For more years than I would care to acknowledge, the Christmas season is a time that I would just as soon avoid altogether. I almost wish that I could just hibernate through it or step directly from the third week of December to January. Don't get me wrong, I love the time spent with my daughter and lavishing her with lots of goodies and fun things that will elicit squeals and laughter and great joy. However, this year will mark the seventh that I have lived through a different type of Christmas than what I used to know. Those wonderful seasons of two have faded into the darker reality of one. I'm not sure if or when I will ever really get past this. I sense that it will always be something that I struggle with.
This year I have kind of forced myself to focus in on what I should be dwelling on in this season. Christmas should be a day to fully revel in the birth of Jesus Christ. This aspect alone should be enough to sate my spirit, to fill me to overflowing with joy and warmth and satisfaction. Of course, the fact that I know this and it is still not enough to pull me out of the darkness, just seems to add to the pressure that I already feel. It's like I have to be fully on the defensive from moment to moment. The instant that the clouds appear on the horizon, "It's not about me." The second that I want all the celebrations to vaporize, "It's Not About Me." The tick where I begin feel sorry for myself and start to embrace regret, "IT'S NOT ABOUT ME!"