The holiday season is fully upon us. There’s less than one week before Christmas and I am super excited. Christmas is a family favorite. Obviously, the children love it because… GIFTS. I’ve tried to provide the giving is better than receiving narrative and they think that’s great and all, but they’re children. So yeah… YAY GIFTS!!! Hahaha!
I grew up in a house where Christmas was a big deal. I mean, multiple Christmas trees, decorations everywhere, gifts galore and the joy of the season in abundance. My mother orchestrated the production of Christmas and injected it into everyone around her. So, it still stands. The tradition is firmly planted.
Imma be honest though. Christmas stresses me out. We have four children. That’s a lot of seasonal “joy” to spread around. And it’s not even all the money. Trust— there’s a lot of it being spent. It’s the doing of it all. And I’m conflicted; right? Because I love the outcome of the doing. I even actually love the act of doing, but it is also wearing me out.
When people see you, you look good. People love you, you laugh a lot… by societies standards you’re successful, you have friends and you’re gorgeous. You don’t see what they see.
Depression distorts the lens of your life.
You don’t see whole reflections. Your view is produced by a dirty, broken mirror.
The first thing you hear when you wake up, the last thing you hear before you go to bed and in every single free space in between, your mind hears that sad song and those demeaning words together, infinitely looped… convincing you that this world and you would be better served without your existence.
The world would lead you to believe that it is impossible for women to share in loving, productive, symbiotic relationships. I think this is particularly true in portrayals of Black women, buuuuuut it’s fair to say that women of all races get a bad rap for how they interact with each other.
Blame misogyny. Blame patriarchy. Blame media.
For me, I think it is important to cast out these negative and false accounts regarding relationships between women. These accounts that portray us as overemotional, drama filled and in constant competition. I won't lie, I have had a bad interaction or two. However, over the course of my life it is my relationships with other women that have lifted me up and held me down. It is my relationships with women that have provided covering and protection.
I’m leaning into transparency and vulnerability today.
I want to apologize.
Life is hard. I don’t look at the world through rose colored lenses. I don’t think anyone should. I think you should work towards the life you want until you see the life you want. While I believe you can choose to be happy; I know it’s more nuanced than just deciding. For my friends and readers who are living with depression and anxiety. I see you. I am you.
I know the heart wrenching impact of suicide and the extreme, desperate heart and mind space one has to be in to make that choice. I also have friends who suffer from depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and perhaps other mental illnesses I know nothing about. I worry about them. I worry when they get to quiet and when they stay away too long. I wonder if my phone is gonna ring with the grief of a parent or sibling telling me they’ve chosen their own final act on the stage of life— I am sometimes terrified by the knowing… the knowing that no matter how beautiful, intelligent, witty and resourceful I find you— that if you don’t see it in yourself what I think doesn’t matter.
