Christmas Is a Complicated Time of Year, but I Finally Feel Seen
This isn’t just any Christmas advert; this is the fabulous and inclusive M&S advert
“It’s the most wonderful time of the year…”
Really Andy Williams? Is it really?
These days, Christmas has become a brand monopolised by companies that peddle their products and services. They’ve created a shopping frenzy based on spreading weaponised fear that Christmas just isn’t Christmas without a certain type of turkey, the latest gadget, or the most expensive bottle of fizz.
Those who don’t have children (ideally 1.8), aren’t in a heteronormative marriage, don’t have good relations with their family of origin, are grieving late loved ones, and/or don’t have a white picket fence life are often excluded from Christmas.
Christmas is not for the marginalised; by this, I mean people and groups who don’t fit society’s prescribed mould, are pushed to the periphery.
A multinational retailer has struck gold with their Christmas advert this year.
I rolled my eyes when it appeared on my social media feed — feeling shriveled at seeing a Christmas advert already — but by the end of it, I felt empowered, seen, and included.
I felt represented.
As much as I try to shake off my sadness over Christmas, it gnaws at my insides.
I think of the year my mum and I traveled fourteen hours to spend Christmas with my twin sister, only to be driving back home in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve for reasons I don’t need to elaborate on. But let’s just say I’ve had very little contact with my twin ever since.
Christmas has become an instruction.
We’re told it is all about family, and anyone who deviates from flocking back to their family of origin over this time is a bad person. A shameful, ungrateful person!
Last year, when I told a friend I hadn’t been in touch with one of my sisters over Christmas, she immediately jumped to the position of shamer, “Oh but Ali, she’s your sister,” as if all past fractions, hurts and complexities can miraculously melt away.
I reminded my friend that this sister was also unmeasurably hostile and abusive to me. I can love her from afar. And let’s not forget that relationships are two-way.
We don’t expect people to connect with abusive ex-partners over Christmas, yet for some reason, when it comes to family of origin, people who haven’t experienced turbulence in this area think it’s a time for those affected to wipe the slate clean and start afresh.
If only it were that simple.
Finally, we have an advert that permits us to opt out of anything that doesn’t bring joy. Marks and Spencer (M&S) encourages us to do only what we love with the slogan “Love THISmas (not THATmas).”
The M&S advert has helped me release my perennial Christmas season dread.
My favourite Christmas had me holding on for dear life while careering around corners in a rusty old saloon, searching for a famous waterfall. We hung out all day at Milla Milla Falls, a thunderous and captivating experience near Cairns, Australia.
I was only 18. Spending the day with near strangers and watching the fish dart around my feet while sipping on a beer was close to perfect for that era of my life.
But what about Christmas tradition?
We’re told Christmas is the time of forgiveness and acceptance. I forgive myself for allowing my pervasive and insidious self-esteem assassination by those who should have been my cheerleaders. And I accept that I can not change them.
Christmas is complicated. It holds complexities for everyone taking the path less trodden.
One of the magical things about Christmas is its novelty. It’s one day. One day of gratitude, reflection, religion (if that’s your thing), food, connection, loved ones, gifts, sparkle, dazzle, and dizzle.
Decorating one tree is exciting.
I have fond memories of listening to Christmas carols while arguing with my siblings over whether the fairy or star would adorn the top of our tree.
Decorating a second tree and enduring a second “Christmas” a few days after the real thing may seem like every child’s dream, but it’s exhausting and induces Christmas fatigue, even in young kids.
For children of separated parents, Christmas often becomes more about survival and performative happiness than about genuine joy.
Honestly, I don’t want to dress up in one of the gazillion sparkly and sequin-clad dresses filling our shops, to go out for the annual work party where everyone drinks too much and says and does things they regret—a year of pent-up frustration coming to boiling point and overflowing with an alcohol release. The old me embraced this; the new me feels repelled from it.
All the rules around Christmas create a pressure cooker environment in the months and weeks leading up. How we spend that one day of the year is dictated by the media dialogue, human conversations, adverts, and Christmas songs.
So I ask again, is Christmas really the most wonderful time of the year? Does anyone actually think that?
