I normally love this time of year. I love the tradition of Christmas, the food and drink, the many social occasions spent catching up with friends and family, the songs and cheer, the increased pace of it all. I also love our personal family tradition where my husband and I head out somewhere incredibly remote to just focus on us and nature.
Not this year. All I can see ahead of me for the next month is the usual Christmas obligations and they seem like a huge burden to even try and fit into the horror that is currently my life.
I don’t even get to go away and restore my incredibly introverted soul. This year Christmas will be all about everybody else, in an attempt to make as normal a last year as we can. But I have invented a new Christmas tradition.
For at least the month of December I am going to wake up every day and cry first thing in the morning when I think about the awfulness of the day ahead. You know life is pretty shit when you tell your husband not to comfort you because you both need to get used to the new normal and you don’t want him to burn out too soon.