Ah, the holiday season—a magical time of twinkling lights, unsolicited Mariah Carey & Boys II Men vocals, and the inevitable invitation to “spend the holiday with us.” Every year, like clockwork, someone kindly extends this olive branch, imagining themselves the hero of my holiday season, rescuing me from the presumed despair of not having a family table to sit at. Bless their hearts, truly. But let me just say this, once and for all: No. I’m not coming over. Ever.
Yes, I know I sound dramatic. It’s part of my charm. But let’s unpack this together, shall we?
Fill-In Family Member Energy
If you’ve never lost your parents, you might not get it. That’s okay! You still have your “point of origin,” your anchor, your home base. But when your parents are gone, every “you’re welcome to join us” feels like being cast in a made-for-TV holiday movie where you’re the quirky outsider sitting awkwardly at the edge of someone else’s traditions. It’s not that your hospitality isn’t appreciated—it’s that it’s too much. Your perfectly normal holiday cheer comes with an unspoken subtext of pity that, while well-intentioned, rubs my grief raw.
And look, I could plaster on a smile and pretend I’m not deeply uncomfortable, but why? The holiday isn’t about proving how adaptable I am to your family dynamics. It’s about surviving with my sanity intact.
My Holiday Plans: Bed Rotting & Thriving
Here’s the truth: I’ve found a routine that works for me, and it involves a whole lot of not participating on the actual holiday. You’ll find me in bed, wrapped in blankets, letting the day wash over me like a passive observer of life. Think of it as my mental health cocoon. I’m not sad; I’m just recharging. Maybe I’m rewatching my favorite comfort show. Maybe I’m napping. Maybe I’m eating something that requires zero prep work. Whatever I’m doing, I’m doing it with zero societal expectations.
This little rebellion of mine isn’t just laziness or avoidance. It’s self-preservation. It’s my way of flipping grief the bird and saying, “You don’t own me today.” So, while the world decks the halls and roasts the chestnuts, I’m out here practicing radical self-care.
But Wait, I Do Like You!
Don’t get it twisted—I genuinely like spending time with the people I care about. I’ll gladly hang out with you the week before the holiday, laugh over drinks, exchange small gifts, and even share a sentimental moment or two. But on the actual day? I’m off-duty. That’s my boundary, and it keeps me feeling grounded.
Call Me Dramatic, I Don’t Care
I know this sounds over the top to some. That’s fine. Feel free to roll your eyes while I sip my ayahuasca from the fortress of my comforter. The beauty of adulthood and being parentless is that no one can tell me how to feel or what to do. I’ve lost enough to know what’s important to me—and forced holiday cheer isn’t it.
So, thank you for the invite, but no thanks. I’m not a holiday charity case, and I’m definitely not giving up my self-care sanctuary. Trust me, it’s better this way. Enjoy your day, and I’ll see you on the other side of it—well-rested, emotionally stable, and utterly unbothered.
Yours,
The Unapologetic Holiday Recluse
In My Unapologetic Life... 