We are approaching what is often presented as the most wholesome cluster of days of the year: Christmas. A time to slow down, get cosy, gather with family and celebrate togetherness.
For many, it is the best time of the year. For just as many, it is one of the hardest.
Growing up, I never had reliably cheery Christmases. My mum worked shifts in a nursing home and was on duty every second Christmas. That meant alternating years spent with people I did not necessarily want to spend Christmas with or, as I got older, choosing to spend it alone.
I never really formed that deep, emotional bond with Christmas, except for the years I celebrated with my mum. Coincidentally, those were the years we always went all out. The other Christmases, the ones without her, often left a bitter taste.
I still love the idea of it. I put up a small tree, exchange presents, enjoy the lights, and occasionally visit a Christmas market. But there is always a quiet sadness underneath, the awareness that I will never quite have that Netflix Christmas movie version of the holidays.
My husband, for different reasons, is also not particularly fond of Christmas. So we have learned to make our own rituals, ones that soften the feelings we both associate with this time of year. This year, we cooked good food and exchanged gifts the weekend before Christmas, simply because we had a calm weekend together. And most of the time, I am genuinely fine with that.
What still makes me uncomfortable, though, is the reaction when people ask what I am doing for Christmas and I answer honestly: working. The sad looks. The disbelief. Once, even a faintly disgusted expression. If I had received one euro for each of those looks over the years, I could probably afford a decent dinner in an upmarket restaurant.
I know people do not mean any harm. And I am happy for those for whom Christmas truly is a holly jolly time. But for many, it is not.
For some, going home to spend several days with family is the worst thing they can imagine. For others, it is deeply distressing or even traumatic. Sometimes, spending Christmas alone is not a rejection of the holidays, but the safest and kindest choice someone can make for themselves.
If anything, I would like this to serve as a reminder that Christmas does not look the same for everyone.
Instead of judging, pitying, or responding with disbelief to anyone who does not fit the expected Christmas narrative, we could simply show a little more empathy.
Christmas is meant to be a time of care and kindness. That should apply to everyone, not just those who celebrate it in the conventional way.