It’s not all bad; my painful memories are sprinkled with lovely ones.
Packaged in the happy memory file of my brain is a blue sky day with a glaring sun and a biting cold so penetrative we could see our breath. We wrapped up warm (Christmas hats and festive dog collars) and braved the icy chill of the east coast of Scotland. We walked along an isolated beach, then savoured Christmas cake and mulled wine in the car park. Spirits were high and jovial. Dogs bounced, and humans laughed as we reveled in our unspoken Christmas day rebellion.
There’s a wonderful warmth and feeling of contentment within a group of people who love and respect each other exactly as they are, no bickering, resentment, or regression. A group unrelated by blood or biology but interwoven as kin. Just pure acceptance and belonging.
Perhaps it is this visceral feeling of belonging that many people feel within their family of origin.
As much as I’ve had nice times, I still feel overwhelmed and prickled by Christmas mania. It’s all too much.
In my time as a police officer, I regularly volunteered to work over Christmas. While most of you were scoffing your turkey, demolishing your hundredth chocolate, or arguing with loved ones, I was usually elbows deep in a Christmas Day murder.
Working on Christmas Day distracted me from the feelings of isolation and loneliness of Christmas.
The truth is, I’m not isolated or lonely, but Christmas makes me feel like this. Christmas as a brand tells me I’m flawed and wrong in every area of my life.
Intrinsically, I’m content with my life. I have a loving husband, the goofiest elderly dog, and glorious friends. I’m not much of a buyer and feel an aversion to stuff. Buying stuff for the sake of it feels wasteful and pointless consumption.
There is no children’s laughter in my household, but do not pity me; this is an intentional choice, so the absence of their joy at Christmas does not invoke grief. However, society tells me that Christmas is about the children.
Yes, I carry sadness at the various fragmented or estranged relationships of my family of origin. But I don’t dwell on this.
Our screens are filled with happy families, glitz, and glamour. Those of us not in keeping with this version of what it means to be human are steamrolled over; we are not represented on screen.
We are excluded.
I want to scream and shout that happiness comes in many different forms. Whether that’s being single, estranged from family, or not having children… all of these unconventional lifestyles can bring equal happiness to their counterparts. But my screams fall silent in the jingle jangle of Christmas cheer.
Over the years, I had no voice to express my difficulties with Christmas. I was labeled a Christmas Scrooge and put on the shelf with the Christmas Elf.
In the messaging of the M&S advert, no one is dictated to about how they “should” be spending Christmas. There is no sense of shame derived from the advert. Isn’t that inclusive and powerful?
The advert has caused quite a stir. All the right people are annoyed. Britain’s self-appointed, “strictest headmistress,” Katharine Birbalsingh, is seething with rage; she even wrote a rather unhinged diatribe as an open letter to Marks & Spencer.
The advert is neither an attack on British values nor anti-religion or pushing a particular religion. It is inclusive and expansive and encourages us all to follow our hearts.
The wonderful thing is, this advert doesn’t take anything away from anyone. It allows us to step off the Christmas merry-go-round and unsubscribe to all the nonsense that drags us down during the festive period.
It stops us from feeling inadequate during the silly season.
Isn’t that liberating?
There’s a theme to the Christmas adverts this year. The takeaway message from the John Lewis Christmas advert is to “let your traditions grow.”
I never thought I’d take life advice from department stores, but when the message is right, I’d be foolish to ignore it.
You know what, thanks to compassionate marketing from M&S and John Lewis, I’m actually looking forward to Christmas this year.
I have my mum and two aunts coming to stay. And we may even have a small party. I’m thinking mulled wine, warm fires, woodland walks, scrabble, good food, oh, and I’ll likely put them to work — well — these golden girls have DIY skills, it would be a shame to miss such an opportunity.
This year I foresee change. Maybe this year, my sadness will be less pronounced as I unashamedly celebrate in my own way.
I’d love to hear what your relationship with Christmas is like. Remember, there is no right or wrong. If you want to hide in your bed for the day, I understand — just make sure you snug up warm and know it will pass.
Thanks for reading. These words were originally published on Medium.
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