What It’s Like…not being into the holidays

I checked my instagram after an hour of detangling and putting conditioner in my hair. I saw the normal “fitness” instagram posts about to remain healthy during the holidays. I looked down at my period-bloated stomach, rolled my eyes and scrolled down. The next few posts were all of the stores and fashion accounts I follow promoting Christmas and after Christmas deals. I made sure to save those deals so I could buy myself something with the $0 in my bank account. I kept scrolling and then saw a row of pictures of friends taking pictures with their families. They all looked so cute and so happy. I liked all of them. This went on about fifteen minutes straight. Then I stopped and liking, sat down on the floor of my bedroom, pulled up my laptop and began typing this.

Holidays are weird time for me. It’s not that I don’t like them or don’t care about them. I just still haven’t found myself experiencing  the perfect holiday that I can post on my instagram for everyone to see. Yes, I know what people post online probably doesn’t show the fights, or the personal trauma and isolation they may still be feeling. But, within all of those dark and hard things, there are still times and moments where they have a family and space where those problems are present. There is still happiness. There is still love and joy. There is a sense of stability or “normal-ness”.

Christmas always made me feel weird and It wasn’t until I was in 7th grade that I understood why. My dad was in Ghana during the winter for the anniversary of my grandpa’s death. While he was there, he got sick and had to get surgery. My mom didn’t tell me. My mom was working two jobs, and the only time I would see her is when she picked up and dropped me off of school.  Things were tight that year and she told me ahead of time she was working Christmas and she couldn’t get me a present that year. I told her not to worry about getting me a present. She said she didn’t want me to spend Christmas alone so she sent me up to spend all of Christmas break with my cousins. The morning of Christmas, we all had to be up by 10am. We ate breakfast together in their dining hall. My dad surprised me and called me to wish me Merry Christmas. I could tell he was tired—I didn’t know it was because of the surgery— but I was happy to hear from him. Around 12pm, my cousins and I gathered around their Christmas tree. We prayed and then we went through gifts. I helped pass gifts to all my cousins and I was so surprised when I found out that they got me a purse and Justin Bieber Calendar. I still have both to this day. There was this one big box and it had my name and I was so confused. I opened it up and there were 5 different dresses from my mom. I started crying and laughing. They were beautiful. We had to go out to a Christmas party that night and I knew I wanted to wear one of the dresses, specifically, the one with a pink bow and Cheetah print bottom skirt . Yeah, that’s right, I rocked animal print before it came back in style in 2019. We continued with the gifts and eventually we played video games, went out for Christmas dinner and went to bed. 

I remember looking at the box with the rest of the dresses that night, holding them close to my chest. After awhile, I walked out of my room, downstairs around 2am and sat in front of the Christmas tree. I remembered the structure of the day and how planned and organized it was. Throughout the whole day, I’d wondered why it was so organized and structured. I looked at the tree again and it hit me. This was how Christmas was supposed to be or so I thought it was. Structured, organized, sweet. Like how any normal family would celebrate Christmas. 

But my family wasn’t “normal” in this sense. My mom had to work on Christmas Day and she wouldn’t get home till about 5pm. She would cook Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve, before she left to work. When she got home the next day, she ate a little bit of her food and went to bed. I would wake up around 7am and check to see if my dad was home. My dad usually left the house around 5am to for his job and would be home around 12pm. He’d warm up the food, sit down and watch NBA Christmas games. If he didn’t feel like watching NBA or he got bored of it, he would go upstairs and be asleep most of the day. I usually opened my present once I woke up. I’d warm up the food in the fridge, eat throughout the day, play on my computer, read a couple books or just stay with my teddy bears and rewatch the Arthur Christmas special in my room. I’d always felt that this was a weird way to celebrate Christmas, but never thought much of it. 

That was my Christmas tradition. Not pretty or perfect enough to put on instagram or a super traditional Christmas that you would watch on a hallmark movie: and I can’t help but admit that I wish it was.