If You're Struggling This Christmas
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This message isn’t
for everyone.
This message is for you, the
person whose heart is heavy today, the one for whom this season is not merry
and bright, the one who doesn't feel at all like singing.
It’s for you who face subtraction; who feel the combined
attrition of the all losses you've accrued this year; the people who've passed
away, the ones who left voluntarily, those you've had to push away to protect
yourself.
It’s for you who've seen the end of something you loved; the dream that
dissolved despite how much you gave up to make it real; all the things that you wish to
be true right now and should be
true but are not.
It’s for those who've watched their best attempts to save
their marriages and relationships not be enough, who are finding themselves no
longer half of the whole they once felt securely part of; those who have a
different set of chairs around the table—far too many of them empty.
This message is for you who are grieving; those sitting
vigil in hospital rooms praying for good news; those who just got test results
back and have heard the worst; those who are spending this day planning a
memorial service instead of a holiday celebration.
This message for those whose personal demons have gotten
the best of them; who've been visited at the very worst time by depression and
addiction and self-hatred—those whose greatest threat to joy right now is an
inside job.
This message is for those who are alone today:
geographically separated from the people they love, emotionally distanced from
those they desire proximity with, pushed by circumstance to the solitary
places.
It’s for those who've been left broken by this year; by its
cruelty and bitterness and violence—those of you who harbor more anger, carry
more grief, and bear more fear because of what you've seen and what you know
and how you feel about this place you call home.
Ultimately, this message is for you, who
for a million different reasons find peace difficult to come by in a time when
it's supposed to be plentiful.
I don't have any magic words to fix what is broken around
you or to repair what is broken within you.
I can't simply place a cursor on the sadness you feel and backspace until
it's deleted, replacing it with words like comfort or peace or contentment.
I can't say anything in this small space that will mend
what is severed, resurrect what has died, or heal what is ill.
I just wanted these words to hopefully remind you of two
things:
The first, is that you are not alone; that even though you're uniquely
suffering in the specific sadness you're inhabiting right now—you are not
suffering by yourself. The world is filled with people who are not exactly, but
still deeply burdened, grieving, angry, hopeless, exhausted. Even if you never
see their faces or know their names, rest in the truth that millions of wounded
people stand in solidarity with you in this day—and that they get it. I get it.
The second thing I wanted to remind you of, is that though
this is your painful story right now, it is not the end of your story.
The way you feel today will not always be the way you feel.
As difficult as it is to imagine in these painful moments—there will be
holidays when lightness returns to you; days when you are cultivating new
dreams again, when you once more feel secured in a place where you belong, when
you again find yourself embraced by people who see and treasure the goodness in
you, days when you are easily pushing back your demons.
There will be holidays when celebration is your default
setting.
But right now, don't feel any guilt for the sadness within you.
Don't beat yourself up for not wanting to sing right now.
Don't feel pressured to have the shit together that simply isn't
together and won't be for a while.
Just receive this Christmas as it is, receive it as you are—with all the struggle and uncertainty and grieving it brings.
This message isn’t for everyone but if it is, be greatly
encouraged.
I see you today.
