One of our LOVE SCHOOL students made a special request for our next LOVE SCHOOL class – how to cope with the holidays when someone you love fails to live up to your expectations. She wrote, “How do you befriend your sad, hopeless, lonely parts during the holidays when your life isn’t a Hallmark Movie?”
Reading her letter, I flashed back to my mother sobbing when my father gave her a pregnant cow as a gift, when she was hoping for something sparkly that fit in a small velvet box. He thought he’d upped his game since giving her an oil can, but she wasn’t impressed. By the time I was eight years old, my father had figured out that it was in his best interest to give me his credit card and send me Christmas shopping for Mom. When she passed in 2017, and the family was doling out her jewelry, I realized that I’d picked out almost everything in her jewelry box.
My mother had other unfulfilled expectations around holiday time. I’ll never forget the year she’d bought matching hoodie footie pajamas for all “the grands” (grandkids). We were spending Christmas at our family’s farm in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Georgia, where we hiked into the forest to select our Christmas tree, and Dad hauled it back on his tractor.
Mom wanted a photograph of all the grands wearing their matching PJs, but for the life of her, she could not get all those toddlers smiling at the same time. Just when one of them stopped arching and wailing, another one set off. After an hour of trying to get my baby to cooperate, I finally said, “Enough already!” and stomped off with my baby on my boob. Mom looked crestfallen.
Dashed expectations took a much darker turn on my daughter’s father’s side of the family. Every holiday, his mother-in-law had some fantasy ideal of how the holidays should go, but everyone walked on eggshells waiting for her borderline personality disorder to kick in and lead to a blow-up/ meltdown. The things that set her off were so small- and so shockingly distressing to her- that we finally quit trying to do holidays at his house.
This Thanksgiving, I had the worst Thanksgiving of my life. I was already grieving, since I wasn’t going to be with any of my family. My siblings all get together in Ohio, now that they all live in Columbus, which was never my home, but Jeff and I weren’t going to be joining them since we were on a tight moving deadline and had to get out of one house just after Thanksgiving, and our new lease had only started a few days earlier. My daughter’s Thanksgiving break was so short that it didn’t make logistical or financial sense for her to fly home from NYC. And since Jeff and I were mid-move, I didn’t even know where my turkey roasting pan was boxed, I wouldn’t have been capable of giving her a proper Thanksgiving anyway. My daughter went to a friend’s house, and Jeff and I would have done the same, only we don’t really know anyone in our new town, and the old friend I’ve often celebrated holidays with in Santa Cruz was on call at the hospital.
I’d told Jeff I wouldn’t be cooking for Thanksgiving since we hadn’t unpacked my kitchen yet from the storage boxes. Instead, I suggested we shake things up and go for a day pass at Harbin Hot Springs, eat pad Thai at Buddha Thai, and relax our sore muscles, taking a one-day break from moving. All he had to do was buy himself a day pass, because they changed the rules and I could no longer book his day pass on my membership. I’d handle the rest.
Thanksgiving morning with my empty nest arrived, and Jeff still had not booked a day pass. The new house was a chaotic mess and I was homesick and heartbroken. I felt outraged that he couldn’t be bothered to meet that one small expectation to enter his credit card into a website so I could go sit in warm water and nurse my visible and invisible wounds. He thought I was an unpleasable bitch who couldn’t be bothered to communicate my expectations for the day that he knew was going to be hard for me. I felt defensive because I’d been crystal clear about what would have made me happy days earlier.
A fight ensued, and my roadrunner part just wanted to bolt. I wound up sobbing in our one bathroom in the renovated barn we were moving into. Jeff felt helpless to make me stop crying, and when he made bids for connection to try to hug me, I pushed him away and froze up. It was a royal shit show. I thought about going to Harbin by myself, but I was afraid I’d get months of “poor me” stories from my partner about how I’d abandoned him on Thanksgiving so I could go bathe in mineral water with other men while he slaved away at home, unpacking boxes. It wasn’t worth the passive-aggressive punishment I imagined I would have to deal with in the aftermath, so we both stayed home unpacking, with a Cold War ensuing in the deadly silences.
I spent most of the day framing my daughter’s 5 year old watercolor paintings from her Waldorf school in twenty black and white frames to decorate her new room in the hay loft of the barn, as a small way of feeling close to her, when she was on a train to Stony Brook, NY to get well fed by her best friend’s nana. Towards the end of the day, when neither of us had eaten anything yet, I suggested we take the dog to the beach for sunset.
– Maintain the overall tone and intent of the original text, focusing on personal experiences and reflections.
– Ensure that the rewritten version is suitable for a health blog audience and can be related to topics such as self-care, emotional well-being, and community support.
Revised Version:
I prepared a selection of healthy snacks and beverages to enjoy by the fire pit, surrounded by the stunning beauty of the beach and the awe-inspiring sunset. As we relaxed, our nervous systems calmed down, allowing us to hold hands and cool the ice.
On our way back home, we passed by Dinucci’s, a charming local spot on Highway 1 known for its comforting Italian family meals. Jeff suggested treating me to dinner there, but to our surprise, they were fully booked for months. We tried other restaurants in the area, only to find them closed after a community event we were unaware of. Despite our efforts to make reservations, every place we called or searched online was fully booked. We went to bed hungry and in a grumpy mood, with me sleeping alone in my daughter’s room, surrounded by her artwork and missing her dearly.
The following day brought a positive turn of events when one of my dearest friends, who now lives hours away, invited Jeff and me to a Friendsgiving gathering at an old barn in West Sonoma. The event was filled with fresh oysters, local wine, homemade kombucha, apple pies made from Gravenstein apples, and Thanksgiving leftovers. It was like a healing balm for our souls and a nourishing feast for our empty stomachs. I connected with familiar faces and enjoyed watching a heartwarming talent show featuring children, including a baby playing the drums with adorable enthusiasm. This gathering filled me with a sense of belonging and community after feeling displaced during Thanksgiving.
Reflecting on these experiences made me contemplate the expectations we hold during the holiday season. Which expectations are realistic, and which ones only lead to disappointment? I once heard a Buddhist therapist say that all our suffering originates from expectations, and if we let go of them, we would find perpetual joy and surprise. While I initially dismissed this idea, I began to question whether having no expectations at all is necessary for feeling safe, secure, and trusting in relationships.
This thought will be the focus of our upcoming LOVE SCHOOL session, where we will engage in Internal Family Systems (IFS) practice, creative writing, and healing exercises. If you or someone you know is interested in joining us, you are welcome to be a part of our community dedicated to healing from relational trauma, enhancing relational skills, and fostering healthier connections in various aspects of life.