I probably will get coal in my stocking this year, because I've been a very bad blogger. It seems like just yesterday when I was skipping my regular posting so I could finish painting the living room and host Thanksgiving. Now here I am barreling headlong into the Christmas season and I've had to force myself to sit down and write.
If the size of the meetings I attend is any indication, Christmas can be a tough time for alcoholics. Personally, I would never have chosen to get sober right before the holidays. There was too much excused drinking to be done. Plenty of time to sober up in January. Not that I ever did.
When I was growing up, I felt intense pressure for holidays to be "perfect". They never were. What happened was this:
On Christmas Eve, the whole family would go to the midnight candlelight service, sing carols, hear the Christmas gospel, and see our friends. We'd go home filled with the magic of Christmas, and love for our fellow man on this most miraculous of occasions. We kids would go to bed and try to sleep. Our parents would stay up to play Santa.
In the morning, we'd open our presents. They were always good ones, because my parents were big on wish-fulfillment. Then we'd go to Grandma's house for dinner and more presents. The adults would sit around and drink while we played with our new treasures. Then we'd go home and play with our other presents. The adults would drink some more. Well-lubricated, one of them would say something passive-aggressive, or criticize the other for behavior or comments at the family dinner and it was off to the races.
I cannot remember a single Christmas in my birth home that did not end in a huge drunken fight. All the wonderful feelings and the excitement and joy were banished in a hail of ugly words, threats and drunken sneers. Alcohol had stolen my Christmas as surely as if I'd done it myself. And, as a child, I certainly thought that there was something I could have done to prevent it.
The long term affect of these Norman Rockwell moments gone Picasso was for me to move heaven and earth to make Christmas perfect for the family I eventually formed. No one was allowed to be unhappy, or to disagree on that special day. I spent money I didn't have, gave up sleep I sorely needed, and walked on eggshells until the holiday was past and I could devolve into my normal dysfunctional self. As a result, I was a ball of tightly wound rubber bands from mid-November until December 26th every year for almost all of them.
Until I got sober, the last fifteen Christmases were dedicated to getting as drunk as I could and still getting the presents under the tree. The pressure finally got to me and the only way I could deal with Christmas was to be as lit up as it was. One year, everything I wrapped was just rolled in a length of paper and twisted at the ends because I couldn't fold the corners, even on books. There are people reading this who probably remember barely legible Christmas cards. I have beautiful handwriting, but when I'm drunk, a pharmacist couldn't decipher my inebriated scrawls. Fun times.
The good news is that today Christmas is just another day. When I live my life one day at a time, I'm too busy with today to worry about making things perfect. I can't project and expect too much, because it invites my disease in. I make a simple plan, and try to remain flexible enough to allow for life to get in the way and change things. When things do change, I go with it, knowing that I'm not the director anymore. It isn't my job to make Christmas perfect, not for me, or for anyone else in my life. It's my job to do the next right thing, and I often don't know what that is until it's right in front of me.
I'm not perfect at that, either. I procrastinate about writing this blog, waiting for my Higher Power to give me inspiration. But my Higher Power can't type. It's my fingers that roam across the keyboard.
Keep it simple, in life, and especially on Christmas. I wish you all the blessings of the season.
