I began writing this Christmas morning, but didn't get it finished until later. This is the first in a series of a few catch-up posts to come:
This morning, my blog post from last Christmas popped up on my Facebook. I showed Andy and had him read it, but I couldn't bear to read it myself. Just the memory of how much pain I was in made me feel like I was going to burst into sobs again. It was so dark. So cold. So sad. I was with friends who had already become family, and Christmas with them was as amazing as it possibly could have been under the circumstances. All I could do was push back the sobs, and hope with all my strength that next year would be better.
This year, I was supposed to go home to Ohio for Christmas, but with the very unexpected, heavily disappointing, and triggering election results, I just couldn't do it. Which resulted with me working from the car via my phone's hotspot, while Andy drove my car up to his family's in Casper, Wyoming. I've met his family before- well, most of them- and I like them and feel as comfortable with them as I can at this point, which is good. But I've never spent the holidays with a significant other's family before, with the exception of Easter with Z's family, but Easter isn't nearly as tense as Christmas can be.
Christmas has always been rough for me, despite being my favorite holiday. But with a brother dead, and a sister out of my life, it's been difficult. And this is the second Christmas in a row I've spent away from my parents. Before last year, I'd never had Christmas anywhere but Cincinnati with my parents and family. Last year, I thought I'd be back there this year. But my world turned upside-down with the results of the election on November 8th, and with Ohio going to Trump, I couldn't bring myself to go back there so soon. Ohio has always felt like home to me. It's felt safe. It doesn't feel safe to me now. I detailed this in my last 10-part series, so feel free to catch up on that if you've missed it. As a result, I found myself realizing that I would be missing my second consecutive Christmas at home.
So instead, here I am, in Andy's childhood home, surrounded by people I've known less than a year, celebrating Christmas. In many ways, it's good, but in other ways, it's its own special kind of stressful. But it also feels...right. Being here, spending Christmas with Andy and his family, it feels like I should be here. Andy has become my family. This is likely the first of many Christmases with him.
Last night, Andy and I went to Mass with his parents. Of course, since I spent my childhood in the Catholic Church, going to Mass always kind of feels like going home (aside from the really odd changes recently made to some of the responses...dude...). The priest gave a homily that sounded surprisingly Protestant in nature and even theology. I don't know many Evangelicals who would take issue with anything he said. He talked about how God loved us so much, that one night, two thousand years ago, He sent his only son to save a fallen world, lost in sin. He talked about a very personal- and personable- God. One who cares for the well-being of every single human being. At one point, he said, "You are each here tonight because God specifically wanted you here tonight, and because He loves you." Which, for one thing, was such a non-Catholic thing to say I had to remind myself I was, in fact, in a Catholic church, and for another, was definitely not said in a way that implied that God didn't love anyone who wasn't there right then. He said it in such a way that I actually responded in my head, "What an amazing thought. If only it were true."
While many of my readers, who are devout Christians, will read that and find it sad, to some extent, I actually find it to be proof of significant healing on my part. Instead of being triggered by the homily, and triggered by the idea that I was there because God wanted me there, I was able to appreciate it as a lovely thought, rather than a threatening one. The very ability to just see it, and process it though my own worldview, is evidence of incredible healing in regards to my PTSD.
So today, I sit here on the couch and watch the snow fall and pile up into the perfectly quintessential "white Christmas." And I am able to appreciate the stark contrast between my most recent Christmas Past, and my Christmas Present. Last Christmas was one to just bear as best I could. This one...well, perhaps I don't feel it to its fullest extent, but there is something that rings true as I watch the snow and the lines of Christmas carols swirl through my head...all is calm, all is bright.
This morning, my blog post from last Christmas popped up on my Facebook. I showed Andy and had him read it, but I couldn't bear to read it myself. Just the memory of how much pain I was in made me feel like I was going to burst into sobs again. It was so dark. So cold. So sad. I was with friends who had already become family, and Christmas with them was as amazing as it possibly could have been under the circumstances. All I could do was push back the sobs, and hope with all my strength that next year would be better.
This year, I was supposed to go home to Ohio for Christmas, but with the very unexpected, heavily disappointing, and triggering election results, I just couldn't do it. Which resulted with me working from the car via my phone's hotspot, while Andy drove my car up to his family's in Casper, Wyoming. I've met his family before- well, most of them- and I like them and feel as comfortable with them as I can at this point, which is good. But I've never spent the holidays with a significant other's family before, with the exception of Easter with Z's family, but Easter isn't nearly as tense as Christmas can be.
Christmas has always been rough for me, despite being my favorite holiday. But with a brother dead, and a sister out of my life, it's been difficult. And this is the second Christmas in a row I've spent away from my parents. Before last year, I'd never had Christmas anywhere but Cincinnati with my parents and family. Last year, I thought I'd be back there this year. But my world turned upside-down with the results of the election on November 8th, and with Ohio going to Trump, I couldn't bring myself to go back there so soon. Ohio has always felt like home to me. It's felt safe. It doesn't feel safe to me now. I detailed this in my last 10-part series, so feel free to catch up on that if you've missed it. As a result, I found myself realizing that I would be missing my second consecutive Christmas at home.
So instead, here I am, in Andy's childhood home, surrounded by people I've known less than a year, celebrating Christmas. In many ways, it's good, but in other ways, it's its own special kind of stressful. But it also feels...right. Being here, spending Christmas with Andy and his family, it feels like I should be here. Andy has become my family. This is likely the first of many Christmases with him.
Last night, Andy and I went to Mass with his parents. Of course, since I spent my childhood in the Catholic Church, going to Mass always kind of feels like going home (aside from the really odd changes recently made to some of the responses...dude...). The priest gave a homily that sounded surprisingly Protestant in nature and even theology. I don't know many Evangelicals who would take issue with anything he said. He talked about how God loved us so much, that one night, two thousand years ago, He sent his only son to save a fallen world, lost in sin. He talked about a very personal- and personable- God. One who cares for the well-being of every single human being. At one point, he said, "You are each here tonight because God specifically wanted you here tonight, and because He loves you." Which, for one thing, was such a non-Catholic thing to say I had to remind myself I was, in fact, in a Catholic church, and for another, was definitely not said in a way that implied that God didn't love anyone who wasn't there right then. He said it in such a way that I actually responded in my head, "What an amazing thought. If only it were true."
While many of my readers, who are devout Christians, will read that and find it sad, to some extent, I actually find it to be proof of significant healing on my part. Instead of being triggered by the homily, and triggered by the idea that I was there because God wanted me there, I was able to appreciate it as a lovely thought, rather than a threatening one. The very ability to just see it, and process it though my own worldview, is evidence of incredible healing in regards to my PTSD.
So today, I sit here on the couch and watch the snow fall and pile up into the perfectly quintessential "white Christmas." And I am able to appreciate the stark contrast between my most recent Christmas Past, and my Christmas Present. Last Christmas was one to just bear as best I could. This one...well, perhaps I don't feel it to its fullest extent, but there is something that rings true as I watch the snow and the lines of Christmas carols swirl through my head...all is calm, all is bright.
No comments:
Post a Comment