shot, I am going to sit in my car and enjoy the lights show. During our last 10 trips to this local lights show, I am not sure I’ve ever actually seen it because I am too focused on making sure everything is perfect for everyone else. This small act feels indulgent in a culture that seems unable to bring the holidays down just a notch.
I’ve decided to splurge on myself this year too.
We all do it: While wearing hole-filled leggings we’ve owned since college, we keep our kids in the cutest clothes imaginable. Most years I even spend my own holiday gift cards on my kids. I’ve somehow convinced myself that using the Target gift card from my in-laws on the kids is what a mom should do. It’s selfless, right? Moms are supposed to be selfless.
In reality, all I am doing is stuffing their toy boxes and dressers to overflowing because I feel bad about buying things for myself. This year, I will shop guilt-free. I will take advantage of those post-holiday sales and my husband’s week of vacation days to peruse clothing racks and household goods in peace.
If I see a really, really perfect dress on sale for my 4-year-old, I will not buy it because she already has more perfect dresses than one child can wear (despite her frequent attempts to wear several of them during the same day). If I see a really, really perfect dress for me, though, I will buy it. I will not feel guilty, and I will wear it with joy.
I hope that by choosing to invest in myself during the last week of the year, I can set that intention for 2023 – to not lose myself in the shuffle of family life.
An older mother in our community used to gather some new moms together for coffee when my oldest – now in fifth grade – was a newborn.
She held babies while we ate, taught us how to change a diaper in a public restroom, and told us how easy it would be to lose ourselves. As a new mom I already felt a bit lost, so her gentle warning hit me hard. She talked about our kids as cups and us as the pitcher. Our kids need a full cup to thrive, but we can’t fill their cups if our pitcher is empty.
This holiday season, I am going to slow things down, carve out some quiet moments for myself, and make sure I enter the new year for once with my pitcher full.
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