Home for the Holidays

All my life - and especially now with the holidays approaching - I've had an aversion to "family." I'm obsessed in the sense of tracing my lineage and finding out where I come from, but when it comes to holidays or gatherings, I feel physically sick and want to run off somewhere. I can't stand being in the same room with so much family. Sitting down around a table like it's some big event with people I know so well just doesn't sit right with me. Everything feels so fake.

My Mother, The Critical

It doesn't help that my mum has always been hypercritical of me. I get that everyone's mum is critical. It's what they do. But mine has it down to an art. It's easier to go down a list than it is to just state the things she does...

1. My Tattoos: When I first got a tattoo (mind, I was 24 and hadn't lived in her house or anywhere near her since I turned 18), she demanded to see it. I refused to show it to her because - though it was on my arm - we were in a public place and she was going to make a scene. It was a big tattoo. True to form, she asked why I would "do this to her" and proceeded to cry dramatically and call me a branded cow. She then wailed about how I couldn't be buried in a church cemetery anymore (yes I can), even though our whole family has always been cremated and she knew that I wanted the same. We'd never discussed burial for anyone in our family before this point, but somehow that was now an issue. Any tattoos after that were met with scornful looks, snide comments, and lectures about how I needed to "grow up and knock that shit off." Anytime we go anywhere, she asks anyone we know and anyone I introduce her to what they think of my tattoos, trying to get them to tell me they're horrible as if saying it enough and having people agree with her can magic them out of my skin. She's asked my husband, my close friends, my not-so-close friends, almost strangers, waitresses, people she works with, and even my in-laws.
2. My Clothes/Hair: Nothing is good enough. She always complains about what I wear, pretty much demanding that I dress up even for going to a diner where truckers frequent. She constantly wants me in uncomfortable clothes because they're "grown up" and "feminine." Even when I dress up, she keeps looking me over until she finds something wrong with me.
3. My Car/House: If I have anything in the backseat of my car - mail I just picked up, boxes for moving, a gym bag, etc. - she calls it filthy and disgusting and complains the whole time. My house? Same. I once tried to avoid this pitfall by scrubbing the place from top to bottom for two whole days, wearing myself out. I put away pretty much any sign that the house had people living in it. I thought she would catch the sarcasm. Instead, it still wasn't clean enough and she set about rearranging my furniture without permission (again) and cleaning counters.
4. Places We Go: I spend a lot of money to take her out when I'm with her. Places she likes, nice places that she never could afford on her own, shopping, eating, movies, the works. I even pay her for gas. $20 every time I get in her car. She says that's about the cost of the gas we use (it isn't, she can fill her tank for a couple bucks less), and I agree because I know she doesn't have money. Is all this enough? No. The service is slow, the selection isn't to her liking, the lights give her a headache, the perfectly cooked food isn't perfect enough, the movie wasn't good, the seats were too soft, etc. I even took her to the beach for three days. NO expense to her whatsoever. She complained that we had different rooms, she complained about the delicious seafood, she complained about the heat and sun, and she complained that I didn't want to go see a boring movie with her because I insisted we should try things that we wouldn't get to do normally when we're back home.
5. My Husband: Everything he touches is golden. Everything he does is sunshine and rainbows. She never stops talking about how wonderful he is. Daughters are supposed to be able to talk to their mothers about their problems. I mention something, and it's immediately my fault. I'm not good enough for him. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not doing this or that, or giving him children, or dressing sexy or overly feminine. It's always because of me. Sometimes, even if it was my fault, that wouldn't excuse a problem we're having. But to her, it does. It's always my fault. And if I don't change everything about myself on a huge bulleted list, I will lose him.

Thanks, mum.

Family Guilt and Fake Smiles

Even if I could get past all that criticism enough to choke down the holiday cheer and overly seasoned food, it's still a mess. With my brother and his (girlfriend? fiancé? mother of his children? I don't know) not talking to mum, I now have to split my very limited time between three families, all demanding to see us. My in-laws don't actually care about seeing me, so lately I've taken to leaving my husband with them and splitting the time between my brother and mum. Both very tense situations, both tackled alone. Then I have to face the questions from my mum about why he isn't there, doesn't he like her, because of course it's not enough to have just me. And when she requests just me, it's always to help her with errands or chores or stress about her jobs and money issues and health issues and my dad. Always kind of negative. And if I don't get time to see someone, they lay on the guilt really thick. They don't understand that because they're petty enough to refuse to be near each other, that puts me in a difficult position and leaves me with no time to see my husband. And what with his job being 100% travel, I see him roughly 32-38 days each year.

Let's say it somehow works out that I have time to see everyone. From there, it's just a bunch of fake smiles and pretending to be okay, pretending that every second I'm not looking for ways to escape and hang myself with the shiny garland. It's listening to loud people say the same things over and over, getting increasingly drunk and/or bitter and/or grumpy or outrageous. Then comes the sentimentality that makes me cringe. I hate sentimental emotion. HATE it. I feel as if I'm quite literally drowning in their emotions and it's too much for me to handle. I feel so disconnected from all of it. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in, just going through the motions and trying to breathe until I have to walk outside and get fresh air or vomit on all of them. Then people kind of treat me like I'm ruining the fun when they don't realize how close I was to puking and committing seppuku with the carving knife in front of them. Light meat or dark meat? Nah. Blood or vomit is your choice. Pick what you want to be covered in.

Farewell to My Lady K...
K, a girl I was quite close with and loved dearly, died last year the day before Thanksgiving. She was vibrant and full of life. She was a rebel that did what suited her and didn't take shit from anyone. She wanted to live in Florida for a few weeks? She made it work. She wanted to go cliff diving? She made it work. Anything she wanted to do, she somehow did. And when people gave her a hard time, she simply let them go. She didn't need that in her life and she refused to feel guilty for making herself happy. She wasn't hurting anyone, so why should it matter? I loved that about her. I loved her. I half wanted to be her and half wanted to marry her. So when I found out on Thanksgiving as we were all cooking, the house packed full, that K had died from complications of a car crash the previous day... Part of me died with her. I couldn't fake the smiles anymore. I couldn't choke down the cheer. I imploded. I collapsed inward on myself and made a shameful scene of crying. She was so young and it wasn't fair that it happened.

And now that Thanksgiving draws near, I wonder if I will be able to fake the smiles again. I wonder if I'll feel even more disconnected from everything happening around me. I wonder if I can tolerate the overly seasoned food and the criticism and being spread far too thin, of having no one understand and no one to talk to, an ocean of their emotions and big personalities drowning me, sickeningly cheerful Christmas music blasting so loud that I can't even think... I'm guessing not.

Here's hoping your holidays are far more tolerable.

Have a horrible or awkward holiday story? Have holiday stress?

Hate this time of year with the burning fire of a thousand suns?

Leave a comment or email your story for our "Collective Misery" project.