Beyond the Presents: Reflecting on the Emotional Side of Christmas

Christmas is a time that holds a complex place in my heart. Over the years, I have witnessed it transform from a magical season filled with joy to a holiday marked by bitterness, resentment, and animosity. Christmas used to mean family, love, and peace, and while that is true for some people, in my experience, it has evolved to a season filled with mental health battles with the themes of loss, change, and self-reflection. While future Christmases are unwritten, there is hope that all of us have future Christmas gifts filled with heartwarming emotions and positive memories.

As a child, Christmas was undoubtedly the highlight of the year. I can still recall the warmth of the house, the brisk Indiana weather, the sounds of Christmas music, and the joy of family coming into town. Back then, in the 80s, the holidays felt simple. There was no internet to distract me, no streaming shows to fill the time. It was a time for family, food, presents, and my anticipation of Santa.

I recall the anticipation of the holiday season in October. The joy was palpable. When I look at old photo albums, I see my five and six-year-old self from that time, and they were filled with pictures of smiling faces and memories frozen in time. Those moments felt like a cornerstone of my childhood. Little did I know that my innocence would soon be shattered in ways that would shape my adult relationship with Christmas.

The first change came when I learned the truth about Santa Claus. It wasn't something I was prepared for, and when my parents confirmed what I'd already heard through playground rumors, I was devastated. But this was only the beginning. Just a year later, I found myself amid my parents' divorce, and my world turned upside down. That Christmas, I was far from the festive warmth of family gatherings in Indiana. Instead, I was in a small, unfurnished apartment, with my mother working the night shift at a casino. That Christmas, I remember hanging my stocking on a closet door and falling asleep on the floor. There was no family to share the day with, no festive meals or shared laughter; just Mom needing to get some sleep, and Dad 2,000 miles away in Indiana. I felt abandoned by both parents as I was forced to spend that Christmas alone and sad. Looking back, that was my first taste of the emotional isolation that would become a recurring theme in my mental health struggles.

The years that followed were marked by attempts to recapture the spirit of Christmas, although it was never quite the same. I made trips back to Indiana, hoping to regain a sense of family unity that had been lost in the divorce. However, those moments were always tainted by the ticking of the time clock in my head. The joy I should have felt was overshadowed by the thought that the visit was temporary, and that I would soon return to the isolation of life in Las Vegas. I couldn't be fully present in those moments, and that inability to live in the now carried over into my adult years. I learned to anticipate the end of something good before it even began, and this mentality had a profound impact on my happiness and emotional health.

As I entered my 20s, I found myself a parent. I vowed that Christmas would be different. I worked hard to create the joyful atmosphere I remembered from my own childhood. We had family gatherings, gifts, and the traditional holiday meals. But even then, something was missing. The joy I felt was not the kind that filled my heart. It was more akin to the relief you get when there is no traffic on the way to Disneyland. It was pleasant, but it never quite reached the depths of true happiness because the weight of my mental health struggles was always just below the surface, keeping me from fully embracing the holidays. 

I wanted my kids to have those memorable moments around the holidays, so in the true spirit of Christmas, I forgave my mother when I became a parent, and we found common ground. She eventually became the heart of Thanksgivings and Christmas Eves. Then, out of the blue, in 2015, she stopped participating in the holidays altogether. After a 15-year run, she was done. She no longer wanted to be part of the tradition and made it a point to tell me how disappointed she was in me. Then she left, and I haven't seen her since. It felt like another abandonment. Despite being an adult, I felt that same ache of the seven-year-old boy who had spent Christmas on the floor in an empty apartment. I was no longer the child in need of comfort, but the adult who still carried that empty space inside.

The last decade has brought me to a place of reflection. Christmas now is bittersweet, with a mix of grief, nostalgia, and depression. The family-centric holiday depicted in movies and TV shows feels alien to me. The notions of forgiveness and togetherness seem distant. A far cry from the picture I once had of Christmas. 

As I approach my 50s, I find myself wondering whether there will ever be a time when Christmas no longer feels like a reminder of lost moments, fractured relationships, and emotional scars that time cannot seem to heal. I'm not sure if that moment will ever come. But what I do know is this: Christmas is no longer about the presents or the decorations. It's not even about the food or the parties. Christmas, for me, has become about navigating the emotions that come with the season, managing the grief and loss, and making space for healing.

Whether you're in the golden years of Christmas, the bittersweet years, or the reflective years, know this: Christmas is a time to reflect on more than just the presents and festivities. It's about understanding the emotions that come with it and not succumbing to the negative emotions, and rising above the feeling of depression. One way to do this is by acknowledging your feelings, setting realistic expectations, and practicing self-care. Remember, it's okay to feel sad or lonely during the holidays. What's important is how you choose to respond to these feelings.

The best gift we can give ourselves — and others — is the gift of transparency and understanding. We all carry our own emotional baggage, but acknowledging and sharing it can open the door to healing and growth. This Christmas, I hope we all can find a little peace, understanding, and, above all, the strength to embrace the complexity of our emotions, no matter where we are in our journey.