'Tis the Season for Withholding
“I don’t know why. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love my family. It’s just they always ask me so many questions.”
Hi friends, Law here.
Just as the start of summer always seems to herald a drop off in people seeking personal therapy from me, so the start of autumn and the weeks leading into December always seem to show a steady increase in enquiries. Aside from theories about Seasonal Affective Disorder and the effect that sunlight may have on our mental health, the other reason for this — in my imagining anyway — is the increasing sense of anxiety many people feel about the Christmas period. And perhaps more specifically, about spending time around members of our extended family.
One of my clients, Charlie, says that she dreads Christmas:
“I don’t know why. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love my family. It’s just they always ask me so many questions.”
“And you don’t want to answer them?”
“Well, I would. But I know if I tell them what’s really going on with me then the shit will really hit the fan!”
“And whose fan will the shit hit?”
Charlie grimaces,
“My mum’s. She doesn’t want me to tell my aunties and uncles that I quit Uni. Or my grandparents that I’m working as a cleaner now.”
“So how do you deal with that?”
“Change the subject usually. Ask them about themselves.”
“Does that work?”
“Not really,” she laughs, “They don’t really like talking about themselves either!”
I imagine part of the issue for a lot of people with Christmas is that the idea of it — the image of how Christmas ‘should’ be — is something we’re shown an idealised view of over and over again in popular culture.
Christmas is portrayed as a time of warm, easy family connection, laughter and togetherness, and this image is often strengthened by our own early memories of childhood, when we were often kept oblivious of what was really going on with the grownups. The reality of being part of a group in which we believe we’re not allowed to be ourselves or show our true emotions, we make seem jarring and disappointing.
Often when clients tell me how they stress themselves over spending time with family over Christmas, I first ask them if they have considered just not going. Most people have a very strong ‘should’ about this, and often respond by saying “no, that’s impossible” or “oh god, I wish!”. Push a little harder though, and the imaginings start to come as thick and fast as snowflakes:
“Honestly, I couldn’t. My mum would never speak to me again!”
“I already said I was coming, if I back out now everyone will hate me.”
“If I don’t go, he says they’ll both be heartbroken.”
“We have to, because we went to my family last year. That’s the rule.”
As always, my answer to these kind of imaginings are to suggest a reality test. Speak to the person involved. Tell them what it is you want, and what you imagine their response will be. Tell them how you’re making yourself feel about the response, and any stories you have about how they will feel hearing you say it. And if you notice something about their voice or face, keep checking reality, go right ahead and tell them your imaginings about what it is they’re thinking right now.
Opting out of a doing something you made stressful for yourself can be hugely empowering and — in my experience at least — I only needed to do it a couple of times to disempower the obligation I’d made out of it, and allow myself to discover my preference. Spending Christmas away from my extended family with just my husband and daughter allowed me to see that I actually enjoyed their company, and missed the feeling of being part of our well-established group with our own little rituals and in-jokes.
God help me, I even missed the stupid bloody after-dinner board games.
The story that I had begun to tell myself about Christmas with my family — and which I imagine had been the cause of my anger and resentment — was that I couldn’t be open and honest with these people.
I told myself that they expected me to behave in a certain way: sticking to safe subjects, keeping any negative emotions to myself, and that I was having to play a part instead of being my true authentic self, which I made boring and frustrating. What hadn’t occurred to me though is that I — not they — had created that expectation, and that I was the one making me stick to it.
That first Christmas after I discovered Radical Honesty was a blast.
I started off by telling my brother-in-law’s sister that I resented her views on immigration, and that I made myself angry whenever she talked about it. I told my mother-in-law that I’d prefer her to give me money rather than gifts, as I often had to return them and made myself feel guilty about that. I asked my second cousin about her recent nervous breakdown, and talked openly about my own history of depression and anxiety. I asked my husband’s auntie to please stop buying my daughter Barbie dolls, as she hates them with a passion. And then, in front of my very eyes, something miraculous started to happen…
My husband’s granny admitted she’d been on anti-depressants for years, but had been too ashamed and embarrassed to say anything.
My sister-in-law admitted she hated her new job and wanted to quit, but was terrified about finding a new one.
My niece told us all that she smoked, and had been covering it up for years, and we all told her we’d known.
My dad said he preferred just to eat his Christmas dinner, and then go home and sit and watch the match on TV.
My nephew said he wanted to go up to his room and play on his X-Box instead of playing ’Family Fortunes’ for a change, but after listening to us crying with laughter for the next hour, he came back downstairs to join in.
We left that day far later than normal, dog-tired and laden down with tons of cold turkey and cake, and for the first time in a long time I actually felt a little sad that the day was over for another year.
Visiting with family when I have an agenda to be completely honest is a very different experience from visiting when I have a story I have to hide myself. I get a kind of light dizzy feeling in chest and head, and I notice my heart beating faster. I notice I’m smiling a lot, and I tell myself that I’m excited, a little fearful and happy.
I have a story that I enjoy being around these people, that this day is my chance to truly connect with them, and that that opportunity is mine for the taking — if I want it. I can choose to connect, and to feel and share with them whatever emotions go along with that connection: whether it be anger, happiness, amusement, and sadness.
The one thing I can honestly say I never feel any more though, is bored.
Originally published by Law Turley on Medium. Follow her here!
*All client details have been changed to avoid identification.
Law Turley is a BACP Registered Integrative Therapist and a former Certified Radical Honesty Trainer living and working in the south west of the UK.