The parent who (might) ruin Christmas

It is cold in this part of the world. The sun sets earlier each day as we approach the winter equinox. Through the window I see the tips of barebone trees. I catch myself looking at them during zoom meetings, as if looking for answers. Winter is taking over and it seems to me that slowly, I have reluctantly accepted that the avatar version of me is the last link with life outside the bubble we made with grandparents. Without them, I would be burnt out by now.

One of the things that I have noticed in the past nine months is that I don’t enjoy the holidays and celebrations. I have a really hard time celebrating birthdays and special occasions when before, I was all in. I don’t feel celebratory. I feel upset about the lack of humanity and urgency when celebrations take us away from the hunger and despair around us. I am a privilege, migrant, cisman in this world and I wake up every day knowing that and questioning it. The usual philosophical nature of mine keeps demanding me to question daily if I am doing the work and I am in the place I should be. I

Does this sound familiar?

Amid this, I see through the eyes of my beautiful child the fascination of the holiday season. The songs, the traditions, the cookie making and the emergence of colorful lights. I see him excited about the pjs with renos with red noses and the myths around Santa. As a side note, as a non-American, I have lots of issues with the notion of a man who brings gifts to children who behave and breaks into houses in the middle of the night. But this is me and you might be snapping in support or rolling your eyes thinking, can we please have some lightness in the middle of this year, please?

So here I am. Finding it really hard to show up to zoom holiday calls and get on my party outfit and at the same time, feeling that I can rapidly become the parent who (might) ruin Christmas.

Are you there with me? If you are, don’t feel alone, I am here with you. If you are not, perhaps, a nice moment to ask your partner, your parents, your loved ones, if this sounds familiar.  

Behind all of this resides a lot of fear, fear for the lives that are lost every day in unjustifiable numbers. Fear for a future where people who look like me, who speak my language are disposable. Sadness and frustration. I take runs in the cold to get these feelings out. Sometimes it helps. Feeling physical numb.  Also, there is a lot of sadness because the places I was supposed to be on these dates, the people I was supposed to hug and the moments I was supposed to have. They only happened in my mind while I do dishes at night.

I will try my best to create a space for my child to find in this season an oasis amid the depravations he has endured, such as not playing with other children and having adults as peers. But I might not come to your holiday zoom party, I might not join the WhatsApp call. In this journey to find ways of becoming a feminist parent, I have learned that I have to hear closely when my mind, my body and my soul are telling me it is too much. And the current state of the world feels like too much.

Sending love, compassion and solidarity for those of you who are there with me. You are not alone.