All Santa has brought me so far is a fever blister. Thanks, Santa.
I wrote in A Big Secret Wrapped in a Bow that I don’t celebrate the holidays. Never have. I thought I would be okay this holiday time, because I’m with family. Tomorrow more family will come, and there will be a big family dinner. No exchange of presents, though. Just people stuffing their faces with food.
So I thought I could handle it this time, but as I was looking at my regular Facebook account I grew very sad, crouched in the corner, and started bawling. Everyone on the Internet is wishing everyone else a merry Christmas and tossing around their happiness and joy. I don’t want to be a scrooge to that. In fact, a part of me wants to wish everyone a happy holiday too, but I can’t go against everything I was raised to believe and taught not to participate in. It wouldn’t be any easier celebrating the holidays. It would only make me feel guilty for going against something so ingrained in me. And it wouldn’t bring about the feeling for which I wantonly crave; family togetherness.
I want to feel like I belong to what I believe is the spirit of family and holiday. I’ve come to understand I never will, no matter what relationship Birth Mother and I develop or how welcoming In-Laws are to me. My littles and adolescents will always bleed tears, because they didn’t feel that connection, that togetherness, that family bond growing up. And it hurts; it hurts so deep.
But for now, all I can do is wish you happiness, whether you find it with or without your family of origin.
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